#Deadline Calculator

[pauljonessoftware]

The Quiet Power of JSON: Structuring Legal Intelligence at Scale

By Paul A. Jones, Jr. · July 2025 Most people think of JSON as a simple utility — a way to pass data between frontend and backend, or to store structured values in a flexible way. But in building data infrastructure for a complex, rules-driven domain, I’ve come to view JSON as something far more powerful: a foundational medium for scalable intelligence.It’s the gateway to organizing knowledge,…

[thedreadvampy]

I'm going to fucking kill someone how FUCKING hard is it to write down basic information??!???

[electryone-moon]

~IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT~

Of course you’re going to give up if your brain insists on turning every small task into a huge simultaneous equation

To be as clichéd as possible; Just fucking do the thing

[alwajeeztech]

ZATCA VAT & Tax Return System in ALZERP Cloud ERP Software

The ALZERP Cloud ERP Software offers a comprehensive tax return system designed to facilitate the calculation, moderation, and finalization of VAT and tax returns. This system ensures businesses comply with the Saudi Arabian tax regulations set by the Zakat, Tax, and Customs Authority (ZATCA). By automating and streamlining the tax return process, ALZERP helps businesses achieve accuracy and…

[masarca]

Corporate Tax Registration Deadline Calculator

In recent times, many companies have faced significant penalties due to missing their tax registration deadlines, often because they were unaware of the exact dates. MASAR Chartered Accountants developed this tool to address this common issue and help businesses avoid the hefty AED 10,000 fine. Our user-friendly calculator provides the best and easiest way to determine your corporate tax registration deadline, ensuring you stay compliant and stress-free.

[theehighwarlock]

okay so the fact that the fall guy was on the sneak preview (when the distributers cancelled sneak preview like 7 years ago and now asked if the cinema would be up for one?) is totally a publicity thing and honestly it worked bc i am talking about it

and like. the fall guy is suuuuuuch a love letter to stunt people and to cinema and to practical effects and to scifi and just! i had such a good time watching it and i can't wait for it to release next week and i'm taking my mum and just. if you got the time and energy and money to spare, imo it's just a good time

also roles like that suit ryan gosling so well. also the fact that stephanie hsu was in it? love to see it

[wonwunss]

–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ In a world where Choi Seungcheol commands boardrooms with sharp words and sharper standards, no one dares get close—until her.

To everyone else, he’s a calm, calculating CEO. But behind closed doors, it’s her voice that grounds him, her presence that quiets the noise.

pairing: CEO!seungcheol x f!reader

genre: fluff, CEO au, established relationship, comfort and emotional vulnerability, acts of service and gift giving, luxury setting, “just because” affection, clingy couple energy

word count: 2.1k

a/n: may this kind of love find me 🫣🫣😍

The meeting room was too loud for how little anyone was saying.

Seungcheol sat at the head of the table, not speaking, just watching. His expression didn’t give much away—but those who worked under him knew the silence was dangerous. And the flick of his pen against the glossy report file? A quiet warning shot.

“Redo this,” he said, voice low and measured, but with an edge sharp enough to silence the room.

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t stay to hear excuses.

By the time he was back in his office, the ticking inside his head had grown unbearable. Deadlines, investors, expectations—stacked up like dominoes waiting to collapse. His fingers itched to loosen the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t. Not yet. He reached for his phone instead, already knowing who he needed.

He didn’t even think. Just pressed call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hi, Cheol.”

His breath left him all at once. A slow, quiet exhale, as if he hadn’t realized how tight his chest had been until he heard her voice.

“…Hey,” he said, a little rougher than he intended.

“Tough day?” she asked softly, like she already knew. She always knew.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds painted slats of gold across his sharp features, but they softened, ever so slightly, with each second of her voice in his ear.

“The usual,” he muttered. “Numbers didn’t add up. People didn’t listen. You’re the only thing making sense today.”

She laughed—gentle and warm. “I hope that’s not just the exhaustion talking.”

“It’s not,” he replied instantly, and the speed of his answer made her go quiet for a second.

His eyes fluttered open. He stared out the window at the city skyline, but it wasn’t the view that grounded him. It was her.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said after a beat. “I just… needed to hear you.”

“You never bother me.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was the kind that comforted, not strained.

“I wish I was there,” she added.

And God, he wished the same.

There were things he couldn’t say during the day. Not to his staff, not to anyone. He wasn’t cruel—just meticulous, precise. No-nonsense. And if that made people keep their distance, all the better. It made things easier.

Except when it came to her. With her, everything unraveled in the best way.

His shoulders finally slumped. “I’m in my office.”

“Lights off, sleeves rolled up?” she teased lightly.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You know me too well.”

“I do.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then— “Talk to me,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter what. Just… keep talking.”

So she did. She told him about her day, about the weird dream she had the night before, about the cat she saw perched dramatically on a taxi roof downtown. And Seungcheol—CEO, perfectionist, powerful—sat back and let her voice pour through the cracks of his armor like sunlight through broken blinds.

He didn’t need fixing. He just needed her. And somehow, without even trying, she was enough to make the world feel a little less loud.

The clock on the wall blinked 2:14 AM in soft red light.

Seungcheol unlocked the front door with a weary sigh, the click of the handle almost deafening in the stillness of the apartment. The kind of silence that stretched long after a day like his—after meetings gone sideways and numbers that danced too close to disaster.

He slipped his shoes off slowly, rolling his neck with a wince. Every muscle in his body ached from hours of tension, and all he had wanted by the end of it was to walk into the quiet, undisturbed dark and pass out.

But the lamp in the living room was on.

And so was she.

Curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around her like armor, feet tucked beneath her. She blinked drowsily up at him, eyes soft and warm and a little guilty.

“…Hi,” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

He blinked, not quite believing she was real for a moment. “You’re still awake?”

“You told me not to wait,” she murmured, pushing the blanket off her lap. “I tried. I really did.”

Seungcheol swallowed, guilt twisting somewhere low in his chest. He stepped closer, kneeling in front of her wordlessly.

“I didn’t want you to be tired,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You have your presentation tomorrow.”

“And you had the kind of day that would’ve driven anyone else to put their fist through a wall,” she countered softly, resting her hand over his. “I wasn’t going to sleep not knowing how you were doing.”

His jaw clenched—not from anger, but the effort of keeping his emotions in check. Her voice, even this late, still made him feel like the tension in his bones was finally loosening. She always had that effect on him.

“You shouldn’t have waited,” he said again, but this time it came out gentler, almost pleading.

She just smiled, the kind of tired smile that still felt like home. “And you shouldn’t have to come back to an empty apartment after a day like that.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. Because she was right.

Without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Her hands came up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. He felt like he could finally breathe.

“I missed you,” he said, voice a whisper against her lips.

“I’m right here.”

And she was. Warm and real and everything good in his life.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing her in, her presence calming the storm still lingering beneath his skin. Eventually, she tugged him toward the couch, and he followed, letting her wrap the blanket around both of them. His head dropped to her shoulder, and for the first time all day, he let his guard down.

Not the CEO. Not the man everyone walked on eggshells around.

Just Seungcheol. Just hers.

And when she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and whispered, “You did your best today,” that was all he needed.

He finally closed his eyes.

The presentation had gone better than she expected.

There had been nerves—of course there had. The weight of all those eyes on her, the pressure to deliver something flawless after weeks of late nights and revisions. But the moment it ended, and the conference room erupted in polite applause, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

Relief washed over her in waves.

Still, as she walked out of the building, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only exhaustion behind. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly, the mid-morning sun warming her cheeks.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against the hood of his car, hair slightly tousled from the wind, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, sunglasses pushed into his hair. A paper bag in one hand, a drink carrier in the other.

And a bouquet of her favorite flowers cradled in the crook of his arm.

She froze, heart stuttering.

He looked up from his phone, then smiled when he saw her. The smile—the one that was just for her. The one he never wore in meetings or in boardrooms or in front of anyone else.

Her feet moved on instinct, almost running by the time she reached him.

“You—” she began, breathless. “What—?”

Seungcheol handed her the bouquet before she could finish.

“For your nerves,” he said casually, like showing up outside her office before 11AM with her favorite drink and a fresh raspberry croissant was normal. “And because I know you skipped breakfast.”

She blinked down at the flowers in her arms, the familiar colors and soft petals almost making her emotional. “Cheol…”

He held up the coffee. “Extra shot of vanilla. Just how you like it.”

She took it slowly, like if she moved too fast the whole moment might disappear.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply. “That’s why I wanted to.”

His voice was quieter now. More tender. “You did good today. I’m proud of you.”

And just like that, everything she’d been holding together all morning threatened to unravel. The late nights, the self-doubt, the mental notes scribbled at 2AM—it all felt worth it, just to hear those words from him.

“I didn’t think you’d be up,” she whispered.

He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t gonna miss this. Not after you stayed up for me.”

She smiled, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay. “You’re unfair.”

“I know,” he said with a soft grin. “But I’m cute, so you’ll forgive me.”

“Barely.”

He chuckled, and then pulled her gently into his arms, careful not to crush the flowers. She melted against his chest, his scent grounding her in the quietest, sweetest way.

“I love you,” she mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

His grip around her tightened. “I know. I love you too.”

The restaurant they headed to afterwards was the kind of place you didn’t find on Google Maps.

It didn’t need reviews. It didn’t need ads. The kind of place where your name alone got you a table—and Seungcheol’s name carried more weight than most.

Tucked into the top floor of an art gallery building, the restaurant opened out into floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The air smelled of aged wine and freshly baked truffle bread. Gentle jazz played in the background, echoing off warm mahogany panels and velvet-draped walls.

When the hostess saw them walk in—his hand on the small of her back, her fingers curled into the front of his shirt—she bowed deeply, almost reverently.

“Welcome back, Mr. Choi. Your usual table?”

He nodded once, eyes flickering down to the woman beside him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Their table wasn’t in the center of the room. It was nestled into a corner, semi-enclosed by sheer drapes, with an uninterrupted view of the skyline. Private. Quiet. Safe.

And instead of sitting opposite her, Seungcheol guided her to the inside of the half-moon shaped booth, sliding in right beside her like it was second nature.

Because it was.

Their knees touched. Their shoulders bumped. His hand immediately found hers under the table.

“You’re really spoiling me today,” she said with a small laugh, glancing around at the gold-rimmed plates and the personalized menu printed with her name.

“You deserve it,” he said, simple as anything. “You killed it today.”

She blushed, tucking her face into his shoulder for a second before peeking up at him again. “So… just how expensive is this place?”

Seungcheol smirked. “You don’t want to know.”

“That bad?”

“Let’s just say…” he leaned in, brushing his nose against her temple, “I could’ve bought us a weekend in Paris. But you looked too pretty to make wait for a plane.”

She gawked at him, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Worth it,” he said with a grin, catching her wrist and pulling her hand back to intertwine with his again. “Every cent.”

The waiter came and went like a ghost—present only to refill wine glasses and deliver each artful course with quiet precision. Caviar with crème fraîche. Handmade pasta rolled so thin it nearly dissolved on the tongue. Wagyu that melted the moment it touched her mouth.

But Seungcheol only had eyes for her.

“You always look at me like that,” she murmured at some point, cheeks still warm from the wine and the weight of his gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I hung the stars.”

He tilted his head, thumb brushing her knuckles beneath the table. “Because you do. For me, you do.”

She couldn’t say anything to that without her heart falling out of her chest, so she leaned in and kissed him instead—just a short, sweet press of lips that left him smiling against her mouth.

“You know…” he whispered against her cheek, “if you ever want to quit your job and let me pamper you like this every day…”

“Nope,” she laughed, resting her head against his shoulder. “But I’ll let you keep feeding me wagyu if you insist.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But you have to keep looking this proud of yourself. I like this version of you.”

She turned her face slightly toward his neck, murmuring, “You bring it out of me.”

And so they sat—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, the city beneath them, the world hushed around them—and for once, there were no meetings, no presentations, no pressure.

Just him. Just her. Just them.

Exactly where they always came back to.

[mistyechoes]

if only i could care about my writing as much as i care about this silly little project

[formulafanfics13]

Can you please write a fic about how you’re struggling financially (like you’re working 2/3 jobs but you’re about to be evicted or something because it’s still not enough) and don’t want them to know but they find out and obvs want to help you out. You’re reluctant to take it because of pride but they want to show they can provide and look after you. Preferably Max, but Charles, Lando or Oscar would also work. Thanks 💜

Let Me - MV1

Masterlist

summary: you don't tell him you're drowning. not when rent's due, bills are piling up, and your third job just cut your hours. you smile through the exhaustion, joke about being busy, pretend you're fine. but Max isn't stupid. he sees it. and when the truth finally comes out — when he finds the eviction notice crumpled in your bag — he doesn't get mad. he just holds you, looks you in the eyes, and says the one thing you've been too scared to believe: "you never have to go through this alone again." warnings: financial struggle, reader working multiple jobs, eviction notice, emotional exhaustion, pride vs vulnerability, soft protectiveness, comforting Max, crying, lots of hugging, reader doesn't let herself ask for help, but Max helps anyway, no smut

You think you're hiding it well. You make the jokes. Call it a hustle. Say you're grinding. You post your coffee orders and caption them "fuel for the day" like it's cute instead of critical. No one sees the overdraft fees. The red numbers on your screen. The way your chest tightens every time your phone pings because it might be your landlord again.

You work three jobs. Technically. One café, one freelance gig, one night shift at a front desk in a building where no one speaks to you and the floor always smells like bleach.

You say you're tired because you're busy. Because life's hectic. Because you're building something.

You don't say you're tired because you haven't slept properly in weeks, because dinner was three crackers and the last of your peanut butter, because you cried in the bathroom stall at job two when you saw the second "final warning" email come through.

And you don't tell Max. God, you don't tell Max. You're not even sure what you are to Max.

He texts. Calls. Makes time. You've been seeing each other for a few months, private, soft, slow. He's warm and quiet and makes you feel seen. He always holds your face like you're something delicate. Like he knows you're pretending not to break.

But he's Max Verstappen. He lives in Monaco. He wins races. His apartment has underfloor heating and a fridge you're pretty sure costs more than your entire student loan.

And you're behind on rent. Again.

The lie starts to fall apart on a Tuesday. You cancel dinner. Again. Tell him you're slammed with a deadline. He says he understands, but his voice is tighter than usual. Then you fall asleep during a FaceTime call. He doesn't wake you, just hangs up gently and texts "you looked like you needed it" an hour later.

Then you miss his race. The one you promised you'd watch live.

You were at the front desk, half-asleep, trying not to cry because you'd just calculated that even with next week's paycheck, you'll still be 300 short.

When you wake up, he's texted you the podium photo. "This one was for you." You cry so hard in your bathtub you forget to eat.

Friday, he surprises you. You don't expect it. You're in your third job uniform, faded polo, tired eyes, hair in a bun. You open the apartment door expecting your Uber Eats.

It's Max.

"Hi," he says, soft. His eyes scan your face. "You okay?"

You blink. "What are you- how did you-?"

"You weren't answering," he says. "I got worried."

Your throat tightens.

"I'm fine," you lie. "Just- busy. You know."

He nods, slow. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate. The place is a mess. There's a stack of unopened bills on the table. A sink full of dishes. Your work bag crumpled in the corner, torn zipper barely hiding the pile of final warnings and the red-and-white eviction notice stuffed inside.

You step aside anyway. He walks in slowly. Quietly. You don't look at him as you tidy frantically, sweeping mail under a magazine, tossing a hoodie over the overdue rent notice.

But he sees it. He crouches down to pick up your work bag and the notice falls out. You freeze. He picks it up. Reads it. Doesn't say anything.

"Max-"

"Is this real?"

You turn away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks.

"I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like someone who can't keep their life together."

He exhales. Hard. Walks over, gently takes your chin and lifts your gaze to his. "You work three jobs," he says. "You run yourself into the ground. You never complain. That's not someone falling apart. That's someone who's been strong for way too fucking long."

You shake your head. "I didn't want your money."

"I'm not offering you money. I'm offering you me."

You choke back a sob. "You don't understand. I've been doing this alone for so long. I can't just let someone swoop in and fix it."

"I'm not trying to fix you." His hands cradle your face now, thumbs brushing tears you didn't realize were falling. "I just want to help carry it. All of it. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

Your breath breaks. Your knees almost give out. He catches you. Holds you like it's instinct. Like his arms were made to be your safe place.

"I don't want to be a burden," you whisper.

"You're not. You never could be."

You bury your face in his shoulder. Cry. Shake. Let it all fall apart for the first time in weeks. And he stays. He doesn't let go.

Later, you sit on the couch wrapped in one of his hoodies, holding tea you didn't have to make yourself. He's beside you, hand warm on your thigh, thumb brushing gentle circles. "I'll sort the rent," he says quietly. "You don't have to say yes now. But I want you to know it's already done if you need it."

You nod. Silent. Grateful in a way that aches. "I can't lose myself," you whisper.

"You won't," he promises. "You'll just have someone to lean on when it gets too heavy."

And for the first time in forever, you believe it.

[whosashan]

PINKY PROMISES AND BUTTERFLY KISSES

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader

SYNOPSIS: Cute, random scenarios with him.

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

The night stretched infinitely above you, a canvas of midnight blue dusted with constellations. The stars shimmered like tiny beacons, their glow casting faint silver reflections onto the quiet city streets below. A soft breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the distant hum of life still moving beneath you.

Seated atop the roof of your apartment complex, you let your gaze drift over the endless sky, momentarily lost in its quiet splendor. The chaos of the city, the ever-rushing currents of people, deadlines, and responsibilities—it all faded in moments like these. Up here, time seemed to slow, offering a rare pocket of stillness. And beside you, sprawled out without a care in the world, was Xavier.

His head rested lazily against his arm, strands of pale hair catching the glow of his Evol—the soft, luminous energy forming a delicate rabbit that playfully bounced along his chest. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a rare warmth as he watched the small creature flicker and jump.

"You haven’t touched your food," you pointed out, nudging the untouched slice of cake beside him. A mission was successful, and tonight was supposed to be a quiet celebration—just the two of you, away from prying eyes, from duty, from everything except the sound of each other’s voices.

Xavier hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head slightly before finally taking a small bite. He chewed thoughtfully, and for a moment, the usual cool and composed expression he wore melted into something almost childlike—his brows lifted ever so slightly, as if the sweetness had taken him by surprise.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

"Hey, Xavier," you murmured after a moment, your voice softer, almost wistful. "Do you think the stars are watching us?"

Silence stretched between you for a beat, but when you turned to look at him, you found he was already watching you.

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch—like you were something rare, something treasured. His usual composed expression was softened by the faintest of smiles, his gaze cradling you in something that felt achingly tender.

"I think they do," he finally said, voice hushed yet certain. "They’ve witnessed wars, empires rising and falling, history shaping itself over centuries. But I’d like to believe that this moment, right here, is their favorite."

A quiet rush of warmth spread through you, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Your lips parted slightly, a blush creeping along your skin, but words failed you.

So instead, you slid closer, shifting to lay beside him. The warmth of his body enveloped you instantly, his scent—clean soap, faint traces of linen and something inherently him—wrapping around you like a second skin. He didn’t hesitate to pull you closer, his arms instinctively finding their place around you, as if you belonged there.

A featherlight kiss brushed against your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your eyes flutter shut.

"Then let’s make it worth watching," you whispered against him, your voice barely above a breath.

And with only the stars as your silent witnesses, love bloomed in the quiet, unhurried space between heartbeats.

Zayne

Mornings like these were the ones you cherished most—waking up in the quiet embrace of your lover, wrapped in each other's warmth, with the rest of the world feeling miles away.

"Good morning, love," Zayne’s voice was low and rough with sleep, a sound reserved only for you, intimate and unguarded.

"Morning, honey," you hummed, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you shifted slightly to take in the sight of him.

His dark hair was tousled, the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the curtains casting delicate shadows across his features. There was something disarming about seeing him like this—his usually composed demeanor softened by sleep, his sharp eyes still heavy with drowsiness.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. His gaze, deep and unspoken, was filled with a quiet reverence, as if he were committing every detail of you to memory.

You lay there for a while, talking in hushed tones about your dreams, about how neither of you wanted to leave the comfort of the bed just yet. The outside world could wait—this moment, this stillness, was yours.

Eventually, Zayne exhaled a quiet sigh. "I think it’s time we get up." His voice held the barest hint of reluctance as he made a slow attempt to shift out from under the duvet.

But you weren’t having it. Before he could move an inch, you latched onto him like a koala, wrapping yourself around him, preventing his escape.

"Just five more minutes," you mumbled against the warmth of his neck, your grip tightening around him.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he returned the embrace, his arms securing you effortlessly against him.

Five minutes turned into ten. Then twenty. Then thirty.

It was unlike Dr. Zayne to linger in bed for so long, yet he found himself unable to move, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing, the steady thrum of your heartbeat against him. For once, time didn’t feel like something slipping through his fingers—it simply stood still, cradling the two of you in its quiet grasp.

When you finally pulled yourselves from the warmth of the sheets, the morning unfolded at an unhurried pace.

Zayne moved through the kitchen with effortless ease, making coffee for the both of you while you perched yourself on the counter, still wrapped in his shirt. He stole glances at you every so often, his expression unreadable yet unmistakably fond.

You, however, took every opportunity to tease him—nudging him with your foot as he prepared the coffee, clinging to his side whenever he tried to move, and stealing quick kisses that made the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. His responses were quiet—small, knowing smiles, the occasional shake of his head, and a warmth in his eyes that spoke louder than words.

There was no rush, no obligations pressing against your morning. Just the two of you, utterly consumed by the simplicity of being together.

Later, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, your coffee cups resting half-forgotten on the table. Zayne sat reading one of his many medical books, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. But you had other plans.

Without a word, you nestled yourself between his legs, resting your head against his chest.

He didn’t question it—didn’t hesitate for a second. With a soft exhale, he placed the book aside, his fingers moving instinctively to thread through your hair, slow and soothing.

A long moment passed before he spoke, his voice quieter than usual, as if the words were something fragile. "I love you."

Your heart warmed at the rare softness in his tone. You tilted your head slightly, tracing lazy circles against his chest. "I love you more."

He huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And in the tranquil hush of the morning, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you knew—this was home.

Rafayel

You sat quietly beside Rafayel, the soft scratch of his pencil against paper filling the tranquil space between you. He was sketching something, fully engrossed in his work, while you absentmindedly occupied yourself, letting the peaceful silence settle around you.

But then, you felt it—his gaze lingering on you, burning softly against your skin.

"You’re staring," you remarked without looking up, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips as a faint warmth dusted your cheeks.

"You’re making it rather difficult not to," he replied effortlessly, his voice smooth, laced with that ever-present confidence.

You turned to face him, catching the slight amusement in his eyes, and let out a small huff. "Well, it’s rude to stare." You made a show of covering your face with your hands, only for him to gently pry them away, his fingers warm against yours.

"Sue me for wanting to admire my favorite piece of art," he murmured, his tone both playful and sincere.

Your blush deepened at his words, and he clearly noticed, judging by the smirk curving his lips.

"What’s up with you and all this teasing today?" you asked, though there was no real protest in your voice—just fond exasperation.

He chuckled, the sound deep and velvety, before reaching over to pinch your cheek. "Can’t help it, cutie. Just speaking the truth."

Rolling your eyes, you ruffled his carefully styled hair in retaliation, giggling when his expression twisted into pure horror.

"I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning," he gasped, dramatically pouting as if you had personally wounded him.

"Oh no, what a tragedy," you mused, grinning.

"What, you’re going to punch me in the face next?" he quipped, his dramatics only making you laugh harder.

Instead of responding, you grabbed his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks together and playfully mushing them around. "Forgive me, baby," you cooed before pressing a flurry of tiny kisses across his face, earning a quiet intake of breath from him.

His ears turned a subtle shade of pink, but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat. "You’re forgiven. This time," he muttered, though his hands lingered on yours.

And then, before you could react, he snatched a paintbrush from the table and dragged a bold streak of color across your cheek.

"Hey!" you gasped, staring at him in disbelief.

"But payback is still necessary," he smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The playful back-and-forth between you was effortless, a refreshing break from the routine of daily life. Moments like these—lighthearted, filled with laughter and mischief—made you cherish the presence of your lover even more.

Sylus

The rain drummed steadily against the window, a rhythmic symphony of soft patters and distant rumbles. The glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as you and Sylus lounged on the couch, wrapped in the kind of warmth that only a quiet night in could bring.

He had insisted—rather arrogantly—that he could rent out an entire cinema for just the two of you. But you had refused, craving something more intimate, more real. And now, curled up against him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder as you animatedly commented on the movie, you knew you had made the right choice.

Then, without warning, everything was swallowed by darkness.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively clutched onto Sylus, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"The thunderstorm must have knocked out the power..." you murmured, a tinge of disappointment creeping into your voice.

You hesitated before untangling yourself from his warmth and standing up. "I'll get some candles," you announced, feeling your way through the shadows toward the drawer where you kept them. The strike of a match flared briefly, casting a soft glow across the room before the candles came to life, their warm flickering light breathing coziness into the space. Shadows danced across the walls, their movements gentle and fluid, creating a contrast between the storm raging outside and the quiet intimacy within.

You turned back to Sylus, watching as the golden light kissed his sharp features. His expression remained unreadable—neither irritated nor amused, just... calculating.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you sank back onto the couch beside him. "So much for wanting to spend alone time with you," you pouted.

He finally reacted, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "The night's still young," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate. His gaze slid to you, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. "You still have those cards you stole from Luke and Kieran, don’t you?"

Your jaw dropped. "I didn't steal them!" you shot back indignantly, though the guilty flicker in your expression betrayed you. He merely raised an eyebrow. Huffing, you got up anyway and retrieved the deck from your room, returning with a dramatic flourish.

"So, what? You actually want to play cards with me?" you asked, skeptical.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took the deck from your hands and started shuffling, his movements smooth, practiced. The cards whispered against one another as they slipped effortlessly between his fingers.

"Let's make it interesting," he proposed, his smirk deepening. "Winner gets to ask one thing from the loser."

Your eyes narrowed at him, the spark of competition igniting in your chest. "Deal."

Several rounds passed, and much to your growing frustration, Sylus won nearly every single one. You glared at him as he leaned back, exuding the smug satisfaction of a man who had predicted this outcome all along.

"I can’t believe you won again!" you groaned, throwing your cards down in defeat.

"A deal’s a deal, sweetie." His voice was smooth, dangerously low as he shifted closer, his gaze never wavering from yours.

Your stomach tightened. He was too close now, the heat of his body radiating against you, his eyes dark and full of something unreadable—something intoxicating.

"..Fine," you relented, exhaling shakily. "What do you want, then?"

He leaned in, his movements slow, deliberate. The air between you crackled with anticipation. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, "A kiss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. His voice was low, velvet-smooth, laced with the barest hint of amusement—like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You swallowed, the heat rushing to your cheeks almost unbearable. But instead of complying right away, you decided to tease him. Tilting your head slightly, you placed a soft, feather-light kiss on his cheek, then pulled back, feigning innocence.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, without warning, his hand slid to your jaw, fingers firm yet gentle as he tilted your face toward his.

"Don't tease me, kitten," he murmured before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was intense yet achingly tender, stealing the breath right from your lungs. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, as if savoring the moment, as if claiming it. A quiet gasp escaped you as warmth pooled deep within you, a sensation so dizzying that your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Outside, the storm raged on. But in that moment, all you could feel was him.

Caleb

You arrived at Caleb’s apartment in Skyhaven unannounced, a spontaneous visit fueled by the simple desire to see him. The moment he opened the door, a flicker of surprise crossed his face before it melted into something warmer—something undeniably thrilled.

His apartment felt different now, softer, more lived-in, ever since you had made it your personal mission to bring some warmth into the space. A few well-placed candles, a cozy throw blanket draped over the couch, and the scent of vanilla lingering in the air—it all felt more like home now, a home the two of you had unconsciously built together.

While Caleb busied himself in the kitchen, preparing dinner with the effortless ease he always had, you wandered through the rooms, taking in the familiar yet ever-intriguing details of his space. That’s when your eyes landed on something unexpected.

A pink envelope.

It rested on his nightstand, slightly askew as if placed there with care yet forgotten. A neatly drawn heart was scrawled across the front. Your brow furrowed at the sight. Someone had given him this? Had someone confessed to him?

The rational part of you knew it was foolish to feel the sudden pang of jealousy creeping into your chest, but the idea of someone else professing their feelings for him—it gnawed at you. Caleb was attractive, undeniably so, and people always seemed to gravitate toward him. Still, you had never given much thought to the possibility of an anonymous admirer.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers closed around the envelope, and you carefully pulled out the letter inside.

You shouldn't have done it. You knew that. But curiosity was an irresistible force, and the need to know was overwhelming.

Your eyes scanned the page, absorbing the elegant strokes of his handwriting.

“[...] I don’t know when it happened—when laughter in treehouses and late-night whispers turned into something deeper.

Maybe it was always there, tucked between our inside jokes and the way you always seemed to understand me without words [...]

Always yours,

Caleb.”

Your breath hitched.

The jealousy that had curled in your stomach only moments ago twisted into something entirely different. It was for you.

A quiet gasp left your lips as the realization dawned. Judging by the wording, it had to be old—perhaps written before he had ever found the courage to tell you how he felt.

Heat flushed through you, guilt creeping in for prying into something so personal, yet another feeling settled in right beside it. A slow, blooming warmth in your chest. He had loved you so deeply, so quietly, even back then.

"You really shouldn't snoop around, pipsqueak."

The low timbre of his voice behind you made you jump, the letter nearly slipping from your fingers. Before you could react, Caleb plucked it from your grasp, his expression unreadable as his eyes flicked over the familiar words.

"Caleb—I'm sorry," you blurted out, words tumbling over each other in your rush to explain. "I didn’t mean to… I just thought that—"

A sudden chuckle cut you off, followed by a gentle pinch to your nose. You blinked up at him, startled.

He was laughing.

"I’m not mad," he said, his smirk deepening as he folded the letter between his fingers. "But I guess now you also owe me a love letter, hm?"

The teasing lilt in his voice made your heart stutter, and you rolled your eyes before giving him a playful punch on the arm.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see."

And wait he did.

One day, much later, a letter arrived for him—deliberately placed where he would find it.

Caleb never said a word about it, but from that night on, he kept it tucked beneath his pillow. A quiet, constant reminder that it wasn’t all a dream.

That you were his.

[theambitiouswoman]

How To Become A Brand New Person ✨✨

Self Reflect:

Journal daily.

Think about past decisions and how they impacted your life.

Meditate regularly.

Create a vision board to visualize your goals.

Review your strengths and weaknesses.

Identify your core values and beliefs.

Figure out your passions and interests.

Think about your childhood dreams and aspirations.

Evaluate your current state of happiness and fulfillment.

Set Clear Goals:

Define specific career goals, like "Get promoted within two years."

Set health goals, like "Lose 20 pounds in six months."

Create financial goals such as "Save $10,000 for a vacation."

Establish personal development goals, like "Read 24 books in a year."

Set relationship goals, such as "Improve communication with my partner."

Define education goals, like "Complete a master's degree in three years."

Set travel goals, like "Visit five new countries in the next two years."

Create hobbies and interests goals, such as "Learn to play a musical instrument."

Set community or volunteer goals, like "Volunteer 100 hours this year."

Establish mindfulness or self-care goals, such as "Practice meditation daily."

Self Care:

Exercise for at least 30 minutes a day.

Follow a balanced diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables.

Prioritize getting 7-9 hours of quality sleep each night.

Practice in relaxation techniques like deep breathing or yoga.

Take regular breaks at work to avoid burnout.

Schedule "me time" for activities you enjoy.

Limit exposure to stressors and toxic people.

Practice regular skincare and grooming routines.

Seek regular medical check-ups and screenings.

Stay hydrated by drinking enough water daily.

Personal Development:

Read a book every month from various genres.

Attend workshops or seminars on topics of interest.

Learn a new language or musical instrument.

Take online courses to acquire new skills.

Set aside time for daily reflection and self improvement.

Seek a mentor in your field for guidance.

Attend conferences and networking events.

Start a side project or hobby to expand your abilities.

Practice public speaking or communication skills.

Do creative activities like painting, writing, or photography.

Create a Support System:

Build a close knit group of friends who uplift and inspire you.

Join clubs or organizations aligned with your interests.

Connect with a mentor or life coach.

Attend family gatherings to maintain bonds.

Be open and honest in your communication with loved ones.

Seek advice from trusted colleagues or supervisors.

Attend support groups for specific challenges (e.g., addiction recovery).

Cultivate online connections through social media.

Find a therapist or counselor for emotional support.

Participate in community or volunteer activities to meet like minded people.

Change Habits:

Cut back on sugary or processed foods.

Reduce screen time and increase physical activity.

Practice gratitude by keeping a daily journal.

Manage stress through mindfulness meditation.

Limit procrastination by setting specific deadlines.

Reduce negative self-talk by practicing self-compassion.

Establish a regular exercise routine.

Create a budget and stick to it.

Develop a morning and evening routine for consistency.

Overcome Fear and Self Doubt:

Face a specific fear head-on (example: public speaking).

Challenge your negative thoughts with positive affirmations.

Seek therapy to address underlying fears or traumas.

Take small, calculated risks to build confidence.

Visualize success in challenging situations.

Surround yourself with supportive and encouraging people.

Journal about your fears and doubts to gain clarity.

Celebrate your accomplishments, no matter how small.

Focus on your strengths and accomplishments.

Embrace failure as a valuable learning experience.

Embrace Change:

Relocate to a new city or country.

Switch careers or industries to pursue your passion.

Take on leadership roles in your workplace.

Volunteer for projects outside your comfort zone.

Embrace new technologies and digital tools.

Travel to unfamiliar destinations.

Start a new hobby or creative endeavor.

Change your daily routine to add variety.

Adjust your mindset to see change as an opportunity.

Seek out diverse perspectives and viewpoints.

Practice Gratitude:

Write down three things you're grateful for each day.

Express gratitude to loved ones regularly.

Create a gratitude jar and add notes of appreciation.

Reflect on the positive aspects of challenging situations.

Show gratitude by volunteering or helping others in need.

Send thank-you notes or messages to people who've helped you.

Keep a gratitude journal and review it regularly.

Share your gratitude openly during family meals or gatherings.

Focus on the present moment and appreciate the little things.

Practice gratitude even in times of adversity.

Be Patient:

Set realistic expectations for your progress.

Accept that personal growth takes time.

Focus on the journey rather than the destination.

Learn from setbacks and view them as opportunities to improve.

Celebrate small milestones along the way.

Practice self-compassion during challenging times.

Stay committed to your goals, even when progress is slow.

Keep a journal to track your personal growth.

Recognize that patience is a valuable skill in personal transformation.

Celebrate Small Wins:

Treat yourself to your favorite meal or dessert.

Reward yourself with a spa day or self-care activity.

Share your achievements with friends and loved ones.

Create a vision board to visualize your successes.

Acknowledge and congratulate yourself in a journal.

Give yourself permission to take a break and relax.

Display reminders of your accomplishments in your workspace.

Take a day off to celebrate a major milestone.

Host a small gathering to mark your achievements.

Set aside time to reflect on how far you've come.

Maintain Balance:

Set clear boundaries in your personal and work life.

Prioritize self care activities in your daily routine.

Schedule regular breaks and downtime.

Learn to say "no" when necessary to avoid overcommitment.

Evaluate your work life balance regularly.

Seek support from friends and family to avoid burnout.

Be kind to yourself and accept imperfections.

Practice mindfulness to stay present and grounded.

Revisit your priorities and adjust them as needed.

Embrace self love and self acceptance as part of your daily life.

[vibeswithdivs]

you don’t mess around - OP81

If you had to describe your job in three words, they’d be: pressure, precision, and absolutely no room for mistakes.

You managed the money that kept McLaren running. Not in the sense of counting coins in a dusty room — no, you lived in digital dashboards and currency exposure spreadsheets. On any given day, you could tell someone how much was in the Swiss account, how the yen was affecting the Singapore deal, and whether a facility payment was going to clear before a supplier had a panic attack.

The job was about timing. Liquidity. Predicting the unpredictable and safeguarding the team’s future — all while juggling numbers with razor-sharp accuracy.

Which is why when a race car driver wandered into your high-stakes, number-heavy corner of the building on a calm Wednesday morning, you stared at him like he’d stepped into a Bond film by mistake.

He paused just inside the glass doors — tall, hoodie-clad, faintly windblown from the chilly British air outside — and looked around with a furrowed brow.

Definitely lost.

Your colleagues peeked over their screens, some wide-eyed, others frozen mid-email. In this room, the loudest thing was usually someone’s keyboard when they were panicking before a deadline.

You were about to go back to calculating rolling cash positions when he spotted you.

He smiled.

It wasn’t a polite PR-smile. It was curious. Warm. Maybe a little amused.

“This definitely isn’t Aerodynamics,” he said, glancing around.

You took your hand off your mouse and leaned back slightly in your chair. “Unless they’ve suddenly decided to start hedging foreign currency risk, no — you’re a few wrong turns deep.”

He took a cautious step in. “It’s… quiet in here.”

You tilted your head. “Not when the dollar drops half a percent during a five-million-pound contract negotiation.”

He grinned at that. “Sounds intense.”

You offered a thin smile. “That’s one word for it.”

There was a beat. Then he added, “I’m supposed to be meeting Zak, but I think I took a wrong left somewhere between partnerships and… whatever room had seventeen monitors and no windows.”

You stood, brushing off your skirt. “You’re about four corridors off course and six floors deep into stress.”

He looked around. “Well, if I’m going to get lost, at least I ended up somewhere interesting.”

You blinked at him. “You’re the first person to say that about this room. Ever.”

He gave a half-grin, toeing one foot on the floor like he was trying to kill time. “So what do you actually do in here?”

You pointed to your screen, where a live dashboard showed inflows, outflows, and forecasts across multiple international entities. “See that? That’s how much is available in five different currencies to fund race weekend logistics without breaking any laws or overdraft limits.”

Oscar leaned slightly forward, genuinely intrigued. “And you just… know how to do that?”

“I know how to make sure no one gets a call from legal,” you said, turning your gaze back to him. “Including you.”

He laughed, a genuine, caught-off-guard sound. “Wow. You guys are the quiet enforcers.”

“Quiet, precise, and very well-documented,” you replied smoothly. “We don’t leave fingerprints — just audit trails.”

That earned a low whistle. “You don’t mess around.”

“No, but people sometimes think we do — right up until they want to order a new hospitality suite and we say, ‘not unless you want to explain that to Finance.’”

He looked impressed. “Duly noted.”

Another colleague passed behind you, giving Oscar a side-eye like he was a Martian. You cleared your throat and took a step forward, suddenly feeling aware of just how much of the room was pretending not to eavesdrop.

“You’re Oscar,” you said, a little more grounded now.

“And you are…?”

“Y/N,” you replied. “I work in… let’s call it future-proofing.”

That made him pause. “I like that.”

“It sounds less terrifying than ‘I manage the operational cash forecasts for a multimillion-pound motorsport empire,’” you added with a wink.

He smirked. “A motorsport empire, huh?”

“You guys play chess with tires. I play chess with the economy.”

He laughed again, and the sound of it — relaxed, amused, intrigued — felt like a weird sort of reward after a morning spent reviewing intercompany transfers.

“You actually like this stuff?” he asked, pointing at your screen.

You tilted your head. “You like driving into a corner at 200kph hoping your grip calculations are right?”

“…Fair.”

At that moment, a harried admin appeared behind him. “Oscar! There you are — Zak’s been waiting—”

Oscar turned slightly but didn’t move. “Got a little sidetracked.”

The admin blinked at you, surprised. You offered a tight-lipped smile and a “don’t you dare start” eyebrow raise before turning back to him.

“Back to the track?” you asked lightly.

“Back to pretending I know what my engineer is talking about.”

You smiled, unexpectedly. “Fake it till you podium.”

He chuckled. “Hey, Y/N?”

You raised a brow.

“I’m glad I got lost,” he said. “Most detours don’t come with financial sass and a global cash position overview.”

“Flirting with the girl who can freeze team spending is bold,” you replied, smirking.

He shrugged, taking a few steps toward the door. “I’ve raced in Monaco. I like high-risk strategies.”

Before leaving, he turned back over his shoulder, grin softening into something more sincere. “I’ll come back. But next time, I’ll bring coffee. You seem like you don’t take sugar, but I’ll gamble.”

You blinked, not used to someone reading you that quickly.

“…Black. No sugar,” you said after a beat.

He pointed, victorious. “Knew it.”

And with that, he slipped out of the room — leaving behind a trail of confusion, amusement, and a string of open-mouthed stares from your colleagues.

You sat down, turned back to your screen, and tried — very unsuccessfully — to remember what currency hedge you were working on.

But all your brain could supply was: He got your coffee order right.

And maybe… just maybe… some risks were worth taking.

[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part two)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k

warnings: even more slowburn than before lol, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: part 2 finally here !!!! guys, i think i'll complete it in one more part, we haven't even got to the juicy parts, they're both still Realising their feelings for each other i'm really taking the slowburn to another level :'D posting this now since i have a busy weekend ahead and it'll take some time for the final part to come out, so enjoy <3

nine.

jake wasn't sure when he started noticing the small things.

it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't some grand realization, some epiphany that crashed into him like a runaway train. no, it was more like a slow leak in the ceiling – subtle at first, barely noticeable, until one day, he looked up and realized the whole thing was caving in.

you were still there. still at your desk. still doing your job. but something had changed.

for one, you no longer lingered.

before, you used to wait by his desk after reminding him of a meeting, hovering until he actually got up because you knew how prone he was to getting lost in his own head. you used to place his coffee just within reach of his right hand, knowing that he’d grab it without looking. you used to let out these small sighs when he worked through lunch, before eventually caving and placing a takeout container beside him with an exasperated, “at least eat before you starve.”

but now? now, you just told him his schedule and left. you still got his lunch, but it was left on the side of his desk, impersonal. you still reminded him about meetings, but you never waited for him to actually stand up. and the worst part? he knew it was because of him. because he had snapped at you. because he had made you feel like you had overstepped when, in reality, you were just doing what you had always done – taking care of him.

the guilt sat heavy in his stomach.

well, he had got what he had wanted, right? he had told you to stop caring, to make yourself scarce, and you were doing just that. you were back to being background noise again, the week before had probably just been a blip in time. maybe none of it had even happened – he hadn’t been late to his meeting, he hadn’t spent an entire evening with you sorting through his emails, he hadn’t brought you coffee like a delirious fool. he hadn’t snapped at you – acknowledged your efforts and put you down regardless.

there’s a law in physics, the law of unintended consequences.

jake had spent his life studying the rules that governed the universe. he had built entire theories on cause and effect, on how one action – one force – could change the course of everything around it. but there was a gap in every equation, an unpredictable variable that not even the most meticulous calculations could predict.

it was a rule he had known but never thought to apply to his own life.

and yet, here he was, watching as you followed the letter of his words but not the spirit. he had wanted distance. he had told you as much in sharp, thoughtless words. he had thought, idiotically, that space would bring things back to how they used to be.

instead, it had set something irreversible in motion.

at first, he told himself it was fine. he had bigger things to focus on, deadlines to meet, research papers to finalize. but the problem with noticing something was that you couldn’t stop noticing it. you were efficient, precise, the perfect assistant; exactly as you had been before.

except now, he felt the absence of you.

before, he never had to wonder if he’d make it to meetings on time. you would wait, standing by his desk with that look, the one that told him you knew he’d ignore you if you gave him even a second of leeway. but now? you simply reminded him and left. no hovering. no pointed sighs. no exasperated nudges to get moving.

and then there was the coffee.

it was a small thing, but jake noticed. before, the cup would be exactly where he needed it, always within reach of his dominant hand. a quiet, unconscious act of care. now? it was placed neatly at the edge of his desk, just out of immediate reach. he had to go out of his way to grab it.

it was ridiculous, the way these tiny details unsettled him.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that he had asked for this. that he shouldn’t be so thrown off by things he never even realized he relied on.

and yet.

he wasn’t sure what did it.

maybe it was the moment he saw you cleaning up a stack of files and, in your hurry, ran your hand along the sharp edge of a paper cutter. you barely reacted, shaking off the small drop of blood, about to move on like nothing happened. but something in jake stilled.

something made him sit still and watch like a creep through the crack of his door as you paused in your actions and moved your finger to your lips, gently sucking on the wound till the bleeding stopped.

it was such a small act. so innocent, something akin to a first aid, but his breath hitched. his breath hitched when his eyes tracked your actions, your hand going back to sorting through files, your wound long forgotten.

his body moved before his mind could catch up, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood.

for the first time in days, you actually looked surprised when he placed a bandaid in your palm instead of just tossing it onto your desk.

“you should be more careful,” he said, his voice coming out gruff, almost scolding.

you blinked at him, clearly thrown off, before your expression shuttered back into polite professionalism. “it’s just a small cut.”

jake clenched his jaw. he knew that. of course he knew that. but that wasn’t the point, was it?

still, you thanked him with a nod, applied the bandaid, and carried on like nothing had happened.

and that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn’t.

because jake, who had always been so good at solving problems, had stumbled upon one that didn’t fit neatly into any equation.

the unintended consequence of his distance wasn’t just that you stopped lingering. it was that he now felt like an observer in his own life, watching as something essential slipped away, and—

and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

jake had never been one to believe in regret. he made decisions, and he lived with them. he adjusted. he recalibrated. he hadn’t cared much when only his mom could make it to his annual school competitions, doing her best to cheer louder, to compensate for the missing person in his life. he hadn’t given two shits when people in high school had stared and pointed at him like he had been an anomaly. not when his overbearing aunts had disguised their praises for him as something he should inherently be able to do to make up for the absence of the person in his life.

he hadn’t wasted time pondering upon silly questions like ‘was i not enough?’ or ‘was i not lovable enough for him to stay?’.

even in his young mind, those had seemed futile questions, ones he would never have an answer to and therefore, not worth his time.

but now, he was finding himself staring too long at the empty space you used to fill. he was realizing that, for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had overlooked the most important one.

he had always thought that if he pushed something away, it would eventually return to its natural place. like gravity pulling a comet back into orbit.

but now, he wasn’t so sure.

now he was actually questioning things – emotions, feelings, hurt.

had he hurt you?

but why would he care? why would he start now? why would you care about him to the point that you would let his ineptitude hurt you?

jake didn’t consider himself the kind of person who fixated on things. he was methodical, pragmatic, someone who could compartmentalize problems into neat little boxes and only open them when absolutely necessary.

but this?

this was a crack in the foundation he hadn’t accounted for.

he told himself it was fine – your distance, your absence, the way you had begun to retreat from him in increments so small he might not have noticed if he weren’t already looking for them. he told himself he had wanted this, and that it didn’t matter.

and yet.

jake found himself watching. noticing. keeping track of the subtle ways you had begun to slip from his periphery, like sand through his fingers.

before, he had always known where you were. even if he wasn’t actively looking, you were just there, orbiting around him in a way that felt natural, unshakable. but now? now, he caught himself scanning the office for you, only to realize you were nowhere nearby. it wasn’t that you weren’t working – you were still efficient, still meticulous, still the perfect assistant – but you were no longer his constant.

the worst part? he had no idea why it bothered him so much.

he kept trying to rationalize it, to shove the thought into a mental folder labeled irrelevant and move on. but it was harder than he expected.

because there were moments, tiny and fleeting, where he thought he caught glimpses of something deeper beneath your polite professionalism. a hesitation before answering him. the way your lips pressed together just slightly when he handed you a stack of papers without so much as a please or thank you. the way you never quite met his eyes for too long anymore.

it had been a series of choices, he realized. small, inconsequential decisions that had snowballed into something much bigger than he had ever intended.

like the way he had dismissed you, snapping at you in a moment of frustration. he hadn’t thought twice about it then – just another conversation, another fleeting exchange in the middle of an exhausting day. but the weight of it lingered, heavy and suffocating, because now he could see the ripple effect in real time.

he had thought pushing you away would return things to normal. instead, it had left him standing in the ruins of something he hadn’t even realized was important to him.

and the most frustrating part? he didn’t know how to fix it.

jake wasn’t used to being at a loss. he had built his life around solutions, around having the answers before anyone even knew there was a problem. but this? this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve with logic or calculations. this was different. this was messy and human and something he didn’t even fully understand himself.

so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t control – he observed.

he started paying closer attention. he told himself it wasn’t because of you, not really, just a vague curiosity that had no deeper meaning. but then he noticed how you laughed more with others now. how you lingered in conversations with coworkers, how your shoulders relaxed when you weren’t around him.

it was disorienting, realizing that you had found ways to exist outside of him. that you had always been capable of doing so, but he had just never seen it before.

and maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

one afternoon, he caught himself staring at the untouched coffee on his desk. it had gone cold. the same coffee you had placed there earlier, just slightly out of reach, like an afterthought.

jake had always taken for granted that it would be there. he had never even considered the effort behind it, the simple, thoughtless care that had gone into something as small as placing it within easy reach.

but now, staring at the lukewarm liquid, he felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like how things felt off-kilter. how he had let something slip between his fingers without even realizing what it was. he didn’t like how aware he was of your absence now, how much space you had unknowingly occupied in his life before you started retreating.

it was frustrating, this gnawing feeling of wrongness.

so he did something stupid.

“hey,” he said one evening, catching you just as you were gathering your things to leave.

you blinked at him, clearly surprised. “yes?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “did you—uh. did you send the reports to finance?”

your brows furrowed slightly. “yes. i emailed them over earlier.”

“right. okay.” he shifted, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “thanks.”

you nodded, waiting for a beat. when he didn’t say anything else, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “alright. goodnight, dr. sim.”

and then you were gone.

jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. what the fuck was that?

that wasn’t what he had meant to say. it wasn’t what he wanted to ask. but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, heavy and unfamiliar.

because what had he wanted to say?

had he wanted to tell you he noticed? that he missed something he couldn’t even name? that for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had failed to account for the one thing he should have seen coming?

gravity.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

he had pushed you away. and now, he wasn’t sure how to pull you back in.

jake sat back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway where you had just been.

he needed to fix this. he needed to rise up from his inability to form human bonds or interact like a normal functioning adult. he had never felt the need to do so before, but for once – he wanted to. at least try and make amends.

because  jake never meant to offend anyone, much rather put them down. but he had done, willingly so this time around. but he wasn’t so broken as to not hold on to the semblance of a decent human being and not apologise.

he needed to fix this. he just didn’t know how yet.

ten.

its 10:09 am when the phone on your desk rings.

your fingers hesitate for a second before picking it up, already half-expecting it to be a mundane request from another department. but the voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“hello, this is dr. sim’s office, correct?”

you straighten slightly at the mention of jake’s name. “yes, this is his assistant speaking. how can i help you?”

the woman on the other end exhales, relief threading through her voice. “oh, thank god. i’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell. can you please tell him his mother is calling? it’s urgent.”

your breath stills. his mother? you’ve never spoken to her before, but something about the way she sounds – strained, worried – has your heart clenching instinctively.

“of course, ma’am. please hold for a moment.”

you press the receiver against your chest as you rise from your desk, walking toward jake’s office with quick steps. when you push the door open, you find him at his desk, eyes glued to his monitor, expression unreadable.

“dr. sim,” you say carefully. he barely glances up. “your mother is on the line.”

that gets his attention.

his head snaps up so fast it looks like it might hurt, and the second he sees your expression – neutral but carefully watching – something in his own face shifts. a split-second crack in his usual control.

his mother wouldn’t call the office unless something was wrong.

you see it the moment his mind catches up to the implication. his face goes pale, and he pushes back his chair roughly, standing so fast it scrapes against the floor.

“transfer it,” he says, voice clipped, but his hands are already trembling as he reaches for the phone on his desk.

you nod and return to yours, quickly pressing the button to connect the call. as soon as it clicks over, you hear his voice – lower now, tight with something close to dread.

“mom?”

you should turn away. you should focus on your work, give him the privacy he needs. but something keeps your gaze locked on him, even as you try not to make it obvious.

there’s a pause. then, whatever his mother says has the color draining from his face entirely.

his fingers clench around the phone. his jaw sets tight, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

then, finally, he exhales.

“when?” his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your stomach twist.

another pause. then he nods, even though she can’t see him. “okay. i’ll be there.”

he hangs up.

for a moment, he just stands there, fingers still curled around the receiver like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his head is slightly bowed, his shoulders tense.

and then he turns.

his eyes meet yours. and for the first time in a long time, you see something raw and unguarded in them. not frustration. not cold professionalism. something else entirely.

something that makes you forget, for just a moment, that things have been different between you. that there’s been an invisible wall between the two of you, made of everything unspoken.

“is everything—” you catch yourself. it’s not your place to ask. but the words are already out there. “is everything alright?”

he swallows. a muscle in his jaw jumps. he looks like he wants to say no. but he doesn’t.

instead, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to ground himself. “i need to leave for a bit.”

“of course.” you hesitate, but then add, “do you need me to reschedule anything?”

he nods once, curtly. “yes. i’ll send you a list.”

the phone call had been brief – too brief for how he looked now. his face was pale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. the usual sharp focus in his eyes was gone, replaced with something unsettled, something raw.

you had barely heard what he’d said when he hung up. just a quiet, clipped response before he set the phone down with unnatural care, as if it might shatter in his hands. then silence. a long, heavy silence that made you shift in your seat.

he’s already reaching for his coat, but the way he moves – it’s not the usual controlled efficiency he carries himself with. his hands are stiff, his grip on the fabric just a little too tight. like he’s barely holding himself together.

“…dr. sim?”

jake didn’t respond.

you hesitated, glancing toward the doorway of his office. no one else was around – just the two of you in this unsettling quiet. you had been ready to move on, to keep things professional, to pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the strange coldness that had settled between you both. but this? this wasn’t something you could ignore.

you took a step forward. “jake.”

his head snapped up.

it took you off guard, the way his gaze sharpened at the sound of his name. but then, just as quickly, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. his expression flickered – like a fault line deep underground, cracking beneath pressure.

you tried again, softer this time. “what happened?”

jake inhaled, but the breath barely reached his lungs. “it’s my mom.”

your stomach twisted.

you had remembered jake’s phone call with her a few days ago. how he had sounded so agitated back then. jake never spoke much about his family, but you knew enough to understand that she was important to him in ways he didn’t know how to express. that, for all his cold rationality, all his carefully measured distance, she was a gravitational force in his life that he could never quite pull away from.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked at his hands – like he wasn’t sure when they had started shaking. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly inaudible.

“she’s in the hospital.”

something in your chest tightened. “jake…”

he shook his head once, as if physically stopping himself from unraveling. “i—i need to go,” he said, already reaching for his coat, movements stiff. “i don’t—i can’t just sit here.”

“of course,” you said immediately. “do you want me to call someone? arrange a flight?”

“no,” he said, too quickly. he pressed his fingers to his temple, exhaling hard. “i’ll handle it.”

you watched him, watched the way he was barely keeping himself together. and despite everything, the growing distance, the unsaid things, you couldn’t just let him go like this.

“jake,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “let me help.”

for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze directly. and for the first time in weeks, you saw something unguarded in his eyes.

not calculation. not control.

just fear.

his throat bobbed. he looked like he wanted to say something – like he didn’t know how. but then his jaw clenched, and he nodded once, just slightly.

you reached for your phone. “i’ll book the next flight.”

jake exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. he didn’t thank you – not verbally. but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly, the way his hands stopped trembling—

it was enough.

the drive to the airport was quiet.

jake was in the passenger seat, fingers curled into fists on his lap. he had barely spoken since leaving the office, only responding in brief nods or single words when necessary. the weight of the unknown pressed heavy between you both, thick like fog.

you had booked the first flight you could find, mere hours from the phone call and you had made sure he had gone back home immediately to pack his necessities. you knew you had a hard time coming with all the meetings and deadlines that needed to be pushed back, but that could wait. you had to make sure he was fine first.

you were in half a mind to offer to go along with him, but that would be crossing a line, right? afterall, you both were still at crossroads, still just assistant and employer. you couldn’t possibly even dare to suggest this in the first place.

when you pulled into the departure lane, you hesitated before reaching for his bag in the backseat. “are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“no,” jake said, shaking his head. his voice was hoarse. “you’ve done enough.”

you swallowed. he wasn’t saying it unkindly – just…tiredly. hollow in a way that didn’t suit him.

still, you lingered. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because of the way he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly. maybe it was the way his breath came uneven, like he was bracing for something.

maybe it was because, for the first time, jake sim looked small.

he was out of his lab coat for the first time, a hastily found hoodie on his frame but his eyes. they looked so lost, so panicked and scared all at the same time, you couldn't even start to think what was going on in his mind. but you know for once that it hadn’t got anything to do with numbers and the universe.

you don’t know how to comfort him, not without knowing the situation and you definitely do not want to feed him empty reassurances. he would see right through them, the logical man that he was, he would probably even scoff at you for being presumptuous. so you do the best you can with the situation.

“i hope she’s okay,” you said quietly. “let me know when you land.”

he hesitated. then, finally, “yeah.”

“and don’t worry about work, i promise i’ll reschedule everything, take as much as you need.”

this, you mean too. because you will make sure of this, it’s the only thing you can do, to be quite honest. so you decide that you will, and you’ll give it your all.

you didn’t expect more. and yet, just as he was about to turn away, he stopped.

for a second, he looked like he might say something else. like he might let something slip through the cracks of whatever walls he had built between you both.

but then he just inhaled sharply and stepped away from the car, disappearing into the terminal without another word.

and you were left there, watching him go, wondering why it felt like something in you had gone with him.

eleven.

jake sat in his old car, the one his mom drove now. he had tried to convince her to buy a new one, but she insisted on using this beaten up junk he had used for most of his university life.

his day had been hectic, to say the least. he had touched down within two hours of leaving, all because you had managed to book him the earliest flight possible. his first stop had been the hospital where his mother had been admitted. she had fainted apparently, in the middle of a grocery store. someone had helped her and when she had come to, she had called jake immediately.

of course, as an understanding woman, she had hesitated before calling, but then she figured she’d be abandoning her son the way his father had, so without a second thought, she had called. she had buried the feeling that she was being a burden and explained to jake what had happened.

something very minor, a quick surgery would fix it, she’d be up and about in a week, but she would require someone by her side for that time.

jake talked to the doctors, a decision was made almost immediately, whatever his mother needed, he would do it. the surgery was in three days, she would not be in any major danger till then.

and then he had called you. well, he had called his front desk and asked to be transferred to you because he did not have your number.

“dr. sim?” your voice sounded distant and it only hurt a little that you didn’t call him by his first name like you had back then.

a long silence. then, his voice – low, rough, exhausted.

“she needs surgery.”

you had straightened in your chair. “surgery?”

“a minor procedure,” he clarified, though his voice sounded anything but reassured. “the doctors said she’ll be fine, but…”

he trailed off. you waited.

“but i don’t know if she wants me here.”

that was the part that made your stomach twist. not the surgery, not the hospital – those were tangible things, things jake could analyze and categorize, things with numbers and statistics and measurable risks. but this? the unspoken weight of old wounds, of things left unresolved between him and his mother?

this was something jake couldn’t quantify.

“dr. sim…” you started, hesitating. you weren’t sure if he wanted comfort, if he would even accept it. “i’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

a dry, humorless chuckle crackled through the receiver. “i have been pushing her away for so long, i won’t blame her if she doesn't want me here.”

and he had done the same to you too. he had convinced himself that you did not need him or have any requirement of him in your life for it to function.

you closed your eyes. “have you talked to her?”

another pause. “not really.”

the admission had made something in your chest tighten.

“i don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “i don’t know if i should even be here.”

you exhaled slowly, gripping your phone tighter. “dr. sim, she called you.”

that made him pause.

“she called you,” you had repeated, softer this time. “if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have.”

for a long time, there was nothing. just his breathing on the other end, slow and uneven. then, finally—

“maybe.”

it wasn’t certain, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

you had glanced down at your planner, at the list of tasks you still needed to get through before the day ended. none of them had seemed as important then.

“if you need anything,” you had said, voice steady, “just let me know.”

jake hadn’t responded right away. but when he finally did, it was quieter, softer than before.

“yeah,” he murmured. “thanks.”

and then the line went dead.

his hands rested now on the wheel, unmoving, but his mind was anything but still. he had been sitting there for ten minutes now, staring at the house in front of him, telling his mother to go on first, that he would follow soon after. it was the same house he had grown up in, the same porch light flickering against the damp evening air, the same worn-out welcome mat his mother refused to replace because she said it held memories.

memories.

jake hated memories.

but lately, they kept creeping in, unwelcome and persistent, just like the thoughts of you that he couldn’t seem to shake. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out of the car. the moment he knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately.

“come on in, i was starting to think you’d spend the night in that old thing.” his mother’s voice was warm but held that gentle chiding tone only mothers could master. she must have been waiting.

“yeah,” jake muttered, stepping inside. “sorry.”

his mother gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. instead, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. it was strange, being back home. the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.

they ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. his mother had made all his favorite dishes, even before she knew he was coming like it was something she did regardless of whether or not her son was in town, and he hated how easily that made his chest tighten.

“so,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “how’s jay? sunghoon?”

jake nodded. “they’re good.”

his mother hummed, waiting. jake knew she wasn’t just asking about them.

“and you?” she prompted.

“i’m fine,” he answered automatically.

her eyes softened, but she didn’t call him out on the lie. instead, she reached for his empty plate and stood to rinse it. that was always how it was between them. no forced conversations, no prying. just patience. it used to drive him crazy.

“you don’t visit as much anymore,” she said casually, but jake could hear the weight in her voice.

jake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “i’ve been busy.”

“too busy for your mother?”

his throat felt tight. “that’s not—” he sighed. “i don’t know.”

she shut off the sink and turned to him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “you’ve been running, jake.”

the words struck deep, hitting something raw inside him. he opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point? she saw through him, as she always had.

“ever since your father left,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you’ve been running from anything that makes you feel too much. you push people away before they can leave you first.”

jake clenched his jaw. “that’s not true.”

her expression didn’t change. “isn’t it?”

he wanted to argue, but flashes of his past screamed otherwise. his father’s car pulling out of the driveway, his mother’s silent tears in the kitchen, the way he had stopped asking when his father would come back. how he had pulled away – from her, from the warmth she tried so hard to keep alive in their home. because what was the point? if his own father could leave so easily, then wasn’t everything temporary?

his mother sighed, walking over to sit beside him. “i don’t bring this up to hurt you, sweetheart. but i see the way you hold yourself back. you’ve always done that, even when you were a boy. you care, but you don’t let yourself feel it too deeply.”

jake exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen table. the weight of his mother’s words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against old wounds he’d buried for too long.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

his mother didn’t gloat, didn’t press. she only gave him that quiet, patient look that somehow made him feel both seen and uncomfortably exposed. it was always like this with her – gentle in the ways that hurt the most.

“i know why you’ve been distant,” she said softly, moving back to the table. “and i know it’s not just about me.”

jake stilled. he knew what was coming next. he could feel it in the way his mother studied him, in the way her eyes carried an understanding he wasn’t ready to face.

“you always bottle things up,” she continued, her voice steady. “you don’t let yourself get attached. you let people slip away before they even have the chance to stay.” she paused, letting her words settle.

then— “but there’s someone you don’t want to let go of, isn’t there?”

jake’s breath hitched. his immediate instinct was to deny it, to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. but the words refused to form.

because she was right.

because for the first time in years, there was someone – someone who had slipped into his life so effortlessly, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed until the absence of their presence started to eat away at him. someone whose voice still echoed in his head, whose absence left a hollowness he couldn’t explain away.

you.

his mother didn’t push. she just waited, as she always had, offering a space that was safe even when it didn’t feel like it. and maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few days, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t want to run from this conversation.

jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his mother simply hummed, waiting.

“i’m… off,” he admitted, hesitating. “lately, everything feels – wrong. like i’m forgetting something important, like i’m missing something. but i don’t know what to do about it.”

his mother tilted her head slightly. “and does this have something to do with the person you called earlier?”

jake’s fingers twitched against the table. “i didn’t call her directly,” he muttered, because even now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle what saying your name out loud would do to him. “i had to go through the front desk to reach her.”

his mother smiled knowingly. “that’s not the point, sweetheart.”

jake swallowed. he knew. he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“it’s just… she’s just been there,” he found himself saying, his voice hesitant. “always so put together, always knowing exactly what i need before i even have to ask. it’s like she—” he stopped himself before he could say too much, but his mother was already watching him with an expression that told him she understood more than he wanted her to.

“she takes care of you.”

jake’s jaw clenched. “yeah.”

“and you don’t know what to do with that.”

his laugh was hollow, humorless. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

his mother sighed, her eyes soft. “jake.”

he shook his head, leaning back against the chair. “i hurt her.”

the words felt heavier than he expected. saying them out loud made them real, made them impossible to ignore.

his mother didn’t look surprised. “how?”

jake hesitated. he wasn’t sure where to begin. it wasn’t just one thing – it was everything. the way he’d dismissed you, the way he’d taken you for granted, the way he’d let you become part of his routine without ever stopping to consider what that meant.

“i pushed her away,” he admitted, his voice tight. “i didn’t even realize i was doing it until it was too late. and now…”

his mother’s gaze was patient, understanding. “and now?”

jake exhaled slowly. “now, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

his mother’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “because change terrifies you. and she’s become part of your life in a way you never expected.”

jake stared at the table, his thoughts a tangled mess. “i don’t even know when it happened,” he murmured. “i just… one day, she was there. and now, when she’s not – it feels wrong.”

his mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over his. “that sounds a lot like caring, jake.”

he let out a slow, shaky breath. “maybe.”

his mother squeezed his hand. “sweetheart, i’ve watched you close yourself off for so long. and i know you think it’s safer that way. but it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to care.”

jake closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that. he really did.

“i don’t know how to fix this.”

his mother’s smile was sad but encouraging. “then start by not running away.”

jake swallowed hard, her words settling deep inside him. for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe – just maybe – he didn’t want to run anymore.

jake’s fingers curled against the table. “i don’t know how i feel about this.”

his mother reached out, resting a hand over his. “that’s okay. but don’t let your fear stop you from figuring it out.”

jake didn’t respond. he didn’t know how.

his mother sighed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “just don’t push her away, jake. don’t make the same mistake your father did.”

the words hit harder than he expected. he wasn’t like his father. he refused to be. but deep down, he knew – he had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt that he had been the one keeping others at arm’s length.

maybe that needed to change.

later that night, as he lay in his childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you carried yourself, the way you fought for your place, the way you—

the way you made him feel.

jake turned onto his side, exhaling heavily. maybe it was time to stop running. maybe, for once, he needed to stay.

twelve.

you sat at your desk, staring at the chaotic schedule in front of you. jake had only been gone a few days, but it felt like an entire month’s worth of work had piled up. between rescheduling meetings, handling review dates, and ensuring the interns didn’t completely destroy the office system, your plate was overflowing. but that was your job. and you were good at it.

jake’s absence, however, made things feel heavier.

you had never been more aware of how much of your day revolved around him until he wasn’t here. normally, he’d be in his office, shooting you the occasional exasperated look over paperwork, or stepping out to ask for another coffee despite already having two. you had gotten used to the rhythm of his presence, the way it filled spaces without needing to demand attention.

now, that presence was gone, and you were left to make sure everything didn’t completely fall apart before he returned.

you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples before picking up your phone. another call, another problem to solve.

by the time jake’s return was only a few days away, you were running on caffeine and sheer determination. you had managed to keep everything under control, but it had taken everything out of you. your mind barely had space to wander – except for the brief moments when you remembered your last conversation with jake. the way his voice had sounded so lost, the hesitation behind his words.

but you couldn’t dwell on that. he wasn’t here. and when he came back, things would fall back into place.

a knock on your office door snapped you from your thoughts. you looked up to see one of your colleagues peeking in.

“hey, dr. sim called. he asked for you specifically.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah. said he wanted to check in.”

you hesitated for a moment before grabbing the office phone and dialing the number.

it barely rang once before he picked up. “y/n.”

his voice was different. not as tired as before, but still carrying something heavy. you straightened in your chair. “dr. sim. you called?”

a pause. then, “yeah. i just… wanted to check in. how’s everything?”

you glanced at the never-ending list on your screen. “under control.”

jake let out a small huff, almost like a laugh. “of course it is.”

silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what else to say. but then his voice softened. “thank you. for everything. i know it’s been a lot.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “that’s my job, dr. sim.”

jake inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hurt him.

your job.

like this was just a role, a duty to fulfill. like you were only here because of professional obligation, not because you had ever cared beyond that.

and maybe that was the worst part – knowing that at some point, you had cared. that at some point, he had meant more to you. but now, all that remained was distance, formality.

“right,” he said after a moment, his voice unreadable. “i’ll be back soon.”

“of course. safe travels.”

the call ended before either of you could say more, but the weight of it lingered. you sat there for a long time, staring at your desk, trying to push away the uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

meanwhile, on the other end of the line, jake sat in his childhood home, gripping his phone tighter than necessary. for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had lost something important.

and he had no idea how to get it back.

jay keeps him updated, the way you’re single handedly managing his schedule, making sure kang doesn’t fire his ass straight up (not that he would, jake’s too much of a genius for that to happen). but more than that, jay spoke of the way you kept things running, how you barely took a break, how you worked yourself to exhaustion, making sure everything was still intact for when jake returned.

jake listened in silence, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each passing word. you had always been efficient, always been reliable. but there was something about the way jay talked about you now – how you were overextending yourself, how you hardly left your desk unless necessary – that made him uneasy.

by the time he finally stepped back into the office, the weight of unfinished conversations, of unspoken words, was pressing heavily on his shoulders. his absence had given him clarity, but clarity didn’t mean anything if he didn’t act on it.

when jake does come back, it’s a surprise to you too. he hadn’t called in advance, hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t even asked you to book a flight. just shown up to work on a thursday like he hadn’t been on a leave the past week.

it surprised you, you thought you were hallucinating.

jake was the same, yet different. he was still dressed impeccably, his dark suit fitted just right, his tie slightly loosened as if he had already had a long morning. but his eyes – those damn eyes – were sharp when they landed on you, scanning you like he was seeing you for the first time in months, not weeks.

“morning.” his voice was smooth, composed. if he was affected by anything, he didn’t let it show.

you forced herself to breathe. “morning.”

a pause later, you added, “how’s your mom?”

jake smiles, faintly. he looks tired, but also like he was well rested. like the week away from his office had given him the rest he had deserved.

“she’s fine,” he says, and you realise you had missed the warmth of his voice, “she’s recovering pretty fast.”

you nod, thankful that things were alright. you want to say something more, ask him how he was doing, ask him ask him if he’s really okay.

the words sit on your tongue, hesitant, unwilling to be spoken. you don't know if you have the right to ask anymore.

jake, for his part, watches you like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expecting you to say more, but when you don’t, he only nods. there’s something restrained in his expression, something that makes you feel like there’s more he wants to say too – but neither of you does.

instead, the moment passes.

“i should—” you gesture vaguely to your desk, to the endless tasks that had piled up in his absence. “i didn’t know you were coming back today, if you want , i can set your schedule up today. maybe a meeting in an hour with director kang, if you’re up for it, and then a review session with the legal team later in the afternoon. i can send the details to your email.”

jake exhales, eyes flickering to his office door. you’re rambling and he finds it amusing. or endearing. the thought of the latter feeling makes him tighten his hold over his bag, but he doesn’t look away, just nods along to whatever you say.

afterall, you know what’s best.

“right. i’ll look through it.”

you nod once, curt, and then turn back to your screen, as if that conversation hadn’t just been something fragile, something that could’ve cracked open if you had let it. you think that’s the end of it. that he’ll walk away, go back to his office, and things will return to the way they were.

but jake doesn’t move.

he lingers.

and then, in a voice softer than before, he says, “thank you, y/n.”

your fingers pause over your keyboard.

it’s not the words themselves that make your breath hitch – it’s the way he says them. the way they aren’t just polite acknowledgments, aren’t just an empty phrase meant to brush past the weight of everything left unsaid. no, this is different.

this is him meaning it.

this is gratitude in its truest form, held in his voice like it’s something delicate.

you inhale slowly, schooling your expression before you look up at him again. “of course,” you reply, but the words feel distant, like they don’t quite match the way your heart stumbles against your ribs.

jake’s lips press together, as if he wants to say something more. but then jay appears, calling out to him from the other side of the office, and the moment snaps in half.

just like that, he’s gone.

for most part of the day though, jake is drowning in work.

it had been that way since he got back – nonstop reviews, overflowing emails, projects that had stalled in his absence. the moment he stepped into the office, he had been pulled in every direction, barely given room to breathe. and he let it happen. work was easier to focus on. it was something he could control.

but every now and then, between the numbers and the reports, he felt it – the weight of your presence just beyond his reach.

you were there. moving around the office, talking to coworkers, slipping in and out of the conference room with files in hand. he caught glimpses of you in passing, his eyes drawn to you more times than he could count. you weren’t avoiding him anymore, not like before, but the distance was still there – an unspoken, lingering thing between you both.

he wanted to talk to you. he really did. but every time he so much as turned in your direction, something else demanded his attention – a call, an urgent email, a meeting running longer than expected. so he buried himself in work, knowing that if he just got through all of it, if he could just clear his plate, then maybe he could finally sit down with you. no interruptions. no distractions. just you and him.

but the day passed, and the timing was never right. not until lunch.

he didn’t notice at first – too caught up in his screen, typing away furiously. but when he finally leaned back to stretch, his eyes landed on your figure, knuckles raised against his door as if you were just about to knock.

your eyes widen as if you had been caught doing something scandalous, but you school your expression, clearing your throat hastily.

“you should eat,” you said, voice careful. “it’s been a long day, and it's only going to get busier later. dr. lee called for an impromptu review at four pm.”

you sound apologetic, almost as if you’re the one who put him through this predicament, especially after his first day back.

for a second, he just stared at you. it had been so long since you had done something like this for him. since you had even looked at him like this – cautious, hesitant, but still caring. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the words weren’t automatic, weren’t distant.

jake exhales, pushing away from his desk. his shoulders ache, his mind heavy from the sheer amount of work waiting for him, but for the first time today, his focus shifts entirely – to you.

you’re still standing there, waiting for his response.

his gaze flickers over your expression, taking in the way you hover, like you’re unsure if you should even be here. like you’re debating whether you should have said anything at all.

and suddenly, he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

jake clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “have you eaten?”

you blink, clearly thrown off.

“uh,” you hesitate. “no, not yet.”

jake nods once, contemplative. then, without overthinking it, he pushes back his chair, standing to grab his coat.

“let’s go, then.”

your brain stutters. “go where?”

“lunch.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like it’s not entirely unprecedented and completely out of character for him to suggest something like this.

you stare at him, almost suspicious. “like, together?”

a corner of his mouth twitches, though he quickly tamps it down. “yes, y/n. together.”

you should say no. you should.

because this? this is dangerous territory. jake doesn’t ask you to lunch. he doesn’t ask you for anything, really – at least, nothing that doesn’t pertain to work.

but then he tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting. and maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, maybe it’s the way your stomach actually growls at the worst possible moment, or maybe it’s just that he’s looking at you like that.

like he’s trying.

“…okay,” you say before you can stop yourself.

jake nods, satisfied, before leading the way out of his office.

thirteen.

the café jake picked was a little ways away from the office, tucked into a quieter street lined with small shops. it wasn’t anything extravagant – just a cozy place with warm lighting and a surprisingly extensive menu. you weren’t sure what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“you come here often?” you asked as you both settled into a table near the window.

jake hummed, glancing over the menu. “not really. but i figured somewhere away from the office would be better.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “oh.”

he didn’t elaborate, just focused on the menu like this was something normal. like he hadn’t just, for the first time in forever, actively chosen to spend time with you outside of work.

the waitress arrived, and after a quick back-and-forth (in which jake somehow convinced you to order something other than your usual go-to sandwich), you were left with nothing but your drinks and the thick air of unspoken words.

“so,” you started, wrapping your hands around your cup. “how’s your mom doing?”

jake leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table. “better. still recovering, but she’s been more energetic these past few days.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“she actually told me to stop hovering over her,” he added, lips twitching in amusement. “said i was more of a nuisance than a help.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i can imagine. you don’t seem like the type to sit still when you’re worried.”

jake’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “you’re not wrong.”

there was a beat of silence, comfortable this time. jake studied you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “what about you?”

you frowned. “what about me?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “how have you been? you’ve basically been running the office while i was gone.”

“it’s nothing i couldn’t handle,” you said, brushing it off.

jake wasn’t convinced. “jay made it sound like you barely had time to breathe.”

you huffed, shaking your head. “jay exaggerates.”

“does he?”

you hesitated. “okay, maybe a little. but it’s my job. it’s what i do.”

something flickered in his expression, but before you could dissect it, he changed the subject. “what do you do after work?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“when you’re not running the office or making sure i don’t completely destroy my schedule—what do you do?”

you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “why do you want to know?”

jake smirked slightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. “just curious.”

you hesitated for a moment before sighing. “not much, honestly. i usually just go home, maybe read a little. sometimes i go out with friends, but it depends on the day.”

jake hummed, nodding. “sounds… peaceful.”

“sometimes.” you tilted your head. “what about you? when you’re not buried in research papers or ignoring kang’s calls?”

jake exhaled a laugh. “ignoring kang is a full-time job in itself.”

you snorted, shaking your head. but you’re also slightly malfunctioning. never in a million years would you have even imagined that you’d be sitting across jake sim, making small talk. is this a dream?

“but,” he continued, “i guess i read, too. or watch documentaries. i used to play soccer more, but it’s been a while.”

your brows lifted slightly. “soccer? really?”

jake smirked. “what, don’t believe me?”

this side of him is new. the smirk, the unguarded laughs, the way he sometimes bites his lips. you will yourself to stay calm, clench your fingers in your lap and exhale slowly.

you shrugged. “i just can’t picture you running around on a field when you’re usually glued to your computer.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, mock-offended.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered.

then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “so, are you seeing anyone?”

your entire brain short-circuited.

“wh—what?”

jake leaned back, utterly unbothered. “you know. dating. boyfriend, girlfriend, situationship. whatever people call it these days.”

you stared at him. “why do you want to know?”

he shrugged, playing it cool. “just making conversation.”

your eyes narrowed slightly, but you answered anyway. “no. not at the moment.”

jake nodded slowly, almost like he was committing that information to memory.

you crossed your arms. “and you?”

his expression didn’t change. “no.”

“not even someone waiting for you to finally look up from your research and realize they exist?”

jake exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “not that i know of.”

you hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

for a moment, the conversation lulled, and then you found yourself blurting, “why did you choose astrophysics?”

jake glanced up, slightly surprised by the question. but after a beat, his lips curled up faintly. “you really want to know?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t.”

he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on that familiar, passionate undertone he always had when he spoke about his field. “i guess it started when i was a kid. i always liked figuring things out, but space… space is different. it’s infinite, unpredictable. the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know.”

you watched him, absorbed by the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

“it’s terrifying,” he admitted, a small grin playing on his lips. “but it’s also incredible. there are entire galaxies out there, black holes that warp time, planets that could be habitable. the laws of physics as we know them could be completely different somewhere else.”

you smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “you sound like you’re in love with it.”

jake blinked at you, momentarily thrown off.

then, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i am.”

and for some reason, something about that made your chest feel oddly tight.

the food arrived then, breaking the moment. but as you both ate, the conversation continued – easier now, lighter. and you didn’t miss the way jake kept looking at you, like he was memorizing this, like he was finally realizing that outside of the office, outside of schedules and meetings and deadlines, there was you.

and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore.

jake walks beside you as you both make your way back to the office, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. the lunch had been... nice. unexpected, but nice. and now, as the two of you walk in comfortable silence, he seems more at ease than you’ve seen him in a long time.

then, without warning, he speaks.

"did you know that if you fell into a black hole, time would slow down for you compared to someone watching from the outside?" his voice is contemplative, as if he’s only now realizing he said it out loud.

you blink, caught off guard. "um. no?"

jake nods, as if he expected that. "yeah. it’s called time dilation. the closer you get to the event horizon – the point of no return – the slower time moves for you, relative to everyone else. so technically, if you could somehow escape, you’d find that far more time had passed for the rest of the universe than for you."

you process his words, lips twitching. "so what you're saying is... if i ever want to time travel, i should just jump into a black hole?"

jake huffs out a laugh. "not unless you want to be spaghettified."

you stop mid-step. "spaghettified?"

he turns his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "yeah. because of the intense gravitational pull, your body would stretch into thin strands, like spaghetti. it’s called ‘spaghettification.’"

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "you’re messing with me."

"i swear i’m not." he grins, and for a moment, you see a different version of him – one without the weight of responsibilities or expectations pressing down on him. "the gravitational pull at your feet would be much stronger than at your head, so you’d get stretched out like a noodle before—" he snaps his fingers. "—being ripped apart."

you stare at him, utterly baffled. "what a horrifying way to go."

"oh, absolutely," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "but theoretically, if the black hole was big enough, you might not even notice you’d crossed the event horizon. you’d just... fall. forever."

you don’t know what’s funnier – the fact that he’s so nonchalant about it, or the fact that he’s clearly enjoying this little tangent.

"so, the moral of the story," you say, crossing your arms, "avoid black holes."

jake chuckles, the sound low and genuine. "exactly."

for a moment, the two of you just walk, and you realize something – you actually like listening to him talk about this. there’s something comforting about the way he explains things, the way he gets lost in his own thoughts, his usual guardedness slipping away as he speaks about something he genuinely loves.

you glance at him, curious. you suddenly wonder about the jake sim you don’t know about. the one who apparently plays soccer and reads for leisure at home. what does he read? books on astrophysics? does he read fiction? does he have a favourite soccer team? does he still watch matches?

the more you imagine, the more you want to know.

who is jake sim outside of the brilliant astrophysicist you’re an assistant to?

but you don’t have to wonder too long. you’re already at the office doors and jake pushes them open first, holding them so you can step inside before him.

and that’s when jay sees you.

he’s standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, cup of coffee in hand, and the moment he spots the two of you stepping in together, his brows shoot up to his hairline. his eyes flicker between you and jake, and then – because he’s jay – his lips curl into a knowing smirk.

"well, well," he drawls, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "look who decided to have a little lunch date."

you freeze. "it wasn’t a—"

jake, to your surprise, doesn’t even flinch. he merely tugs off his coat, shrugging. "we were hungry."

jay’s smirk deepens. "uh-huh. sure."

you roll your eyes and push past him, but not before catching the way jay mouths "okay, i see y’all" at you behind jake’s back.

you ignore him.

you ignore the warmth in your chest too. however, if you know jay, you’d know that he’s anything but dismissive. that’s how you find yourself cornered in the printer room not even twenty minutes later.

jake had barely settled back into his office when you made your way to the printer room, hoping to grab some reports before his next meeting. it was supposed to be a quick trip – get in, get out, avoid any unnecessary interactions. but, of course, jay had other plans.

you didn’t even hear him coming.

“so.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin. “jesus—”

jay leaned against the printer, arms crossed, watching you with an all-too-knowing look.

you should’ve known. the moment you and jake had stepped into the office together, jay had been watching. his eyes had flickered between the two of you, brows raised ever so slightly, but he hadn’t said anything much at the time. which, in retrospect, had been a warning in itself.

and now, here he was, looking way too entertained for your liking.

“what do you want?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed the stack of papers.

jay grinned. “oh, i don’t know. just wondering how your little lunch date went.”

you almost dropped the reports. “it wasn’t a date.”

“sure,” he nodded sagely. “just two colleagues, having lunch together, alone, outside the office, for the first time ever.”

you exhaled sharply, fixing him with a look. “he asked. i said yes. that’s it.”

jay hummed, unconvinced. “and what did you two talk about?”

“nothing special.”

“uh-huh. so, just to be clear,” jay continued, tilting his head, “jake sim—our very own resident workaholic, who has never once asked you out to lunch—randomly decides to do so today, and you think that means nothing?”

you shifted, feeling cornered. “jay—”

“because, and hear me out,” he interrupted, grinning wider, “it kinda seems like he’s making an effort.”

you blinked, lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

jay watched as realization flickered across your face, the way your fingers tightened around the papers in your grasp. and then he smirked, patting your shoulder before sauntering off, leaving you standing there, replaying the conversation in your head.

making an effort.

no. no way.

…right?

fourteen.

it started, as most things did between you and jake, with work.

you had long since grown used to your role as his assistant, leaving meticulous reminders on his desk so that he wouldn’t conveniently forget to review reports or attend meetings. it was a well-oiled system by now. you left him a note, he (sometimes) actually followed through, and the world kept spinning.

but now there was a comfortable dynamic starting to form between you two.

now jake would stop by your desk for a whole minute, greeting you warmly and in fact, he had started receiving his coffee from you at your desk itself.

there was always a polite but warm ‘good morning’ and ‘thanks for the coffee’ greeting you. and you liked it. you liked that jake would mirror your smile. the first time he had smiled at you – like, openly grinned, with his eyes crinkling – you had been blindsighted. you were probably too shocked to even return the gesture, sitting still for a whole minute, imprinting and memorizing the sight you had just been graced with in your memory.

turns out, you didn’t have to memorise it, because you were suddenly a regular recipient of it. every damn morning. well, it certainly was one reason to start looking forward to your mondays.

this was still jake, he was still the same old sleeves rolled up deep in calculations person inside his office. but when he passed by you? or when you entered his office? a permanent grin etched on his face. those eyes that had been focused on some report? positively sparkling behind his thick rimmed glasses.

he was suddenly starting to resemble a puppy in you reyes and the more you sneaked glances at him, the more you were concerned of this comparison.

so when you left a neatly written sticky note on his desk one evening—"reminder: review kang’s quarterly report before 10 am meeting tomorrow."— you thought nothing of it.

the next morning, you arrived to find the note on your desk. only, something had been added beneath your writing, in jake’s neat, slanted script:

"did you know that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate? just like kang’s expectations."

you blinked. then blinked again. what the hell?

you turned your head toward his office, where the glass door remained shut, jake nowhere in sight. he had to have done this late last night. and he hadn’t even addressed your reminder – just hit you with a completely random space fact.

you thought it was a one time thing. maybe he saw the post notes on your desk and decided to leave one for the fun of it?

the next evening, after finishing up your reports, you left another note on his desk: "don’t forget to go through the intern evaluations before friday."

when you returned the next morning, there was another addition:

"forwarded you the evals.” below it, in his slightly scratchy handwriting was an addition: “incidentally, did you know that time moves slower in stronger gravitational fields? maybe that’s why this week feels endless."

you covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. this man.

and just like that, it became a thing.

it started slow, with simple reminders laced with cosmic facts, but then it evolved. jake’s responses became more elaborate, slipping in more than just dry science.

one day, you left: "you need to approve the lab’s funding proposal by end of day. no exceptions!"

by the next morning, jake’s response was waiting for you: "did you know that some stars shine brighter when they have a companion? also, the proposal is on your desk, don’t nag."

your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason that day.

but jake never acknowledged it out loud. when you interacted in person, he was the same – calm, composed, occasionally brooding but never ignoring your reminders anymore. yet, on paper, in these little sticky notes, something else simmered beneath his usual cool demeanor.

it was a language only the two of you seemed to understand.

the next time you found a note, you stared at it a little longer than usual before pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

"scientists believe there’s a ninth planet in our solar system, but we haven’t been able to find it yet. kind of like how i never see you taking breaks. go home on time for once."

like he’s one to speak, pulling long hours on days you leave on time anyway. regardless, you read it three times, warmth unfurling in your chest before tucking the note away in your drawer – right next to all the others you had kept. because you were keeping them now.

even if he didn’t catch you in the act of placing them carefully in one of your drawers, you had a feeling jake knew.

sometimes he was straight up funny, or so you thought. it was a side that you could usually only see through these notes because jake sim in person? he never said stuff like this.

once you reminded him of  a deadline: “the research proposal deadline is on friday. let me know if you need anything."

he replied: "there’s a giant storm on jupiter that has been raging for over 300 years. that’s still shorter than some of the meetings we sit through."

you had laughed. you had tried to be discreet about it but you couldn’t help the chuckle that had tumbled out and jake had caught you in that moment.

it was unfair, really. how easily he managed to make you smile. how effortlessly he turned something as mundane as sticky notes into something… else.

your cheeks had warmed up and very sheepishly, you looked away. but you missed the way jake had smiled to himself, pushing his glasses up and scratching his ears. cute, he had thought.

and proceeded to malfunction the rest of the day.

and of course jay noticed. of course he had something to say.

he started with jake first, because believe it or not, his friend was an absolute loser.

jay had been watching jake all morning. well, technically, he’d been watching jake for weeks now, but today was different.

jake was fidgeting.

now, jake sim did not fidget. he was the type of guy who could stare at a complex data set for hours without breaking concentration, but today? today, his pen was twirling between his fingers with a sort of nervous energy, his glasses had been pushed up his nose at least five times in the last two minutes, and most damning of all, he kept sneaking glances at your desk.

jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the way jake’s ears tinged pink every time you so much as moved.

“oh, this is so good,” he muttered to himself.

jake ignored him, as he usually did. but jay knew the truth.

he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the sticky note exchanges. it had started small, easy to brush off as just another one of jake’s quirks, but then jay had seen you laughing at a note one morning, your eyes lingering a little too long on the writing before tucking it away. tucking it away. as in, keeping it.

jay, of course, had confronted jake immediately.

“you like her,” he’d accused one evening as they left the office.

jake had barely given him a glance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, dude. you’re writing her space facts like it’s some secret code for flirting.”

jake had hesitated then, the barest of pauses in his step before he scoffed. “it’s not flirting. it’s just… facts.”

jay had groaned. “you absolute loser.”

the worst part is, jay actually reads one of those notes. 

you don’t even notice. he was leaning against your desk, waiting for you to find him one of those empty files you usually kept handy when he saw it. the yellow paper peeking out from under your keyboard.

you hear him scoff.

you turn just in time to see him pluck the sticky note off your desk, holding it between two fingers like it’s the most scandalous piece of evidence he’s ever seen.

“really?” he deadpans, reading the words aloud. “fact: the andromeda galaxy is on a collision course with the milky way. kind of like how you’re on a collision course with burnout if you keep staying past office hours. go home, y/n. – jake’”

he blinks. then looks at you. long. hard. smug.

you snatch the note back. “mind your business.”

“oh, no, no,” jay grins, crossing his arms. “this is my business. because you–” he points at you, then at your drawer, which probably has a whole stash of jake’s little science notes, “are clearly stockpiling these. and he” —cue the dramatic hand gesture in the direction of jake’s office— “is clearly trying to rizz you up with astrophysics.”

your soul leaves your body. “he is not!”

jay just laughs. “oh, honey. he is. and the fact that you’re keeping them? you’re down bad.”

you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “please shut up.”

“but like—are you guys flirting through the cosmos?” he’s grinning so hard, it’s physically painful to witness. “is this—interstellar rizz?”

“jay…”

“a universal love story?”

“jay.”

“gravitational attraction?”

“oh my god!”

fifteen.

it's been a whole entire month now. an entire month from the day you had been venting to jay about how you were just a paperclip to jake. a whole month since you quietly but seamlessly made your presence known in jake’s daily routine.

funny, how things change.

jake’s never been good with change though. 

it unsettles him – the way you’ve become this constant, the way he’s started to notice you in ways he never used to. at first, it was just small things. the way you always showed up in the lab before him, already setting up for the day. how you somehow remembered his preferred coffee order better than he did. the way your presence always lingered in the room, even when you weren’t speaking.

but then, those small things started becoming something more.

like how he started looking for you before even realizing he was doing it. how your voice, your laughter – hell, even the way you sighed when you were frustrated – started threading itself into the fabric of his days.

and the worst part? he let it happen.

jake liked routines, formulas, things that followed a set pattern. he liked knowing what to expect. but you? you were anything but predictable. and yet, somehow, you were still there, right in the middle of everything, shifting the entire equation of his life without permission.

how your presence had become something…expected.

jake didn’t like expecting things. expectations led to disappointments. people left, and routines shattered. he had learned that early on, and he had learned it well.

jake hadn’t meant to think of you. really.

he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the notes sprawled out before him, running calculations and double-checking measurements for the upcoming visit to the observatory. it was standard procedure – his advisor had asked him to review the telescope’s latest readings, compare them with the simulations, and ensure everything was in order before they proceeded with the next phase of their research. it was work he could do on autopilot, something he’d done dozens of times before.

and yet, he found himself pausing.

because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go alone.

it wasn’t unusual for jake to make solo visits to the observatory – he actually preferred it that way. it was quiet, isolated, just him and the endless expanse of the universe stretched out before him. no distractions, no expectations. just the comfort of knowing that the stars above would always remain as they were – constant, unmoving, predictable.

but ever since you had slipped into his life, disrupting the structure he had so carefully built, everything felt different.

the observatory had always been his space. a place where he could think, where the world made sense. it was the last place he should be considering bringing someone else. and yet, the idea had wormed its way into his head and refused to leave.

he frowned, tapping his pen against the desk.

why did he want you there?

it wasn’t logical. you weren’t a physicist. you had nothing to gain from being in the observatory, nothing to contribute to the calculations or the data collection. the rational part of his mind told him there was no reason to invite you.

still, he found himself gripping his pen a little tighter, watching you from the corner of his eye as he wondered what you would say if he asked. but technically, he could use an extra pair of hands. he needed to cross check some numbers anyway, maybe you would be willing to help?

or is he rationalises his thoughts and actions as he finally makes his way over to you. it seemed, lately he had been doing a lot of that – seeking you out at your desk. 

“are you busy this evening?”

you looked up from your notes, brow arching slightly. “depends. are you about to ask me to do something tedious?”

jake scoffed lightly. “define tedious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “dr.  sim, you’re asking me to stay back after work. that email disaster was a one-time thing, but if you’re going to make me stay late to organize more files or proofread another hundred pages of data sheets, i will be charging overtime.”

jake huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “it’s not that.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

he shifted his weight slightly, gripping the edge of your desk like he needed something solid to keep himself grounded. “i need to check something at the observatory tonight. cross-check some numbers, recalibrate a few things.” a pause. “figured an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

you blinked. “and i’m the extra pair of hands?”

jake nodded. “yeah.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher his expression. you weren’t exactly well-versed in astrophysics, and you were pretty sure there wasn’t much you could actually do to help. but jake wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you were at least somewhat useful, he wasn’t the type to waste time.

still, something about this felt… off. not in a bad way, just unusual. jake rarely asked for company, let alone your company outside of work hours.

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “i’m not sure how an assistant is supposed to be helpful at an observatory.”

jake shrugged, nonchalant. “moral support.”

you gave him a flat look. “moral support?”

“yeah. you know. in case i get emotionally overwhelmed by all the equations.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “right. that definitely sounds like something you’d struggle with.”

there was a glint in his eyes, like he was amused by your skepticism, but he didn’t argue. just watched you, waiting for your answer.

you exhaled through your nose, considering. the observatory wasn’t exactly your idea of an exciting evening, but… you couldn’t deny you were curious.

and maybe – just maybe – a small part of you liked the fact that he had asked.

“…fine,” you relented. “but if i get bored, i’m leaving.”

jake smirked. “noted.”

which brings you to now.

the observatory was quieter than you expected. it stood at the edge of campus, slightly isolated, its large dome stretching into the night sky, a dark canvas dotted with stars, and though you've never really considered yourself someone particularly enthralled by space, you can't deny the way the sight steals your breath.

in the center of the room, a massive telescope stands like something out of a sci-fi movie, its lenses gleaming under the soft glow of the control panel. but what steals your breath is the view beyond the glass ceiling – an entire universe stretched out above you, vast and infinite.

you exhale, stunned. “wow.”

jake watches you, something unreadable in his expression. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought you’d like it.”

there’s something about the way he says it – soft, almost hesitant – that makes your pulse skip.

jake was already setting up, his movements methodical. you hovered near the entrance, taking in the scene before finally making your way to him.

“so, what now?” you asked, clearing your throat.

he glanced at you, then gestured to a set of notes on the table. “just cross-check these while i calibrate the telescope.”

you nodded, flipping through the pages. silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. just the soft rustling of paper, the occasional click of buttons, and the steady sound of jake adjusting the equipment.

after a while, you looked up, watching him in his element. his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, completely immersed in his work.

“so.” you clear your throat, still taking in the sky. “this is where you go when you disappear for hours?”

“sometimes,” he admits. “it’s quiet here. no emails. no meetings. just… this.”

he moves to the telescope, adjusting the dials with practiced ease before glancing at you. “want to see?”

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer.

jake’s hands brush against yours as he guides you to the eyepiece, and you pretend not to notice the way your skin hums from the contact.

you peer in, and suddenly, it’s just you and the stars.

it’s breathtaking. planets and constellations in sharp clarity, galaxies swirling in a cosmic dance.

“this is insane,” you whisper.

jake chuckles. “insane in a good way?”

“in the best way.” your voice reduces to a whisper on its own accord. through the eyepiece, you feel like you’re experiencing something intimate, only for your eyes. “i think i’m starting to understand why you like doing this work.”

you don’t know what motivates you to actually say it out aloud, but the comfortable silence that had settled between you may have been a catalyst.

jake laughs a tiny little laugh, almost quietly as if he wanted to preserve the sanctity of this moment. nothing but the hum of the machines surround you now and he can hear the way your clothes rustle when you adjust yourself to the telescope.

“it makes sense,” he said simply.

you tilted your head. “more than people do?”

his hands stilled.

for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then, he let out a quiet breath, gaze still fixed on the telescope.

“people aren’t predictable,” he said finally. “science is.”

you set the notes down, stepping closer. “predictability isn’t everything sometimes.”

he turned to look at you then, something unreadable in his expression. the air between you felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could name. the way his gaze lingered made your stomach twist, and for a second, you thought he might say something – something important.

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice quieter. “you ever think about it?”

“think about what?”

“how small we are,” he muses. “how, in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re just specks of dust on a floating rock.”

you pull away from the telescope to look at him, but his gaze is fixed upward.

“you’re telling me,” you start, amused, “that we came all the way here so you could have an existential crisis?”

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “no. i just—” he hesitates, choosing his words. “i guess i wanted to show you why i love this.”

you don’t know why, but that confession makes something tighten in your chest.

you watch him for a moment – how the glow of the dim lights casts a soft halo around his face, how his brows furrow ever so slightly in thought. the glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the stars above you. how his eyes shine behind those glasses, holding things you didn’t dare to ask him about. the soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his neck craned up in familiar appreciation.

for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in his world.

“this is where it started for me,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

you turned to him, curious. “what did?”

his lips curved, not quite a smile, but something softer. “my obsession with space. the stars. everything.”

you waited, sensing that he wasn’t finished. and after a beat, he exhaled, tilting his head back as if he could reach into the past and pluck the memory right from the sky.

“i was ten the first time i saw saturn through a telescope,” he murmured. “my mom took me to an observatory for my birthday. she—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “she wasn’t exactly the type to understand science, but she knew i loved it. so she made the trip just for me.”

you watched him, noting the way his fingers twitched slightly before curling into his palm.

“she let me stay up late,” he went on, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “and i remember looking through that telescope and seeing saturn’s rings for the first time. it didn’t feel real. it was just this perfect thing, floating out there in the dark. and i thought, ‘if something this beautiful exists so far away, what else is out there?’”

you felt your heart twist at the wonder in his tone, the lingering traces of a child who had once stared at the universe with wide-eyed fascination.

“she sounds like she really cared,” you said gently.

jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “yeah,” he admitted. “she did.”

a comfortable silence stretched between you, the weight of nostalgia settling in. when he spoke again, his voice was a touch lighter. “anyway, that’s how it all started. one night, one telescope, and a planet millions of miles away.”

you smiled. “and now you’re here. making it your whole life.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah, guess so.”

the two of you stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between you – not awkward, not uncertain, just there. comfortable. quiet. something unspoken settling in the air between you like stardust.

and when jake finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with another question. it was with a quiet, thoughtful, almost teasing murmur—

“you know, saturn’s rings are actually disappearing.”

you turned to him, eyebrows raised, almost alarmed. “what?”

he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “slowly, of course. give it a hundred million years.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile that pulled at your lips. typical.

jake had been careful in his explanations at first, as if gauging whether you were truly interested or simply indulging him. but the moment he realized you actually wanted to listen, something in him loosened. the words started flowing, effortless, unfiltered. he spoke of nebulae and galaxies colliding, of stars that lived and died before the earth had even existed. he pointed out constellations, filling the silence with a quiet reverence that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something infinite.

you wonder if anyone else has ever seen this side of him.

not the researcher, not the reserved and often too-intense scholar, but the man who could speak about the cosmos with a fascination so deep it bled into his voice. the man who, for all his cool detachment, still carried the kind of awe that made you believe in something bigger than yourself.

and that’s when it happens. that’s when you feel it.

that slow, creeping realization that something has shifted. that this isn’t just about your inherent respect for this man. no, it was more than that. sure, you had started this month with a reluctant motivation to make this person acknowledge your existence.

but now that he is? it does something to you.

a quiet, unsettling shift that settles deep in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs where your heart beats just a little too fast. the realization slinks in slow, insidious – like the tide rolling in, creeping past where you thought the shore ended, until suddenly, you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

jake is still speaking, voice steady and sure, filling the silence with his quiet reverence. you barely hear the words anymore. something about the life cycle of stars, about the sheer immensity of time itself – how the light from some of these constellations has taken millions of years to reach earth, how when you look up, you are peering into the past.

it should be overwhelming. it should make you feel small.

but instead, all you can think about is the man beside you. talking so animatedly, his lips splitting into a grin, his teeth biting into the flesh every once in a while when he pointed out another constellation to you.

the paperwork you were here for in the first place remained forgotten. insignificant, almost as if you hadn’t really been required for it in the first place.

because you realize, then, that this isn’t just admiration anymore. this isn’t just you being awed by his mind, by the way he sees the universe with such unguarded wonder. it’s not just about the way he listens when you speak, or how he’s begun to answer your notes with scribbled facts, or how he’s been looking at you lately, with something unreadable in his gaze.

it’s him.

jake, with his impossible knowledge and even more impossible depth, the way his fascination bleeds into his voice when he speaks of things so much bigger than himself. the way his eyes are fixed on the sky, dark and gleaming, reflecting galaxies you’ll never touch but somehow feel closer to just by standing here next to him.

and it terrifies you.

because this isn’t what you planned. you were supposed to break down the walls between you, supposed to demand acknowledgment, supposed to pull him out of that self-imposed solitude and make him see you.

but now that he does?

now that he’s speaking to you like this, sharing this piece of himself so freely, without reservation?

now that you’re standing here, heart stuttering in your chest, wondering if maybe – just maybe – you don’t want him to see you just as his assistant anymore?

the thought makes your breath hitch.

“—are you listening?”

jake’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and you blink, snapping back to the present. he’s turned toward you now, brows raised in mild amusement, but there’s something else in his eyes, too – something patient, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to whatever just shifted between you.

you clear your throat hastily. “yeah. of course.”

his gaze lingers for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you. but then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks back toward the sky.

“good,” he murmurs. “i’d hate to bore you.”

as if he could.

you don’t say it out loud. instead, you let your gaze drift up to the stars, to the vastness of everything above you.

and you let the realization settle, no matter how terrifying it is. because something’s happening. something has happened in the span of a month already. you have an inkling as to what it is, but you’re not going to admit to it. not yet.

the tiny voice in the back of your mind is here to support you on that cause it seems, chanting in tiny font: just an assistant, just an assistant, just an assistant.

but when jake shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore

sixteen.

the office is eerily quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic scratch of a marker against the whiteboard. the usual hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations has long since died down, leaving behind an almost sacred kind of stillness.

you glance at the clock in jake’s office – 7:34 pm. way past your office hours, but jake’s still in his office.

jake should have gone home hours ago. so should you. and yet, here you are, perched on the edge of his desk, watching as he works through whatever calculations are currently consuming his mind.

you’ve seen this scene play out before, too many times now.

it used to be just an observation. a fleeting thought that it couldn’t be healthy to spend so many hours so completely submerged in work. but lately, that thought has settled into something heavier, something almost akin to concern.

he’s been stuck for the last twenty minutes. you can tell because he’s frowning at the whiteboard like it personally offended him, one hand on his hip, the other tapping the marker absently against his thigh. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, equations unraveling and reforming, one possibility after another spinning behind his sharp gaze.

you don’t know when you started caring like this. you really don’t.

but you do.

so, as you hover near his desk, watching him scribble something with an almost frantic energy, you decide – he needs a break. and you, apparently, have taken it upon yourself to make sure he gets one.

“dr. sim,” you say, but it barely registers. his pen doesn’t even pause. nothing.

with a sigh, you reach forward and pluck the pen right out of his hand.

that gets his attention.

he blinks, finally looking up at you, and you don’t miss the way his brows furrow, like he’s only just realizing you’ve been standing there this whole time. you would have laughed at the way he looks at you like a kicked puppy. like you just snatched his lollipop right from his hands. although, given the situation, that’s an accurate comparison.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice slightly rough from lack of use.

“saving you from yourself.” you twirl the pen between your fingers, giving him your best unimpressed look. “when’s the last time you took a break?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t have time for a break.”

you shake your head. “that’s not an answer.”

jake lets out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. “i just need to finish this.”

“that’s what you said two hours ago.” you glance at the clock pointedly.

his lips press together, but you see the way exhaustion flickers across his features. he’s wearing himself down, the way he always does, and for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with you anymore.

“you look like you’re about to fight that thing,” you tease, breaking the silence.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “might as well. it’s being stubborn.”

you tilt your head, pretending to examine the mess of symbols and numbers scrawled across the board. you don’t understand a fraction of it, but that’s never stopped you from trying. “have you tried… asking nicely?”

jake gives you a flat look, and you grin, making your way over to the whiteboard in question.

“or,” you continue, voice laced with mischief, “you could let me help. i’m very good at doodling. that squiggly line right there?” you gesture vaguely toward the board. “desperately needs a smiley face.”

for a second, he just stares at you, expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches. “that’s not a squiggly line. it’s a sigma notation.”

“yeah, well, i think it would be a lot friendlier if it had some personality.” before he can protest, you lean forward, swiping the marker from his hand. with a few quick strokes, you turn the apparently very serious mathematical symbol into a little doodle of a face, complete with tiny arms raised in triumph.

jake huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “that’s sacrilegious.”

“it’s art,” you correct, grinning as you cap the marker and toss it back to him. “you’re welcome.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a softness there, something warm and reluctant in the way he looks at you. like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his space, disrupting his routine with something as simple as a smiley face on a whiteboard.

like he hasn’t just surprised himself by not losing his mind over the fact that you just doodled on his very important notes. like he doesn’t even mind.

for a long moment, he just stands there, marker still loosely gripped in his fingers. then, with a quiet sigh, he lifts it and – to your utter delight – draws something beside your doodle.

he started with a small star in the corner – sharp, clean lines. then, next to it, he hesitated before adding another one. then another.

you tilted your head, watching him with something warm in your gaze. “what are you drawing?”

he glanced at you, then back at the board. “…orion’s belt.”

a slow smile stretched across your lips. “of course.”

jake didn’t know why the warmth in your voice made his pulse stutter, but it did. and when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly, he felt it even more acutely – the soft graze of fabric against fabric, the fleeting press of warmth before it vanished again

he doesn’t know when he started paying attention to things like this. the way your laughter fills up a room, how effortlessly it winds its way into the air, sinking into the corners of his office like it belongs there. the way you nudge him – not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in ways no one else ever has.

he doesn’t know when it started, but he knows now that he’s in too deep to ignore it.

because right now, he’s standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, with you beside him, doodling what can only be described as a catastrophically inaccurate solar system.

and somehow, impossibly, he’s smiling.

actually smiling.

he catches himself in the reflection of the glass across the room, and it startles him a little. he looks different. softer, somehow. the lines of his face, not weighed down by calculations or theories, but by something lighter. something he doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

jake doesn't know how long he stands there, marker in hand, staring at the mess of doodles you've scattered across his once-pristine whiteboard. he should be appalled, maybe even annoyed, but he's neither. if anything, he feels... lighter.

your laughter still lingers in the air, curling around the edges of the quiet like something tangible, something warm. and when you shift beside him, stretching lazily with a satisfied hum, he catches a faint trace of your perfume, something soft and familiar, something he has no right to associate with comfort but does anyway.

"i think we did some great work here," you say, stepping back to admire your collective masterpiece. "a true collaboration between genius and artist."

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "you mean vandalism."

"semantics," you counter easily, nudging his elbow playfully. your touch is fleeting, barely there, but jake still feels it long after you've moved away. he grips the marker tighter than necessary.

you glance at him then, a knowing glint in your eyes. "alright, dr. sim. time for your verdict. did my artistic intervention help at all?"

he exhales slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the board again. and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s you, but he realizes that, somehow, the problem no longer seems as daunting as it did twenty minutes ago. the frantic mess of calculations, the numbers that had refused to align, don’t feel as suffocating now.

it’s absurd. it’s ridiculous. but somehow, your ridiculous doodles make the whole thing feel less intimidating.

jake turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. you’re still looking at the board, a pleased little smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way his mind is currently betraying him.

when did this start? when did you start creeping into his thoughts, into his space, into his carefully structured life with your easy laughter and casual touches? when did your presence start feeling like a constant, like something that belonged?

the realization unsettles him.

he clears his throat, looking away. "it’s… better."

your smile widens, and for some reason, jake has to fight the urge to look away again. "see? i told you i’m helpful."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. if anything, it’s just an excuse to look at something other than your stupidly pleased expression, which, annoyingly enough, does things to him he’d rather not analyze right now.

"well," you say, clapping your hands together, "my work here is done. i’ve successfully distracted you from overworking yourself into an early grave. i should get a raise."

jake snorts, shaking his head. "you’re already overpaid."

"lies and slander," you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "i should report you to hr for emotional damage."

he’s about to retort when you suddenly step forward, reaching for the marker in his hand. jake’s breath hitches – completely involuntarily, because that’s the only explanation – as your fingers brush against his.

it’s brief. a fraction of a second, really. but it’s enough.

jake freezes.

the touch is light, barely there, but his mind registers it in excruciating detail – the faint press of your skin against his, the subtle warmth of your fingertips. it’s nothing. it’s everything. it’s enough to send his brain into a sudden, inexplicable shutdown.

you don’t seem to notice. or if you do, you pretend not to. you just pluck the marker from his hand and uncap it, adding one final detail to your masterpiece.

jake watches, still unnervingly aware of the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. his fingers curl slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that’s no longer there.

you step back with a satisfied nod, capping the marker with a flourish. "there. perfect."

he barely registers what you’ve added – a tiny shooting star trailing behind orion’s belt – because he’s too busy trying to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way his heart is currently behaving like it’s lost all sense of reason.

silence stretches between you for a beat too long. jake wonders if you can hear it – the way his pulse feels too loud, the way his carefully structured composure feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

then, mercifully, you step away, stretching again as you let out a small yawn. "alright, for real this time. i should go before i become permanently attached to this office."

jake nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

you glance at him one last time before heading for the door but for a moment, you just stand there, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. then you turn, looking at him with something softer in your gaze. something thoughtful.

"you should go home soon too, dr. sim."

it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that. no teasing, no playful lilt. just quiet. just sincere. jake’s heart clenches, aching to hear you call him but his first name. but he doesn’t say anything. not yet.

and for reasons he can’t quite explain, it sends something dangerously warm curling in his chest.

jake swallows. he nods.

you smile – soft, small, something just for him – and then you’re gone, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you somehow louder than it should be.

jake exhales slowly, staring at the empty space you left behind.

then, finally, he looks back at the whiteboard.

the equations are still there, unsolved. the numbers are still a mess, waiting for him to untangle them. but in the midst of all that, there’s something else now. doodles and stars and smiley faces. a small, stupidly drawn solar system that doesn’t belong in a room like this, in a world like his.

and yet.

jake lifts a hand, absentmindedly tracing a fingertip over the edge of one of your stars.

and yet, somehow, impossibly…it fits.

jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, not everything in his world has to be so rigid, so calculated. maybe some things – some people – aren’t meant to be neatly solved, but simply felt. and as his fingers linger over the soft curve of your drawn star, he realizes, with quiet certainty, that you’re the first anomaly he doesn’t want to solve.

[masarca]

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[acepumpkinpatrick]

Research for Gaza & Sudan

Hello everyone, this is my attempt in helping Raise funds for 3 campaigns that are in dire need and are extremely low on funds.

What I can do:

I am a physics major & have access to neat software such as HyperChem & Gaussian 09 and know how to use both efficiently. I can help build & do the necessary calculations for your modules. I can help you find resources for your research, and I am open to doing math and/or physics homework, as well.

How does this work?

DM me your requirements WITH CLEAR INSTRUCTIONS & a screenshot of your donations and I will start on it as soon as I can.

• For HyperChem & Gaussian 09: you need to donate €25 to each of the two gaza campaigns I have below.

I think this is a more than fair price given that licenses for both softwares range from 50$-2500$ (in the academics alone!)

• For searching resources: you need to donate €10 for the Sudanese campaign below.

• For homework: you need to donate €10 to any of the campaigns below.

NOTE: I am NOT responsible for Your deadlines. If your request needs time to run or I am doing someone else's commission before you, you WILL have to wait.

The campaigns:

Al-Najjar family - vetted here

Abdul Aziz's family - vetted here

ThomaSerena - vetted here & here

Sorry for the tags ♡

@commissions4aid-international @northgazaupdates2 @appsa @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @wingedalpacacupcake @elksewer @a-shade-of-blue @tortiefrancis @mushroomjar @fromjannah @neechees @irhabiya @ibtisams @lacecap @dykesbat @socalgal @ankle-beez @mahoushojoe @transmutationisms @deepspaceboytoy @greelin @huckleberrycomics @zionistsinfilm @beserkerjewel @babacontainsmultitudes @spacebeyonce @mauesartetc @vakarians-babe @ghostofanonpast @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @ot3 @xinakwans @komsomolka @chilewithcarnage @akamanto0 @feluka @goodguydotmp3 @leotanaka @effen-draws @pkmnbutch @bilal-salah0 @ghostingarden

[luigisbambinaaa]

Don’t Pretend You’re Not Mine

Summary: You're not his and he's not yours. At least you didn't think so. Nothing's official. But that doesn't stop Luigi from dragging you upstairs at your sorority party

cw: Rough sex, overstimulation, heavy daddy kink, oral sex (m&f), p in v sex, creampie, slapping, dubcon, dumbification, brat taming

AN: Hi everyone!! this is a collab I’ve done with my good friend @iinfinitelimits !!!!! her idea and i just followed her lead!!! Hope you enjoy our daddy kink filth!!!

⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⟡⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

It began on the kind of night that smells like shitty coffee and late deadlines.

Midterms week, fluorescent lights, and a quiet, tucked-away corner on campus where you were sure no one would look. You were both supposed to be studying but instead you ended up straddling him in a stall in the men’s bathroom that no one would be using at that time of night. Eager grinds, swollen lips, breaths caught between giggles and moans.

You never talked about it after it happened the first time. You didn’t feel the need to—no promises, no check-ins either. Just the heat of your bodies pressed together and hushed. A pattern found in half-zipped jeans and stolen kisses. His hands on your hips and your mouth on his neck. And more often, the soft click of his door closing at midnight.

You don’t call it anything and you don’t dare ask if he’s seeing anyone else. And you sure as hell don’t tell anyone. It’s just something that happens. Again. And again. And again. Becoming this quiet rhythm you both dance along to without thinking.

Until the party at your sorority house a few months later.

By midnight the house is a blur of laughter, cheers from the beer pong table, and the loud bass of the EDM tracks blasting from speakers. You’re in your element, exchanging stories with your sorority sisters, flirtatious looks with frat guys, and tossing back shots.

You end up in a corner of the room talking to some guy- Brad, or maybe Chad - about the upcoming football game. He’s cute, if a bit of an airhead.

Brad-Chad cracks a joke and you bend over laughing. As you straighten up you see Luigi standing across the room, alone, by the drinks table.

You’re surprised to see him - he usually doesn’t come to your house parties- but you’re even more surprised by the look on his face. Luigi is staring at Brad-Chad in pure rage.

“Uh, let’s go play beer pong,” you say to the boy, eager to escape Luigi’s increasingly hostile gaze.

“Ok,” he replies easily, but you’ve only taken a few steps when you feel someone grab your upper arm tightly.

“Ow! What the fuck—“

“Shut up,” a familiar voice hisses in your ear. Suddenly you smell him, a mix of cologne and jealousy, sharp enough to almost taste. Luigi barely spares a glance at you. He’s looking at Brad-Chad with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, cold and calculated.

“She’ll be back later,” Luigi practically growls at him.

Instantly you’re being dragged through room after room with no regard for the masses of students crowding around you or the increasing number of stares he’s drawing.

“Luigi, what the hell are you doing? You can’t just pull me away from a conversation!” you shout over the heavy music overhead. People turn their heads to stare, but Luigi keeps a grip on your upper arm so tight that it’s nearly painful.

“Shut up,” he mutters again, dragging you to the base of the stairs. There he finally releases you. Hissing, you rub your arm and glare at him.

“What’s your problem?” you almost shout at him.

“My fucking problem? Are you deadass right now?” Luigi’s face is an unusual shade of red, his lips pressed into a thin line. His normally charming and controlled demeanor is nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing with that fucking loser?” he gestures vaguely towards the direction of Brad-Chad.

“Laughing and touching his arm…” his voice drops lower, practically snarling at you. “Don’t tell me you actually found him fucking funny.”

Luigi doesn't even wait for whatever snappy comeback you were planning on giving him. Instead, he suddenly hoists you over his shoulder as if you weigh no more than a bag of groceries. You squeal, trying to squirm out of his grasp. Instead he jostles you, getting a tighter grip around your thighs, and walks up to the second floor.

“Which door is yours?” he demands roughly. “Tell me right now before I kick down every fucking door.”

Then, his hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp slap that makes you jump. “Now.”

You gulp, pointing at your door.

He barges into your room, slamming the door behind him. He sets you down roughly on your bed, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You wanted to get fucked huh?” he asks, voice rough. “All you had to do was ask, baby. Why are you going around acting like a little slut?” he spits out, voice dripping with venom. “Gonna go sleeping around with every guy who looks at you–” his face is inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

Luigi doesn’t finish his sentence before you suddenly reach out and slap him across the face.

“Fuck!” His hand flies to his cheek where your palm landed.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” you snarl.

For a moment he looks stunned, his eyes widening in shock. Then his face contorts with anger and something else…desire? He lunges at you, catching your wrists and pinning them above your head against the wall. “Make me,” he growls. “See if I give a fuck if you slap me again. I’ll fuck that smart mouth of yours shut.”

His body presses against yours, trapping you between him and the wall. Your wrists strain against his grip, chest heaving as his breath ghosts across your face. Then, you feel it. Pressed against your hip, hard and thick.

You blink, lips curling into a scoff. “Seriously?” you snort, “you’re fucking hard from me slapping your face?”

His jaw twitches but he doesn’t deny it nor does he move. He just stares at you like you’ve just flipped a switch he never meant to turn on.

“You’re fucking sick,” you breathe, almost laughing.

His hand drops from your wrists only to grip your jaw, firm and hot. He tilts your face up, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You’re talking when your thighs are clenched like that?” His voice is a low rasp. “Bet your pussy’s just as fucking soaked as I am hard.”

You hate that he’s right. Hate it more than he knows. His grip shifts, fingers sliding down your throat like he’s holding back from squeezing it, like he’s savoring how close he is to losing control.

“I should remind you who the fuck you belong to,” he mutters, low and dangerous. “You think you can walk around acting like you’re not mine?” Your breath catches. He’s so close, you can feel the heat of his mouth just barely brushing yours.

“You forget who fucks you right,” he breathes. “Who takes care of this pussy time and time again? Keep playing with me and I’ll make sure that pretty little voice is gone tonight.”

“You don’t own me, Luigi,” you say, but your confidence falters under the look in his eyes and it comes out more like a whimper.

“Awww,” he coos condescendingly. “I don’t? Then why,” he yanks up your dress and slips a finger under your panties, making you gasp, “are you dripping wet right now?”

“I - I hate you,” you stammer.

“You can hate me all you want,” he whispers, breath hot against your lips, “but this pussy knows she belongs to me.”

And then his lips crash against yours. It’s not soft. It’s not slow or passionate. It’s dark, hungry, and possessive. It’s a claim.

His fingers start to move, rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles. You squirm beneath his touch, thighs twitching against his hand as he circles your clit like he owns it.

You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

“We never…” you gasp, trying to steady your voice, “we never said this was anything.”

But your hips betray you, bucking forward into his fingers, chasing friction you swore you didn’t want.

“No,” he murmurs, “but your pussy says otherwise.”

He leans in close, voice curling around your ear like smoke. “You’re trying to act like you’re not loving every second of this, but your pussy’s telling me a whole different story.”

Your breath catches, cheeks hot with shame, desire, and something deeper. Darker. Something dangerous you don’t want to name.

Then he tilts your chin again, smirking.

“Yea,” he laughs condescendingly. “This pussy’s always so wet for Daddy, hm?”

A moan slips from your lips and you turn away, trying to hide your face so that he can’t see what he already knows - that the word drives you crazy. But Luigi just grabs your chin with one large hand, forcing you to face him.

“Answer me,” he demands. His eyes are blazing, hot and hungry with something darker than lust.

But your brain, a fucked-out mess of desire and shame, makes it hard to think.

Suddenly you feel a sharp slap on your ass, making you squeal at the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. When you try to wriggle away, Luigi’s hands instantly fly to your hips, pinning you down. Another smack lands on your ass, making you jerk. You feel yourself growing even wetter.

“Use your words when Daddy asks you a question,” Luigi hisses.

“Yes,” you moan. Luigi smacks your ass again and then rubs a hand over the area he just spanked.

“Nuh-uh.” He withdraws his fingers from your clit, and you whine shamelessly, biting down a sob. He smirks at you.

“What do you say?” His lips slide down the side of your neck, wet and hot, one hand grabbing yours when you scrabble at his fingers to pull them back onto your clit.

“Yes… Daddy,” you breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and he lifts his fingers to your lips. “Open.”

You obey. What other choice do you have?

Luigi’s eyes darken as he shoves two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag. You can taste yourself on him, sharp and tangy.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “Now why were you acting like a little slut when all you had to do was come find me?”

You whimper around his fingers, trying not to choke. His eyes are glued to your face, soaking up every gag, every twitch of your lips around him.

Then, just as quickly, he yanks his fingers from your mouth and wipes them messily across your cheek, like he’s marking his territory.

“C’mere,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

You hesitate for half a second and that’s all it takes for him to grab you by the hips and haul you himself. His hands are everywhere–gripping, pulling, claiming. He turns you roughly, yanks the straps of your dress down your shoulders, not even bothering with finesse.

The fabric pools at your feet.

“No bra?” he scoffs. “Figures.”

His fingers snap the waistband of your panties before dragging them down your thighs. You nearly stumble, still breathless, but he catches you by the waist, thumb coming up to stroke just under your jaw, holding you steady.

“You don’t get to look this fucking pretty and act like you’re for anyone else,” he hisses in your ear. “You’re mine.”

He shoves you toward the bed. You fall back with a gasp, legs spread just enough for him to see what he already knows–that you’re dripping for him.

Luigi undoes his belt with a sharp clink, ripping it through the loops like he’s seconds from losing control. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, his cock flushed and heavy, bobbing against his stomach.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you, naked and spread out for him. One hand wraps around his dick, slow and tight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fist sliding over his length. “Laid out and trembling like some slut. All wet for me, and you were really out there laughing it up with some fucking loser.”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Just a needy, ruined breath.

“Mm-mm.” He strokes himself faster, tip leaking, chest rising and falling. “Don’t speak. Just watch.”

You do. Eyes locked on his fist, dragging over that thick length you can almost already feel inside you–stretching you, wrecking you. His precum beads at the tip, glistening in the dim light of your bedroom.

Then he moves forward. One knee presses into the mattress. He leans over you, palm flat beside your head, cock resting against your inner thigh. His other hand still pumping slow and mean.

“Open your mouth.”

You hesitate, barely a second, before you part your lips for him.

He doesn’t give you time to prepare. Just hocks and spits directly into your mouth–hot, thick, and filthy. Your eyes flutter as you swallow it on instinct, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you? ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You nod, already dizzy from the dominance dripping off him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, big hands coming up to grab your breasts. “Love these tits.” You whimper when he squeezes, pinching your nipples harshly between his long, thin fingers. He smirks down at you. “Look at you already desperate for Daddy.” His voice is low and dripping with a smug satisfaction.

Luigi leans back, kneeling between your spread legs, and grips your thighs, pushing them wider apart until the cool air hits your soaked core and you bite your lip subconsciously.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he says one hand sliding up your thigh, teasingly close to where you need him to be. “I want to hear every fucking one,” he growls.

His fingers trace the edge of your pussy, lovingly dripping with arousal just enough to make you squirm. You buck your hips in response, instinctively chasing his touch, but he pins you down with his other hand flat on your stomach, his strength unmatched.

“Nah, baby,” he chuckles darkly “You don’t get to call the shots tonight. You’ve been acting like such a little pick-me, flirting with that loser, so now you’re gonna take what I give you.”

Your breath hitches a mixture of fear and arousal. “I wasn’t-” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. The sting is hot and begins melting into pleasure, making you gasp.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, eyes narrowing “I saw you laughing, touching his arm like you didn’t know I was watching. Do you think that’s any way to treat your Daddy?”

His hand slides up grabbing your pussy, just holding his hand there possessively. “You think he knows this pussy like I do? Think he can make it squirt like I do?”

Your thighs tense, heat blooming beneath his palm, your mind reeling from the rough claim of his touch. You open your mouth to protest, to give an explanation, but all that escapes is a ragged whimper. His gaze burns into yours, daring you to deny him, waiting for you to try and push him away, but you both know you won’t.

“I didn’t mean to–” you start, but Luigi just crushes your mouth with his.

“Shut up,” he snarls, and then he pulls his hand back from you. You whimper at the absence of warmth, but a second later you feel a sharp slap to your clit, sending a jolt of stinging heat straight through your core, ripping a broken cry from your throat.

Luigi claps one of his hands over your mouth and then you feel it: two long fingers slide inside you harshly. Your loud moan is muffled by his hand and drowned out by the sound of squelching, so wet it’s nearly obscene, as his fingers pump in and out of your pussy.

“Where’s your vibrator?”

“What?” you gasp, trying to think clearly through the haze of lust clouding your mind. “Why?”

Luigi pulls his hand out of your pussy and smacks your ass. You whimper at the loss of his fingers.

“Where?” he snarls.

“In… my bottom drawer,” you mumble, your voice still muffled by his hand. Your hand shakes as you point to the bedside table. Luigi leans over, long arm easily reaching the drawer while still keeping his other hand over your mouth. Slowly, your muddied thoughts clear as you realize what he’s about to do.

And then you hear him turn the wand up to its highest level - the one so strong you’ve never even used it on yourself. You freeze. Luigi takes his hand off your mouth to adjust the vibrator, and you make a run for it, lunging out from under him in a desperate attempt to escape.

You don’t even reach the edge of the bed before his big hands grab you by the waist, slapping your ass hard, repeatedly, before pulling you back under him. Luigi pins both your arms over your head in one hand and hovers over you, brown eyes dark and stormy with rage. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growls.

You whimper, body already aching for it, shivering in dark anticipation because you know what’s coming, how he’s going to ruin you for trying to run, and part of you craves it.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not ‘till I’m finished with you.”

And then he slams the wand down over your clit, the intensity of the vibrations making your back arch up off the bed as you let out a scream. Luigi just chuckles down at you, his expression mocking and amused, almost cruel. He pushes the vibrator down even harder, and you come embarrassingly fast, shattering apart, your slick squirting onto the sheets beneath you.

But Luigi doesn’t stop. He maintains the pressure on your pussy as you come down from your peak until you’re writhing and squirming beneath him. Your pulse throbs in your ears, your vision blurs, and all the blood in your body rushes down to your core.

The vibrations are unbearable. In seconds you’re sobbing, tears streaming down your cheeks as the intense pressure has you begging for mercy. “P-p-please, ‘s too much, Lu!” you cry.

He just shushes you. “You can take it, baby girl,” Luigi coos, his breath hot on your neck as his lips slide up to the sensitive spot under your ear. He sucks hard, tongue immediately soothing the pain after.

Your clit begins to throb again. Shame floods your cheeks as you realize what you’re about to ask. “Don’t stop - I want you,” you whisper, looking up at him with big, needy eyes.

Luigi’s eyes narrow. “Oh you want me, huh? Didn’t seem to want me down there when you were talking to what’s-his-face.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Daddy, please just let me cum!” you sob underneath him.

“Wow,” he chuckles. “You really are a little slut for me, aren’t you?” You moan, low and wrecked. And with a smack of his fingers against your clit, you come hard, stars exploding behind your eyelids, your legs shuddering and toes curling.

Mercifully Luigi turns off your vibrator, tossing it carelessly off the bed. You’re gasping for breath beneath him, a sobbing, mewling mess, when he reaches back over to you with a satisfied expression on his face, large hands coming up to knead and squeeze your breasts.

He rolls each of your nipples between two fingers, pursing his lips as if deciding what to do to you next. Still hypersensitive from your orgasm, you feel the pressure straight down in your core. You squeak and try to squirm away, but Luigi holds you in place.

“Please, it’s too much,” you whimper.

“You think I’m letting you rest, baby?” he murmurs, his tone drenched with that dominant edge that makes your core clench. “Nah, Daddy’s not done claiming this pussy.”

You whimper, half in protest but half in need. Your body betrays you as you shift underneath him, thighs pressing together. “Luigi, I–” you begin, but he cuts you off, pulling you by the hips to the edge of the bed with a force that steals your breath. Then he covers you completely, all hard muscle and solid weight, broad shoulders boxing you in, thick arms braced on either side of your head, his chest hot and unyielding as it presses you down. You can feel every line of him, every tense, rippling muscle in his abs flexing with control and power, caging you beneath him. His cock is already hard again and it’s hung low, so low it’s pressing low on your thigh.

“Don’t ‘Luigi’ me.” he growls, grabbing your chin between two strong fingers so that you’re forced to look up into his eyes. “It’s Daddy to you, and you’re going to scream it til’ everyone in this fucking house knows who you belong to.”

Your core clenches in response with a mixture of anticipation, fear, and need.

He climbs off the bed, standing at the edge, his cock glistening with your arousal. He grabs your thighs, jerking you roughly even closer to him, making you yelp.

“On your knees,” he commands, voice low and demanding. “I want you jerking Daddy off.”

You drop your knees to the floor instantly, your heart pounding, your hands now trembling as you reach for him. His cock is heavy and huge in your comparison to your hands, and you stroke him slowly, looking up at him through your lashes. His abs flex above you, his eyes locked on yours, dark with hunger.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, one hand tangling in your hair, guiding your pace. “Jerk Daddy’s cock like you mean it. You think that fucking loser could make you feel like this? Hm?”

“No,” you whisper, your hands moving faster, twisting slightly, earning a low groan from him that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” he mutters, his grip tightening in your hair. “This pussy, and these hands, they’re all mine.” His hips buck instinctively in your hands, and you can feel him throbbing, so close to the edge. “You gonna make Daddy cum, baby? Gonna show him how much you want it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your voice shaky with need, your own arousal dripping down your thighs as you work him, desperate to please.

His cock twitches under your hands. “Gonna cum,” Luigi mutters, “where do you want it, baby girl?”

“In my mouth,” you whisper.

Luigi’s pupils grow large until his eyes are nearly black. “Open for me,” he commands.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes, tongue hanging out, your thighs growing even wetter in anticipation. “'Atta girl,” he groans, tightening his fist in your hair and gripping your jaw possessively as he releases. Hot ropes of cum shoot out, painting your mouth, tongue, and chin in him.

You swallow obediently. “Let me see,” he murmurs, stroking your throat. You stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed every drop.

“Good girl,” Luigi breathes. “You want Daddy’s cock now?”

You nod eagerly, your head bobbing up and down. You’ll do whatever he asks, apologize a hundred times if you have to, just to relieve the throbbing ache between your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Daddy, I’m so empty.”

He chuckles, picking you off the floor and tossing you easily onto the bed. “Yea,” he laughs again, sliding a hand up your inner thigh. “I’m the only one who can fill up this perfect little pussy.”

He yanks you toward him by the hips, but instead of his cock, he puts his mouth against you. His warm, wet lips lock around your clit, creating suction to pull it into his mouth. His tongue flicks expertly against your slick folds, drawing tears from your eyes. Luigi gently kneads your clit between his teeth until you’re squirming and your legs are shaking with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

“Pleaseee,” you moan softly, eyes rolling back in your head, “please, just fuck me!”

Luigi’s dark eyes twinkle up at you devilishly from between your thighs. “Say you’re sorry,” he murmurs against you, the movement sending vibrations through your core.

You’re wet-eyed and whimpering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please,” you manage to exclaim through your sobs.

Luigi slaps your thigh. “Nope. Say it right.”

The sting barely registers. “Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Say you’re mine,” he commands, his breath hot and teasing against your core.

“I’m yours, Daddy!” you whine.

“That’s right,” he purrs. And then he positions himself above you, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. Luigi drags the tip of his cock, wet with precum, through your slick folds. Shivers spread through your whole body in anticipation of what is coming.

“Ok, baby girl,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your neck, “big stretch.”

And then he pushes into you inch by inch. Despite how wet you are, your pussy burns with the familiar ache as you struggle to let him inside. You hiss and then whimper into his shoulder.

Luigi chuckles. “Aww, I know, baby, I know. Your tiny pussy can barely take me.”

His cock molds to you perfectly, hitting every spot like he was made for you. It feels so good. You bite back a cry; you don’t need to further feed his massive ego.

Luigi presses his hand to your stomach. “You feel that?” he coos. “Yea, that’s mine. My cock in that tight little pussy.”

His other hand encircles your breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, and his thumb teases your nipple.

He starts to move, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock out until just his tip remains, then pushing back in with a deep, punishing roll of his hips. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as the stretch burns and melts into pleasure.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take it,” he growls, voice rough and dark. “Take every inch like a good girl.”

His hand slips from your breast to your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there–reminding you who’s in control. His thrusts stay slow but deep, each one sending a shockwave through your core, making your toes curl.

“Feel how deep I am?” he pants against your ear. “No one else is ever gonna fill you like this. No one else even fucking comes close.”

Your breath stutters, your hands grabbing at his biceps, nails digging in as your body struggles to keep up with the pleasure.

He chuckles low, rolling his hips again, harder this time, making your breath hitch. “Look at you. Falling apart already and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips until he hits that perfect spot inside you–again and again–until you’re gasping his name like a prayer.

“Say it,” he demands, fucking into you slow and deep. “Say who’s making you feel this good.”

“Y-you, Daddy,” you cry, thighs trembling from the steady, overwhelming pace.

“Damn right it’s me,” he growls, snapping his hips sharply. “No one else gets this pussy but me.”

But just when your release starts to build, sharp and hot in your belly, Luigi suddenly stills inside you. The stretch of him remains, throbbing deep, but he doesn’t move. You whimper, hips trying to rock against him, desperate for more.

He smiles, slow and mean. “Ah-ah, what do you think you’re doing?” His hand tightens ever so slightly around your throat, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. “You don’t get to cum just because you want to, baby. You cum when I say.”

“Please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

“Please what?” His voice is pure mockery, but there’s heat behind it. “Please, Daddy, don’t stop? Please, Daddy, fuck me until I’m crying again?”

You bite your lip, your pride hanging by a thread. “Please Daddy…please let me cum,” you breathe, eyes glassy and wide.

Luigi groans, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “God, I love when you beg.”

But still, he doesn’t move. He lets you sit there, stuffed full and shaking, your body clenching around him helplessly. His free hand drifts down to your clit, barely brushing it with teasing strokes that only make it worse.

“You’ll wait until I’m ready,” he says, voice dark and possessive. “And when I do let you cum? You’re gonna make a mess all over my cock, aren’t you baby girl?”

Your head nods frantically before you can stop it, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming need.

“Good girl,” Luigi purrs. “Now hold still.”

And with that, he pulls out halfway, then slams back in with one brutal thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You scream, the sound torn from your throat as his cock slams against that perfect, spongy spot inside you. Your whole body jolts beneath him, hands fisting in the sheets as tears spill freely from your eyes.

Luigi grins down at you, sharp and feral. “There she is. My perfect cockdrunk baby. Crying on my cock like I knew you would.”

He sets a brutal pace now, hips snapping against yours with enough force to rock the bed against the wall. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, filthy and raw.

“You think anyone else knows how to fuck you open like this? You wanna come, baby?” He pants, his voice a low snarl.

You try to form words–anything–but your brain is fried, your body reduced to nothing but the heat building deep in your core.

“Go ahead, princess. Cum for me,” Luigi growls. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

And with a sharp, precise roll of his hips, he hits your sweet spot dead on, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you violently, making your back arch and your vision go white. You sob his name, shaking beneath him as your pussy clamps down hard around his cock.

But Luigi doesn’t cum, not yet at least. He keeps thrusting through your orgasm, slow but deep, dragging every last tremor from your body you’re shaking and whimpering beneath him.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he pants, voice husky and ragged against your ear. “You think we’re done?”

He pulls out suddenly, leaving you clenching around nothing, empty and gasping. His large hands grip your hips, rough and demanding.

“Turn over. All fours. Now,” he growls, voice sharp enough to cut through your haze. “Arch that pretty little back for me.”

You scramble weakly to obey, limbs trembling, head foggy from the aftershocks of your second orgasm. But his hand comes down hard on your ass, making you jolt.

“Higher, princess. I want to see that perfect pussy all spread out for me,” he hisses. “Show Daddy how bad you want it.”

Behind you, you hear the slick sound of him stroking himself once, twice, precum wet against his fist as he lines himself back up.

“Hold still,” he growls. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, and without warning, he drives himself back inside in one harsh thrust that knocks the air out of you.

You cry out, your fingers twisting in the sheets as your body jerks forward, but Luigi’s hands have a bruising grip on your hips, dragging you right back onto him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head tipping back. “Tight little pussy still squeezing me so good after all that?” His voice is wrecked, dripping with hunger and smug satisfaction.

He starts to thrust hard and deep, relentless, each snap of his hips sending your body jolting forward, only for him to yank you back onto his cock again.

“Look at you,” he pants, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “Taking it like a good girl…my perfect little fucktoy.”

You whimper, the praise sinking into your skin like fire, shame and arousal tangling together until you can’t tell them apart.

“Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere, huh? Bent over this bed, against a wall, in front of that fucker from earlier if I told you to.” Another sharp thrust. “Because you know this pussy was made for me.”

He leans over you, chest slick with sweat, voice hot against your ear. “My pretty little slut,” he rasps, biting down lightly on your shoulder. “So needy for Daddy’s cock you can’t even think straight, huh?”

His hips roll slow and deep, dragging the thick length of himself along every sensitive spot inside you until you’re trembling again, your mouth hanging open in a soundless moan.

But suddenly, Luigi’s hands slide down to your hips and then lower, resting against your thighs. He stops moving, leaving you trembling and clenching around him.

“Go on,” he says, voice low and dark. “Show me how bad you need it. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You freeze, flushed and breathless, but his large hands smooth slowly up your back, warm and steady, coaxing you forward.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t make me wait.”

Shame burns hot in your chest, but the ache between your thighs is worse. You start to move, rocking your hips back onto him, slow at first, then faster, chasing that stretch, chasing the heat.

His hands glide over your back, fingers splayed wide, feeling every tremble of your muscles as you work yourself on him.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice rough with heat but still sharp with mockery. “So desperate you can’t stop. Had to let you fuck yourself on my dick like the needy little slut you are.”

Your pace stutters, your thighs already shaking, but he laughs softly, running one hand down your spine.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you, baby?” he taunts, hips barely rolling up to meet your frantic pace. “Is that why you were talking to that loser? Just needed Daddy to fuck you right, didn’t you?”

A moan tears from your throat, raw and helpless. “Yes, Daddy–fuck–yes, I needed you,” you cry, grinding back against him shamelessly. “No one else–no one else fucks me like you do.”

He hums in approval, gripping your hips tighter, holding you still for a moment as he lets your words sink in.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and lust. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

You don’t slow down, even as your thighs begin to ache and your body threatens to give out. Instead, you brace your hands against the headboard, arch your back deeper, and start slamming your hips back onto him harder, rough and messy, driving him deeper with your every bounce.

Luigi lets out a low, feral groan, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. “Fuck, baby girl…look at you. Bouncing on my cock like you’re starved for it.”

You glance over your shoulder, giving him your best wrecked smile, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “Want you to cum, Daddy,” you pant, voice shaking but determined. “Wanna feel you fill me up.”

That makes something snap in him. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his stomach tightening under your gaze.

“Oh you’re filthy,” he snarls, but there’s a rough affection beneath it. “Filthy little slut, trying to milk my cock like that.”

You squeeze around him deliberately, rolling your hips just right, slow now, controlled, making him feel every clench of your pussy around his cock. Luigi swears under his breath, his rhythm starting to falter as you take control, grinding on him like you know exactly what he needs.

But then his palm cracks down on your ass again, sharp and claiming. “Think you’re in charge now, huh?” he pants, breathless. “Keep going, baby. Earn it. Make Daddy come for you.”

You slam your hips back onto him again, harder this time, meeting his thrust halfway. The force of it punches a sharp moan out of both of you.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Luigi growls, voice wrecked and breathless. He digs his fingers into your waist, bruising, and starts driving his hips forward, hard and fast, challenging your pace instead of controlling it.

It’s rough, sloppy, and frantic–your bodies crashing together, the slap of skin on skin filling the air along with your ragged moans and his filthy praise.

You grind back with everything you have, breath coming in gasps. “Can’t keep up, Daddy?” you taunt between moans, voice shaking but defiant.

That earns you a sharp, biting laugh. “Oh, baby, you have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so your cries echo louder. His thrusts lose their rhythm, turning wild, almost desperate as he fights to stay on top of this tug of war between your bodies.

Your thighs burn, your body trembling, but you don’t stop–you chase the next collision of hips like it’s your only purpose, driving yourself back onto him so hard the bed creaks violently beneath you both.

“You wanted rough? Then fucking take it,” he snarls, snapping his hips up into yours in sharp, punishing thrusts.

Your voice breaks on a gasp, but you meet him stroke for stroke, your whole body flushed, soaked, and shaking. “I can take it, Daddy…can you?”

And for the first time tonight, Luigi falters, his breath catching in his throat as you fight to milk his cock with a ruthless roll of your hips, tightening around him just to hear him groan.

The second you feel his grip in your hair loosen, you take your chance. One of your hands shoots back between your bodies, finding his balls, all hot, heavy, and tight. You roll them in your palm, fingers working him with just the right mix of teasing and pressure, and Luigi lets out a strangled, broken groan, deep and raw from his chest.

“Oh, fuck–” he gasps, hips stuttering violently against yours.

You smirk through your own ragged moans, still grinding your hips back against him without mercy. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” you pant, breathless and smug. “Can’t hold out?”

His fingers clamp down hard on your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself, but it’s no use. The control slips from his gasp, replaced by pure, desperate pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, fuck–” His voice cracks as his orgasm hits him like a freight train.

He slams himself deep inside you and stays there, buried to the hilt, as his cock jerks and pulses, cum spilling deep inside you in hot, thick waves.

But it doesn’t stop after a few seconds, like usual. It keeps going. Long and drawn out. His whole body shakes with it, hips twitching as he keeps spilling inside you, breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps against your back.

You moan at the feeling, arching your back to take every drop.

“Fuckin–Jesus–” Luigi growls, completely wrecked and shaky. “You…fuckin…brat…”

Before you can catch your breath, Luigi’s hand snakes down between your legs. His fingers find your clit, swollen and throbbing, and he delivers a sharp, stinging slap right over it.

Your whole body jerks, a strangled sob ripping from your throat. The shock hits like lightning, sharp and blinding. But before you can recover, he does it again, even harder.

Your legs give out beneath you, trembling violently, but he holds your hips in place. You can barely form a sound before the third slap lands, and that’s what shatters you completely.

Your orgasm explodes out of you like a damn breaking.

You cry out, the sound wrecked and hoarse, as your pussy clenches hard against him, your body shaking uncontrollably. Heat coils tight in your belly before spilling out in wave after wave, gushing around his cock.

Your slick pours out, soaking your thighs, running in sticky rivulets down Luigi’s abs and the sheets below you two. You’re dripping, messy and ruined, and you can’t stop it, even as you try to pull away, the pleasure forces your body to stay open and bare to him.

“Look at that,” Luigi groans low and rough, watching the mess you’re making with hungry eyes. “Fucking perfect. My girl squirting all over me.”

Your whole body pulses with aftershocks, each wave rolling through you sharper than the last. Your thighs twitch violently, barely able to hold you upright, and your arms buckle as your chest heaves against the bed. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, loud and deafening, but somehow beneath it, you can still feel him deep inside you, thick and hot, pulsing against your overstimulated walls.

The room is filled with the ragged sound of your breaths, the sticky, obscene wetness between your thighs, and the faint creak of the mattress under your shaking bodies.

And still, through all of it–through this wreckage of your orgasm, the haze clouding your mind–your voice claws its way out, hoarse, trembling, but steady enough to cut through the tension between you.

“You…need me,” you gasp, the words torn from your throat, “just as much as I need you.”

You force your body to move, to turn your head over your shoulder despite the weakness weighing down your limbs. Your eyes find his–wild, dark, and blown wide with something raw. Something real.

Your voice softens, but the meaning sharpens like a blade. “I own you, too.”

For a long, thick moment, he just stares at you. His chest heaves against your back, muscles tight with restraint, his cock still buried deep inside your wrecked pussy, twitching with the last echoes of his release.

And then, slowly, like a predator catching the scent of blood, that dangerous grin spreads across his face.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice rough from use. He leans down until his chest is slick against your back, trapping you in his heat. His breath ghosts over your ear, low and wrecked.

“Guess we’re both fucked, huh?”

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe–wrecked and raw, tangled in heat and sweat and everything unsaid between you.

Then, finally, Luigi exhales a shaky breath and slowly pulls out, his cock slipping free of your swollen, sensitive pussy with a slick sound that makes you both shiver.

He leans back on his heels, eyes fixed between your thighs, watching the thick, messy drip of his cum spill out of you, trailing down your inner thighs and onto your ruined sheets below.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this…all full of my cum.”

The way he says it, quiet, reverent, and almost like a prayer, makes heat pool in your belly all over again.

But you’re too spent to do anything about it. With a groan you roll onto your back, stretching your sore limbs out across the mattress, wincing slightly as your muscles protest the movement.

Luigi chuckles low, sliding a strong arm around your waist, pulling you back toward his chest before you can go far.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs against your hair, still breathless but already possessive again.

You giggle, soft and content. “I’m going to pee…and then go back downstairs.”

Luigi stiffens behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. His eyes grow dark again, simmering with something sharp and dangerous beneath the exhaustion.

“You’re not going back downstairs,” he says, voice low and possessive, curling like smoke against your ear. His fingers slide slowly up and down your bare arm, a gentle contrast to the warning in his tone.

You sigh, half exasperated, half amused, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “It’s my house, Luigi.”

But he doesn’t budge. His grip only tightens, his fingers flexing against your waist.

“I don’t care,” he mutters, final and firm. “You’re not going back to the party. You’re not going back to that loser or anyone else. We’ll go back to my place,”

His hand slides down your thigh, slow and claiming, then back up to cup your ass with a possessive squeeze, making your breath hitch.

The room falls quiet, except for the steady thrum of your hearts still racing from everything you just shared.

A wave of heat blooms in your chest, something softer slipping between the cracks of lust and pride.

“Okay,” you murmur at last, voice soft and tired. You tuck your head beneath his chin, letting his warmth swallow you whole.

His scent wraps around you, warm and dizzying–sharp cologne clinging to his skin, the musk of sweat and sex still lingering in the air, all tangled with something darker…possessive, jealous, unmistakably him.

And for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Into him.

But somewhere beneath the exhaustion, the satisfaction, and the lingering heat of his body, confusion stirs. This isn’t how it usually goes. He’s never cared before–not about who you talked to or where you went after.

He’s never kept you close like this, holding you down in your own bed, shielding you from the rest of the world like you’re something fragile…or something his.

Your heart stumbles over itself, torn between irritation and something softer, something dangerous.

Because you’re not supposed to matter to each other. This was supposed to be simple.

But nothing about the way his arms lock around your waist feels simple. Nothing about the way he’s keeping you here, refusing to let you go back to the party, feels casual.

And even though you could fight it–you could tell him to move, tell him this doesn’t mean anything–you don’t.

Instead, you sigh softly against his chest, closing your eyes as the question presses against your ribs like a bruise:

When did this stop being just sex?

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