#cute in theory annoying in practice

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Living with a cat last school year and this school year has really driven it home how much Not a cat person I am

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

the art & science of parenting 101 ─ p. js

↳ summary ── the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009): in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal.   what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade.  warning: sleep deprivation is guaranteed. and maybe, just maybe, some unexpected feelings for your disaster of a partner. good luck! 

↳ pairing ── jay park x y/n [ft. enha members!]

↳ genre ── e2l!au, college!au, (fake)parenting!au, he-fell-first, she-fell-harder type beat lolz || fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 20.5k [ONCE AGAIN -- this was not intentional..if you know me i just have too much fun writing sometimes & get too attached to the characters...]

↳ contains ── mentions of parenting & parental neglect (sorta, only a smidge of like five words), crack! bc if you know me i self indulge in crack whoops, jay & y/n being opposites & school rivals, jay's annoying smirk like a million times, reader & jay are psych majors, jay's also a photographer, cheesy ass kisses, jay & reader are awkward! so awkward! there’s SO much tension . but in a cute awkward crush way

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── omg it’s finally done. tell me why it took me so long to finish, i promise i didn’t mean to but life’s been busier lately :’) aNyways! ugh i luv writing e2l!jay for some reason,,,he fits the trope so well in my eyes heh but i hope you all like him & the characters as much as i enjoyed writing them !!! as busy as i am i love indulging in my crack x enha writes :P hope u enjoy & tell me what you think <333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Welcome to PSY1009, The Art & Science of Parenting 101! Throughout the next 12 weeks, we’re going to dive deep into the wondrous world of parenting—dirty diapers and all. To kick off our course, we’re starting with our campus-famous project: raising your very own robot baby for the first half of the semester (with the help of your assigned partner, of course). Before our first class, we ask that you complete this pre-project questionnaire on your current views and opinions about parenting. No pressure—there are no right or wrong answers (maybe only judgements from your future robot offspring)!

Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What theories and methods do you believe are important to parenting? 

Y/N's Submission [8:25AM, September 18th]:

"I strongly believe that effective parenting revolves around a strict routine, which can be reinforced through the principles of operant conditioning, as developed by B.F. Skinner. Proper feeding schedules, consistent nap times, and regular development check-ins are essential—I think a structured timetable would ensure a baby's needs are met efficiently and consistently. With a set schedule and a focus on developmental milestones, I believe we can maximize a child's growth potential, even if it's just a robot baby.”

Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain out of this co-parenting experience?  

Y/N's Submission [8:29AM, September 18th]:  

"I expect to confirm that a well-organized system is the key to successful parenting. I want to test my hypothesis that if you follow a set structure, yes, even with a robot baby, things will run smoothly. I am hoping that this experience runs smoothly with no unnecessary surprises.” 

✭・.・✫

Satisfied with your answers, you click 'submit' and close your laptop, feeling a wave of satisfaction as you settle into your seat—center of the second row—as you wait for the 9AM lecture to start.  

It's 8:30AM.  

You're the only one in the room.  

Yeah, you're a little early. So what? One can never be too prepared. You've waited for this course forever, and you're determined to not only ace it (like you do with every class) but to dominate. So yes, coming early is characteristic of you, as you want to ensure you get the best seat in the classroom: center of the second row—center to get the best view of the professor's podium, and second row to be close enough to show you're engaged, but not close enough that it screams, Look at me, I'm a tryhard!  

It's clear you've come prepared. Plus, this class isn't just any ordinary elective—it's the elective to take. Only the top students majoring in psychology get in, available only through direct invite by the professor. If you were invited to PSY1009, it meant you were the crème de la crème of psychology students. The best of the best. The elite. The— 

Your train of thought is derailed when an all-too-familiar figure strolls into the room with that signature smirk. Backpack slung lazily over one (1) shoulder (as if two straps are too much effort), hair clearly still bedhead status, wearing whatever clothes he fished off The Chair (you know, the one—where all questionable, semi-clean laundry lives). 

He strolls past you—of course—and plops down right in front of you.

Front row.  

Try-hard. 

"Y/N, fancy seeing you here," Jay Park spins around, a knowing look plastered on his face, eyes gleaming. "I missed seeing that frown of yours all summer." 

"What are you doing here, Jay?" You roll your eyes and scoff at his comment. "Don't tell me you got into this class. It's for serious students."  

Jay's grin only widens to your despair. "Contrary to your deeply misinformed opinion, Professor Kim actually loves me. I'm a great student."  

“I don’t believe it,” you deadpan back. “You never turn your assignments in on time, and quite frankly, I'm surprised you were even able to find this classroom."  

Jay shrugs, unfazed. "What can I say? Professor Kim doesn't just look at deadlines, she looks at talent. Guess that says a lot about me, huh?"  

You mumble something under your breath about ‘talent for procrastination’ but before he can fire back, Professor Kim walks into the room, cuing the silence of all the students who've filled up the class.  

"Good morning, class! I'm so happy to see so many familiar faces."  

Jay turns his head back towards the front of the room, as you instantly straighten up, flashing your favorite professor a smile. This is officially the fifth course you've taken with Professor Kim. It's no secret you’re one of her biggest fans—the countless early mornings you've spent waiting at your computer, finger hovering over the ‘enroll’ button the second registration opens so you can be one of the first students to sign up for her classes have proven that. Challenging but rewarding, her classes are always worth the effort.

And yet, for reasons beyond your comprehension, Jay Park—Jay Freaking Park—somehow always ends up in the same classes. Every. Single. Time. It’s like a curse.  

A loud, messy, procrastinating curse…

…that just so happens to have a side profile almost as annoyingly good that it only pisses you off more. 

You wonder if he’s actually here to learn or if he’s just here to spite you. Because, honestly, the amount of classes you’ve shared with him is no longer a coincidence. Five semesters in a row? Suspicious. 

But realistically, and unfortunately, Jay does study the same major as you, which means those last five semesters? Oh, those were five long semesters of endless debates on discussion boards, in-class duels over psychological theories, and the infamous showdown for the TA position in Professor Kim's Intro to Psychology course. And the worst part? Neither of you got the job because Professor Kim—in a diplomatic twist that made zero sense to you—deemed you both 'equally qualified.' So, the job went to the third best candidate instead. Tough luck.  

You open up your laptop again, opening a perfectly organized Google Doc, ready to take notes on whatever pearls of wisdom Professor Kim is currently bestowing about your upcoming project—which, in hindsight, you should really be paying attention to. You should be. But something so ridiculous, so blood-boiling, pulls your attention elsewhere.  

Jay's desk is completely...empty. 

No laptop. No notebook. Not even a measly little pencil. Did he bring an empty backpack? Or did he just walk in here like he's casually waiting for someone to present him his grade on a silver platter? He's just sitting there like this is a casual hangout—probably expecting his robot baby to parent itself while he simply supervises.  

Before your self-induced inner monologue spirals into complete rage, you suddenly hear your professor's voice cut through the class, breaking you out of your mental rant.  

"Y/N and Jay." 

Wait. What?

Your head snaps up so fast it's a miracle it didn't pop off your neck and roll away.

You blink. You must have misheard.

"Y/N and Jay," Professor Kim repeats as if she could read your confused expression, voice too nonchalant for the life-wrecking news she's about to deliver: "You two are partners."  

The words hit you like a bus. No, not even. The words hit you like a bus driven by a T-Rex that flips over, crashes into a building, and explodes into a million ashy pieces. And there you are—standing right in the middle of the wreckage, somehow (and unfortunately) still alive to suffer through every second of it—while Jay, smug as ever, whips around in his seat to face you.  

And of course, there it is: that look of his that screams 'This is going to be so much fun for me, and so much pain for you.' 

"Guess we're parents now, Y/N!" Jay chimes, his voice dripping with so much sarcastic enthusiasm you swear he just got handed an Oscar for Most Annoying Human. If that tone were a substance, you'd bottle it up and use it as insect repellent. On him. Repeatedly.  

You blink at him, you're sure—you're praying—this has to be some elaborate prank. Maybe Jay bribed Professor Kim with his rare attempt at turning in an assignment on time just to mess with you. Or maybe the universe just hates you and this is your karma for stealing your roommate's last ramen packet that one time a year ago.  

But no, Professor Kim keeps rattling off other pairs like it's business as usual, as if your entire academic career and sanity isn't currently being flushed down a metaphorical toilet, while you sit there, paralyzed, your brain rapidly melting into a useless puddle from the sheer thought of being paired with him.  

"What's wrong, Y/N?" Jay teases as he leans over the back of his chair towards you, puppy dog eyes on display. "You don't want to play house with me?"  

You narrow your eyes at him, mentally wielding your imaginary bug spray like it's a holy weapon. 

"I don’t," you reply flatly. "In fact, I’d rather perform open-heart surgery on myself with a plastic spoon than co-parent with you." 

Jay’s eyes light up as his hand goes to his heart. "Aw, you really know how to make a guy feel special. This is why I like our little relationship, you know?" 

"Relationship?" You scoff loud enough to make the people sitting three rows behind you to glance in your direction.

You bring your voice down to a whisper, leaning towards him. "The only thing we have in common is a shared oxygen supply." 

"See, that’s the spirit," he says, turning back to face the front like he didn't just ruin your life.

And somehow, that pisses you off even more. Is it his voice? His stupidly perfect hair? The fact that he has the audacity to breathe in your general direction? At this point, he could literally sneeze, and it would still feel like a personal attack.

Is it too late to switch majors? Or schools? Maybe even countries? Surely, restarting your entire college career as a super senior would be better than spending the next six weeks parenting with Jay. Jay Park, who has probably never held anything more fragile than a Red Solo Cup.  

Jay Park, who is just sitting there, all calm and collected, clearly loving every second of your misery.  

While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.  

Your grade? Plummeting as we speak.  Your robot baby? Probably going to need therapy by day two. And you? ��

You're screwed.

Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What are your current theories and methods that you believe are important to parenting? 

Jay’s Submission [10:09AM, September 18th]: 

"I think babies need more freedom to explore and make their own choices, even if that just means grabbing random things. Bowlby's attachment theory leans towards a secure attachment, but I don't think that means hovering over them 24/7. It's about being there when they really need you, not scheduling every second of the day. I also believe letting babies learn through their own experiences is key. Strict behaviorism, such as Skinner's, sounds exhausting and I don't think a rigid system is what makes a good parent. Babies are messy, and that's okay." 

Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain from this experience? 

Jay's Submission [10:12AM, September 18th]:  

"I'm hoping to learn how to be a responsive, yet flexible parent without overcomplicating it. The goal is to find balance between being hands-on without hovering. And, I think this whole robot baby thing will teach me how to handle unpredictable situations—because no matter how much you plan, life is going to surprise you. And also, being able to say I know how to change a diaper under 30 seconds sounds pretty cool :)" 

✭・.・✫

Jay's screwed.  

Like, completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed. 

He was already kinda skeptical he’d make it past his 40s if he kept living the way he does, but now? Now, he’s not even sure he’ll survive the next 24 hours. Why? Well, today’s the first official meeting with you—as co-parents—at the campus coffee shop at 12PM sharp. 

It's 12:17PM.  

He's late.  

Seventeen whole minutes late. To your meeting. And you're basically the human embodiment of an atomic clock. You’re probably sitting there, checking your watch every few seconds, calculating his absence down to the millisecond. Jay can practically feel the murderous vibes you’re radiating from halfway across campus.  

And while Jay sometimes finds your need for punctuality weirdly endearing (but don't tell anyone that), he also values not getting scolded on a Saturday morning (12PM is still morning to him, don't judge), especially when he could be sleeping in.   

As the café comes into view, Jay considers just throwing the towel in. Maybe he could fake a sudden illness, or better yet, skip town and maybe fake his own death or something. 

There's no point. Knowing you, you'd probably hunt him down for sport.  

With a sigh, Jay pushes open the door to the café, bracing himself for impact.  

And there you are. Exactly how he imagined.  

Seated at a small table by the window, papers perfectly aligned, laptop open, and two different colored highlighters placed meticulously side by side. Your foot taps in perfect sync with the café's background music, your eyebrows knitted together in focus, and your teeth chewing your bottom lip as if you're about to crack the Krabby Patty secret formula. The window next to you allows the afternoon sunlight to spill through and reflect off of you, making you look...dare he say it...almost pretty.

If Jay wasn't fearing for his life, he might have actually stopped to admire the view. Might have.  

When Jay finally reaches your table—17 minutes and 46 seconds late (but who's counting)—you look up, meeting his gaze with a look that's somewhere between not surprised but definitely not impressed. 

"Well, well," you say, quirking your mouth up ever so slightly that Jay thinks he might see you smile for the first time in, like, ever. "Look who finally decided to join us! Must be nice living on Jay Standard Time."  

Jay flashes his usual, unbothered smile as he pulls out the chair across from you.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N. Seventeen minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of life."  

"Yeah? Tell that to our future robot baby when you're seventeen minutes late to feed it and its batteries die."  

"Yikes. That got dark quick," Jay's mutters, grin wavering. "But hey, glad to see you're finally accepting the fact that it's our future baby!"  

"Future robot baby," you peer your eyes at him from above your laptop. "Anyways, did you read the guidelines?"  

Jay rubs the back of his neck as he leans back into his chair. "Uh, define 'read'."  

Without missing a beat, you slap a packet of papers down on the table.

"Here's the breakdown. Feeding schedules, emotional development tracker, diaper changes, mood swings—the whole shebang. We're going to have to approach this strategically."  

"Woah, okay," Jay's eyebrows shoot up, his brain trying to catch up with the words you just spewed at him. "First, how the heck is a robot going to develop emotionally—that's a little scary if you ask me. Like, dystopian, Black Mirror, scary. And second, since when is parenting just following a spreadsheet? Isn't part of it, you know, winging it?"  

At the words 'winging it', your eye twitches so violently, Jay half-expects you to reach across the table and strangle him with his own hoodie strings. 

"Winging it?" You shut your laptop and lean forward. "Winging it is exactly how we end up with a malfunctioning robot baby that starts a fire and fails us. Parenting is all about structure, consistency—"  

"—and having a little fun," Jay cuts in, mouth quirked with mischief. "I mean, what's parenting without some chaos?"  

"Chaos," you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him, "is what you bring into my life on a daily basis."  

"Yeah, and yet you secretly love it," Jay shoots back, leaning in to meet you, as if daring you to disagree.  

You stare at him, unblinking. It's either you're plotting his slow and painful demise or seriously considering what he just said. No in-between.  

And yet, somehow, Jay almost finds it endearing how you can look like the world's most innocent golden retriever while also simultaneously sending him six feet under with just one agonizing glare. Almost.  

Finally, you sigh, "This isn't a joke, Jay. This is 40% of our grade."  

"And I'm 100% ready!" Jay shoots back with a wink, to which you respond with a full-body eye roll.  

"Oh yeah? Alright, Mr. Ready-for-Anything, what's your brilliant plan?"

"Hmm," Jay leans back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head as if he's got it all figured out (he doesn't). "Well, for one, I was thinking maybe...shifts. We split responsibilities based on our schedules. I'll take the baby on certain hours, you take it other hours, and we'll spend our free days together. And if we're not together and there's a baby crisis, we stay on call." 

In complete honesty, that came from out of nowhere. Jay didn't even know any ideas were subconsciously cooking up within him until the words tumbled out of his mouth before he realized it. But there's no way he was going to tell you that, not when you don't immediately tear his idea to shreds. In fact, you actually look...impressed? 

Or so he thinks. Jay definitely needs to get better at this whole 'reading your expressions' thing.  

"Huh," you murmur to yourself, fingers tapping against the table. "That's...not the worst idea you've ever had."  

Jay feels elated. Validation? From you? Phew, this means his life is spared. Thank god.  

Jay flashes you a satisfied smile and while you don't return it, he hopes you're secretly softening. Just a little. Behind that straight face, you're probably low-key impressed, but no way are you letting him see that.  

"Don't get too excited," you say, as if you've got some sixth sense for whenever Jay throws a mental victory parade. "This is only day one. Of, like, 42. We've got a long way to go."  

"Okay, okay," Jay raises his hands in surrender, though there's no hiding the smirk on his face as he still mentally takes the win. "Message received. Let's just figure out our schedules?"  

You nod, pushing your laptop aside to make space for a sheet of paper you've already prepared—because of course you're prepared. It's like you're about to whip up some elaborate high-stakes legal contract that probably involves blood signatures.

"Okay," you say, clicking your pen, picking a bright blue that basically stabs Jay's eyes by simply existing, but whatever makes you happy, I guess.

You write 'Jay's Schedule' at the top, neatly highlighting it with a pink highlighter that somehow hurts even more. Jay wonders if this is a secret ploy to blind him into submission. He wouldn't put it past you.  

"What's your typical weekly schedule like?"  

Jay squints, clearly thinking hard, as he tries to remember what a 'typical' week looks like for him. Mostly it's a mix of spontaneous decisions, power naps, and gym sessions sprinkled between classes.  

"Uh...well," Jay rubs the back of his neck. "I usually sleep in until like 11...sometimes noon, depends on the vibe, you know? Classes after that, gym a couple times a week, maybe? And, um, naps are non-negotiable. Make sure you pencil those in too."  

Your pen freezes mid-air, hovering like you're considering whether to throw it at his face or not.  

"Naps? Non-negotiable? For someone who wakes up at 11AM? We're raising a child, Jay, this requires commitment!"  

Jay raises a calm eyebrow. "Hey, sleep is very important for brain function! You wouldn't want me underperforming as a parent, right?"  

Your eye twitches. "No, Jay. That's already my biggest fear."  

But instead of escalating the snark, you bite your lip, clearly restraining yourself from unleashing a full lecture on time management. Jay struggles to stifle his own laugh at your reaction. If looks could kill, you'd have him buried under six feet of color-coded charts and to-do lists by now.  

Finally, you sigh, accepting your fate and jotting down ‘Jay’s naps: apparently crucial for survival’ in your notes with a frown drawn next to it, while Jay gives you an approving nod from across the table. 

"Alright, my turn," you flip the page over with dramatic flair, carefully writing 'Y/N's Schedule' in the same stab-your-eyes-blue and pink highlight combo as Jay mentally braces himself for what's to come.  

"So," you continue, starting with that no-nonsense tone that's clearly meant to be serious—but to Jay, there's something almost charming about how strict you are. "I wake up at 6."  

Jay's brain immediately short-circuits. Forget charming.

You’re downright crazy. 

"6? As in AM? On purpose?"  

You blink back at him, as if he's the one saying something ridiculous.

"Yes, Jay. On purpose."  

His mind reels, purely amazed, yet utterly horrified at the thought. 6AM? Who does that? He's seen 6AM before, sure, but only when he's stayed up all night, probably cramming for an exam. His mornings start at 10AM at best, and that's very, very rarely. There are birds chirping at 6AM. Who wants to live in a world where birds chirp you awake?  

When he doesn't respond—still in pure shock—you keep going, undeterred by his obvious existential crisis.

"I usually have class at 8AM until 1PM, then I try to pick up a shift here," you gesture around the very café you two are in, "and then—"  

"Wait, wait," Jay holds up a hand, needing a mental pause button. "You work here?"  

"Yeah," you nod, like it's the most casual thing ever. "Why, is that surprising?"  

Jay squints at you. He's never considered the idea of you pulling espresso shots and dealing with caffeine-deprived college students—he's always pegged you more as a 'quiet math tutor for third-graders' type. Or maybe someone who sells cute stationery at the campus bookstore, organizing pens in rainbow order or something. But now that he's picturing it, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Maybe that's why you're so uptight all the time—too much exposure to coffee fumes. Or, more likely (and evidently), you're just an insanely busy person.  

He likes the coffee fumes theory better.  

"I guess not," he admits, then surprises even himself by adding, "that's kind of impressive, though."  

He gives you a genuine smile, and you blink back, as if searching for the hidden jab that's usually lurking beneath his words. But it's not there this time...oddly. Slowly, your expression softens, and you give him the tiniest of smiles.

"Thanks? It's alright, I guess."  

It's nothing big—no, not at all—but Jay feels a weird sense of accomplishment at your reaction. Better than nothing. 

He leans in over the table, all faux-innocence—eyebrows raises, large puppy eyes and all.

"Does this mean you can get me a free coffee?"  

You lean in too, mirroring him, and he's not sure why his heart skips a beat at the close proximity. 

"Yeah...no. Nice try."  

Jay groans, throwing himself back in his chair dramatically. Worth a shot.  

"Anyway," you continue, totally unfazed, "I usually work here until 5, then Mondays I have a study group for Econ 301, and club meetings scattered throughout the week."  

Jay's head spins for maybe the nth time since he's sat down. Honestly, you lost him way back at 'class until 1PM.' Your schedule is like some kind of twisted Sudoku puzzle, except much more intimidating.  

"So...you're, like, busy...all the time?" he asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth as his brain tries to process how anyone can function like this.  

You give him a look that almost convinces Jay himself that he's the crazy one here.

"Yes, Jay. I am."  

"Wow, okay. So why did you even take this class? What happened to being committed? You don't even have time to breathe."  

You narrow your eyes, and he swears you're about to launch into some motivational TedTalk.

"It's called efficiency, Jay. Also, I like to challenge myself. That's what parenthood is about, after all."

Jay stares at you like you've just self-declared yourself a cyborg.

"Oookayyy," he drawls, dragging out the word because, honestly, he's 99% sure you've completely lost it. The remaining 1%?  

It's slightly impressed by your sheer, terrifying level of commitment. He's over here winging life, including this conversation, while you've practically mapped out the rest of your entire existence. 

"Do you even, like, sleep? Or is that optional for you?"  

"Sleep is for the weak," you shoot him an amused glance, half-joking, half-serious.

Jay raises an eyebrow. "Good to know I'm weak, then."  

You stifle a laugh, but Jay catches the brief twitch of your lips before you quickly compose yourself. He’s known you for so long, and yet, this might be the first time he’s seen even a hint of your guard slipping. It’s subtle, barely there, but he notices. And for some reason, it makes him smile. You’re always so put together, so serious—but this small crack in your armor? Jay can’t help but appreciate it.  

Maybe, just maybe, he could get you to soften up more if he tried hard enough.

And yeah, he’s definitely going to try. 

But before he can try to tease you more, you snap back into business mode, instantly scribbling down more notes.

"Alright, so let’s just split the baby's care based on my work schedule and your...nap schedule, apparently."  

Jay leans back in his chair, catching that flicker of amusement in your voice—despite the serious look on your face—and he fights the urge to push a little more. There's something about that side of you—not the one behind the cold wall you've built of color-coded schedules and deadlines—that he wants to see more of. Somehow.  

"Works for me,” he shrugs and grins at you, “but if the baby's anything like me, it'll nap a lot. You might have it easy."

"And if it’s anything like me,” you mutter, barely pausing, “then it’ll easily get annoyed by you.”

Jay catches the ghost of a smile on your face, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—which he definitely is. It’s enough to keep him intrigued. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand like he’s watching some fascinating show. 

You don’t notice him staring—or maybe you do, but you’re too busy pretending you don’t. Either way, there’s a small, almost imperceptible shift in your body language that Jay senses. Your shoulders aren’t as tense, and you don’t look like you’re mentally calculating how many minutes you have left before you can escape this meeting.

Jay decides to take advantage of the moment. “So…do you think our robot baby is also going to be a superhuman genius? Like in a you way?” 

You finally let out a laugh, to his surprise, and he feels so satisfied he has to bite his lip to hold back a smile. “Definitely, but also part crazy. Like in a you way.” 

Jay chuckles, mentally declaring this conversation a victory. Your laugh fades but for a split second, he catches you studying his face like you’re trying to figure out what his deal is. And he doesn’t mind it at all—because, for once, you’re not giving him the usual death glare that sometimes seems permanently reserved for him.

Then, just as he starts to settle into this very rare, almost… pleasant vibe between you two, you suddenly snap back to reality, capping your pen and standing up. 

Jay frowns as he watches as you turn towards the coffee bar, not ready for this conversation to end just yet.  

"Wait, where are you going?" he blurts out, sounding more tragic than intended. 

You pause, turning back with a look that sends his pulse tripping.

"Do you want a free coffee or not?"  

The following Monday, at exactly 9:55AM, you and Jay are handed your robot baby—Jisoo, as Jay somehow convinces you to name it after his favorite celebrity—at the end of your class.  

You didn't even try to put up a fight. The moment Jay's eyes lit up at the idea, you knew you'd already lost. After three whole minutes of bickering and one PowerPoint titled 'Why Our Baby Deserves to be Named After Star Quality,' you realized there was no saving it. He had arguments. He had fan chants memorized. For a robot baby. Your robot baby. 

"Admit it, Jisoo has star quality," Jay beams, proudly looking down at the robotic baby in the baby carrier that came with her.  

You look from Jisoo to Jay, then back to Jisoo, unimpressed. "It's a robot, Jay. Not your bias."  

"Bias or not, she deserves only the best," Jay just shrugs, unbothered.

He glances down at the robot, which blinks its eyes open and closed with a soft whirring noise, its chubby plastic arms flopping lifelessly by its sides.  

There's a beat of silence as you both stare down at it, unsure of what to do next.  

"It's kind of creepy, right?" you finally mutter, breaking the knowing silence between you two.  

Jay snorts. "Not even 'kind of.' A lot."

He leans in to inspect it, his brows furrowed, "So, does it just…sit there?”  

"No, it's on schedule. It says here it won't eat for another three hours and it has a clean diaper, so everything should be fine. Babies are predictable once you understand their needs, Jay," you huff, already pulling out the meticulously detailed notes you took during class.

Jay lifts an eyebrow as he turns to face you, "Right...because in real life, babies are totally like robots and are totally predictable. Got it."  

You open your mouth to respond, probably with something unnecessarily snarky (you don't know what yet though, you haven't gotten to that part yet), when a loud, high-pitched wail shatters the air, cutting through the now-empty classroom you two are in. The robot baby's face contorts into an exaggerated crying expression, its mechanical arms flailing (which you didn't even know was possible) like it's preparing for takeoff. 

"What the—" Jay instinctively jumps back like Jisoo is a grenade on her last few seconds.

"Why's it doing that? What did you do?"  

"I didn’t do anything!" You snap, panic slowly rising as you flip through your notes quickly. "It's not supposed to be crying! It shouldn't be hungry, and it's definitely not tired yet!"  

The wailing intensifies, vibrating through the room as the cries echo louder and louder, Jisoo clearly not caring about your carefully crafted timeline. You glance down at your schedule. Why is it crying?  

You groan and snatch Jisoo out of the carrier, awkwardly holding her in a way that's probably not safe for any life form, real or otherwise. The wailing doesn't stop. In fact, it gets louder, as if Jisoo's personally offended by your existence.  

"Hold her!" You quickly thrust her into Jay's arms, a horrified expression written all over his face. "You deal with it."  

"Deal with what? It's a robot!" Jay stares at the baby in his arms like it's going to explode. "Oh god, are we even sure this is safe?"  

"Yes, Jay! It's a baby!"

You're sure you're borderline going insane from the combination of the screeching baby and Jay's apparent lack of brain cells.  

Jay's eyes widen as Jisoo practically vibrates with the force of its cries. He tries to mimic the way you were holding her, cradling her against his chest like she's made of glass. It doesn't help. Jisoo keeps wailing, and now Jay looks genuinely distressed. 

"Uh, shh, little buddy, it's okay...Should I, like, burp it? Sing to it?"  

“Sing?” You give him a look like he’s completely lost it, but Jay’s already humming off-key under his breath. 

The baby, predictably, continues screeching. 

You both just stand there, staring at the baby, then at each other, the panic palpable in the room. Jay continues bouncing it lightly, as if this will magically solve everything.

“Does it have an off switch?” he asks, glancing at you like you've parented a robot baby before. 

You continue to frantically flip through your notes, pages rustling in a blur. “No, Jay! We can’t just turn off our baby!” 

“Well, I don’t know, Y/N, but I’m pretty sure babies aren’t supposed to sound like they’re summoning a demon!” Jay retorts, his tone climbing the ladder of panic. "Maybe she's hungry or something."  

“It can’t be hungry, it's not supposed to be!" You’re still too busy scanning your notes as you shake your head in disagreement.

Jay just shakes his head, gently cradling the baby even though he's sure it's about to lift off into space from how much it was shaking right now. 

“Sometimes you can’t schedule everything, Y/N. Maybe it just needs a bottle, like, right now.” 

The idea frustrates you. “But it’s not time yet. If we feed it off-schedule, it’ll mess everything up for the day.” 

The baby’s cries reach a shrill pitch, like it’s protesting your protest. Jay looks at you, then back at the crying baby, then back at you again. 

“I think it’s already messed up, so maybe we just... feed it?” he says, half-grinning, half-exasperated. 

You hesitate. It feels wrong. Babies are supposed to follow patterns, stick to a routine...or so you thought. You let out a frustrated sigh, your brain bleeding from the sheer sound of the glass-breaking screams.  

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the bottle from the supply bag. “But if this throws off the whole schedule, it’s your fault.” 

Jay grins, but there’s something softer in his expression behind it as he watches you struggle with the bottle...and your need for control.

“Deal.” 

You hand the bottle to him, and he places the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The wailing stops almost instantly. The sudden silence is deafening, and both of you are stunned for a moment, looking down at the baby who’s now peacefully drinking. 

You let out a small gasp of relief and turn your head up to look at Jay, who's widened eyes meet yours.  

Jay lets out a held breath. “Well. That was traumatic.” 

You roll your eyes, though there’s a slight twitch at the corner of your lips as you mutter, “I think I just lost three years of my life."  

Jay watches as you carefully take Jisoo from his arms and place her back into the carrier, making sure everything is in order. He’s still catching his breath, but he glances at you—relaxed, for once, after the panic—and it makes him feel something weird. He almost laughs. 

“I dunno,” he says, a little teasingly. “I think we handled that pretty well.” 

“Great, now just five weeks and six days of this left." You give him a look, but there’s a tiny, fleeting smile this time. "I just don't understand why it was crying. It's not supposed to need food until—"  

Jay cuts you off with a chuckle. “Y/N, it’s a baby. Real ones don’t run on algorithms. They just... cry when they need something. Like this little gal. I mean, you can't exactly schedule crying, right?” 

The silence stretches for a moment as you watch him, realization dawning a little slower than you’d like to admit. “I guess,” you mutter reluctantly, earning yourself a content-looking Jay.  

"Look at us—team effort," Jay says, as he beams a smile to you before glancing at Jisoo. "We're naturals at this whole parenting thing."  

"Yeah, okay," you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face says differently as you reach out to unnecessarily fuss with the small blanket in Jisoo's carrier.  

Jay's eyes light up at your response.

"A smile? The Y/N gave me a smile? Admit it, we make a great team, huh?"  

You scoff, but the look on your face proves there's no bite to it—Jay knows there's no bite to it.  

Maybe, just maybe, he has a point.  

You'd never admit it to him, though. 

Not yet.  

To your pleasant surprise, the past two weeks have been...weirdly smooth. Like, suspiciously smooth. You and Jay have somehow managed to fall into an actual routine—dropping off and picking up Jisoo like two semi-functional adults who almost know what they’re doing. You still wouldn’t call it 'seamless', as Jay himself struggled with having a consistent schedule for once in his life, but at least you’ve gotten through the weeks without major incidents or spontaneous combustion. So far.

That doesn't mean you'll admit to anyone—least of all yourself—that you and Jay might actually make a decent team. His parenting methods are still objectively abysmal...to you, at least. I mean, just the other day, he almost put Jisoo's diaper on upside down. Upside down. You didn't even know that was possible, but leave it to Jay to surprise you more and more.  

Despite his questionable approach to baby care, Jisoo's still alive (you think), and somehow you've managed not to explode at him yet (key word: yet). So, that's...something, I guess.  

Today, though. Today is a different beast entirely.  

It's Sunday, and miraculously, you've managed to give yourself the evening off. No café shift, no emergency club meetings. The stars have aligned, and for once, you have free time. And what did you decide to do with this rare gift from the universe?  

Spend it with Jay. Parenting. Together. In his apartment.  

You blame Professor Kim for this cruel twist of fate. Something about submitting photographic evidence of co-parenting. After all, this is a partner project.  

Teamwork, she called it.  

You like to call it pure suffering.  

Which brings you here, standing outside Jay's apartment with a tote bag of baby supplies on one shoulder, Jisoo's carrier on the other, and a silent prayer on your lips. If this apartment is even half the disaster you're imagining—frat house, landfill, or some unholy combination of both—you're fully prepared to turn around and run for the hills.  

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever horrors await behind the door, and knock three times.  

Precisely five seconds later, the door swings open, and...yep, there's Jay. His hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled, and you can't tell if he's been a) napping, b) playing video games, or c) all of the above.  

"Hey," he greets you with a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded like he's still half-asleep.  

It's 6PM.  

You stare at him, deadpan.

"You look like you've been hit by a truck."  

Jay snorts as he raises an eyebrow.

"You should see the truck."  

Before you can fire back with something equally sarcastic, you catch a glimpse of his apartment over his shoulder, and—you blink, confused. Wait. Wait.  

Well this can't be right.  

You were expecting a disaster. Maybe a few pizza boxes, a stray sock on the floor, some suspicious stains on the couch. But no.

Instead...it's clean. Like, really clean.  

The floors are spotless, there's a shelf with neatly stacked books, and are those...framed photos on the walls? Like, actual art? Your own apartment doesn't even have actual art, just print outs from Walgreens of photos you thought were cute on Pinterest and your Justin Bieber posters you got from a magazine back in high-school. Now you're starting to feel ashamed.  

You do a double-take, your brain struggling to process what's happening, as Jay still stands in front of you, confused at your gawking.

"Y/N? You good?"  

You snap your mouth shut, as you spot a vacuum neatly tucked in the corner of the living room.

"I...I'm just surprised you even know what a vacuum is." 

"You'll learn I'm full of surprises, Miss Y/N," he says, casually leaning against the doorframe as he looks down at you, his gaze making you shift in your stance in front of him. "Come on in."  

You step inside cautiously, like you're waiting for something to jump out at you—maybe a camera with someone saying 'You've been pranked, this isn't Jay's actual apartment!'  

But nope. His apartment is just...nice. It smells like eucalyptus and citrus, for crying out loud.  

You set Jisoo's carrier down on the couch, the robot itself still fast asleep, as your eyes scan the room, still half-expecting to find a hidden mess somewhere. But instead, something else catches your attention.  

On the wall, next to his kitchen, there's a collection of professional-looking photographs, all framed neatly. This is what caught your eye earlier from the doorway. You find yourself slowly walking closer to get a closer look: landscapes, city stresses, a few candid shots of people—all in the same style, same camera quality, same angles. You tilt your head, intrigued.

Jay comes up behind you to see what you're looking at and you turn to him, "Are these...yours?" 

"Oh," he scratches the back of his neck, looking almost shy. "Yeah. I do some photography sometimes. Just a hobby."  

You blink up at him. Jay Park? A photographer? This was not on your Jay Park Bingo card. 

"Huh," you say, before realizing how dumb you sound. "I didn't know you were into that."  

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Y/N. Full of surprises, remember?" Jay replies, his head tilting to match yours with a cocky smile, which—ugh, okay fine—makes you feel just the tiniest bit flustered. Not that you'll admit it.  

"Oh, really?" You raise an eyebrow. "And here I thought your only hobbies were napping and showing up late." 

"That's just the surface level," he says with a wink, walking over to his coffee table and grabbing his laptop. "I was actually editing photos before you showed up." 

Intrigued, you follow him to the couch and sit beside him as he flips open the laptop. You squint at the editing software on the screen—full of layers, sliders, and all sorts of professional-looking tools that immediately make your head hurt. Jay scrolls through the images, and honestly?

They’re good. Really good. Like, if you didn’t know better, you’d think some of them could be in a magazine. And not the kind of magazine you got your Bieber Fever posters in.  

"Wow," you say, nodding, genuinely impressed. "That’s… actually really cool." 

Jay freezes, his head snapping toward you with a look of disbelief. He stares at you, eyes narrowing like you’ve just broken some unspoken rule.

"It's been ten seconds...you just gave me an actual compliment without a sarcastic follow-up."  

You let out a small giggle, "Geez, you always make me sound like some soulless witch or something."  

"I mean… soulless witch might be a bit much. But, like… emotionally unavailable overlord? Hmm, maybe," Jay grins, leaning back in mock thought.

You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself, the sound catching Jay off guard. He looks at you, wide-eyed, like he’s just witnessed a rare phenomenon. And maybe he has—because even you can’t remember the last time you laughed this freely.

"Wow. I should annoy you more often," Jay smirks, clearly way too satisfied with himself. You’re not entirely sure if he meant it to sound that smooth, but your brain certainly processed it that way. Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, and you quickly clear your throat, a small, flustered smile playing at your lips. 

You try to gather yourself, praying your voice doesn’t betray you.

"Don’t push your luck, Park," you manage, but the teasing edge in your voice is softer than usual—way softer. And, of course, Jay knows it. You know it. You’re still smiling, and—unfortunately for you—so is he. 

Jay suddenly clears his throat as he shifts in his seat, "So...should we order like a pizza or something? Are you hungry?"  

And because lately the universe apparently has a personal vendetta against you, your stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a sound—one that resembles between a whale’s mating call and a frog being strangled. 

Jay stifles a laugh, trying to act casual but failing miserably, "Okay… pizza it is." 

“Shut up,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove that’s just enough to make him fall back into the couch cushions. 

"No, you tell your stomach to shut up," Jay snickers, grabbing his phone to place the order. 

You’re about to fire back with something—anything—but a soft wail interrupts you from the baby carrier. 

"Someone needs attention," you say, scooping Jisoo up and cradling her in your arms. “It’s about time for her to eat anyway.” 

As you juggle Jisoo with one hand and dig through the baby bag for her fake bottle of milk with the other, Jay watches you from his spot on the couch, a curious look in his eyes.

“While you feed her, I’ll take care of the pizza. I’m guessing you’re more of a plain cheese type, huh?” 

You freeze for a second, then whip your head around to give him a mock-offended look.

“First, you think I’m a soulless witch, and now boring? I at least add pepperoni and sausage. Give me some credit.” 

"Okay, okay, noted," Jay lifts his hands up in surrender, "So adventurous. I'll remember that next time you call me irresponsible."  

You roll your eyes at him as you adjust Jisoo in your arms, holding the bottle steady at her mouth. It’s quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the soft hum of your fake baby and Jay tapping on his phone. 

Suddenly Jay puts his phone down, turning to you with an unreadable expression. “You’re really serious about this whole parenting thing, huh?” 

You blink, still rocking Jisoo in your arms.  You're thrown off by the sudden shift and sincerity in his tone.  

“Well… yeah. I think it’s important, you know? Responsibility, structure… that’s what makes people feel safe. Especially kids. They need to know they’re taken care of.” 

Jay’s expression shifts as he listens, a more thoughtful look settling on his face.

“You're a strong believer of that, aren't you? Structure and schedules and all that?"  

His voice is a lot quieter now, lower, and you realize you've never really had a serious conversation (that wasn't a class debate) with him before—at least not long enough to hear this version of Jay. The serious Jay. And if you're being honest, it's making you a bit flustered. You hesitate, hoping your voice doesn't crack or something equally embarrassing.  

“I mean… I guess so. I was raised that way. My parents always had everything planned out. It was like...nothing ever went wrong because there was always a system, a backup plan.” 

Jay raises an eyebrow, leaning forward a little in his seat.

“But didn’t that feel, I don’t know... suffocating? Like, what if things don’t go according to plan? You can’t control everything.” 

Your first instinct is to scoff, but something stops you. It's a valid question, and for some reason, you don’t feel the need to throw up your usual defenses for once. That's new.  

“Maybe sometimes,” you admit. “But I don’t know any other way. It just feels like if you’re not prepared, things fall apart. And that’s the worst feeling—like watching everything crumble because you weren’t ready for it.” 

Jay is quiet, studying you with an intensity that feels new. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced with something more serious.

“Yeah, I get that. I didn’t have a lot of structure growing up. Parents were kinda… there, but not really. I think that’s why I don’t plan much. Life happens whether you’re ready or not.” 

You blink as you sit back in your seat, absorbing his words. It’s the first time you’ve really thought about Jay outside of his 'laid-back' image of him you've had in your head, and honestly, you’re surprised by how heavy his words feel. 

“But…you’re actually good with Jisoo,” you say, almost cautiously, unsure if you’re diving into uncharted territory. “You’ve been handling this project better than I thought you would.” 

Jay laughs softly, shaking his head as he looks at Jisoo in your arms.

“It’s just a robot baby, Y/N. No big deal if I mess up.” 

"It’s not just about the robot baby,” you counter, realizing you're saying more than you intended. “You actually care. You’re not graded on how well you change diapers or keep her entertained, but you’re still putting in effort. You’re trying. And that matters.” 

There's a beat of silence as you see Jay pause. For once, he doesn't have a comeback. Instead, he's just looking at you—really looking at you—like he's trying to figure something out, and you feel the heat slowly creeping back onto your face. You're sure you're turning an unflattering shade of red under his gaze on you, and part of you, no, all of you, is begging for him to say something immediately before you combust.  

Then, with a suddenness that almost makes you jump, he leans over and nudges your arm lightly.

“Okay, Dr. Phil. Don't go getting all soft on me now."  

You let out a playful scoff to mask your relief, thankful for the release of tension in the air. But something about the conversation lingers in the air, hanging like a question neither of you is ready to ask. And despite the teasing, your mind can’t help but circle back to how Jay had looked at you—serious, curious… something else. 

Before you can dwell on it too long, the doorbell rings. Saved by the pizza gods. Jay springs up from the couch to answer the door, and you gently place the now-snoozing Jisoo back in her carrier. The conversation still swirls in your head as you watch Jay grab the pizza, too caught up in your thoughts to not even question how suspiciously fast it arrived. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching Jay at the door from your spot on the couch, your thoughts too heavy for someone who is literally holding a pizza box. 

For someone who sure likes to plan everything out, you definitely weren’t prepared for Jay Park—and how he's quickly becoming the exception to every rule you've ever made. 

✭・.・✫

The first thing that jars you awake is a piercing scream—Jisoo's, of course. Your eyes shoot open as you squint into the dim light, your eyes adjusting and blinking your way out of the accidental nap you fell into. You're trying to make sense of your surroundings through your blurry vision when...it hits you.  

This isn't your room. You're still at Jay's apartment, wedged into the corner of his couch, and apparently, you fell asleep. Post-pizza-food-coma style. And also apparently, your mutual robot child has decided now was a perfect time for a meltdown.  

The second thing you notice is the faint background noise of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire still playing on Jay's TV in front of you. Your memory jogs back to when you two finally came to a consensus on which movie to watch over dinner, and naturally, the deciding factor ended up being 'young Robert Pattinson,' and no, it wasn't your deciding factor. You didn't expect Jay to even have an opinion on this, but apparently, his love for Cedric Diggory is a hill he's willing to die on.  

And then...that brings us to the third thing. A sound from the other end of the couch—Jay's soft snores. You two must have dozed off at some point during the movie somehow and of course, he's still passed out cold, totally oblivious to the screams of robotic despair coming from the baby carrier seated between you two. You glance over at him, out cold with his head tilted back, looking completely unbothered by Jisoo's increasingly offended screams.  

But even through all these realizations, what really slaps you awake, more than Jisoo or Jay or Cedric Diggory, is the smell. It hits you like a rogue sock to the face, and for a moment, you're convinced that Jay definitely has some biological-grade garbage decomposing somewhere in the apartment after all. The smell is like a powerful, radioactive wave, and all you can think is, What in the world is this guy hiding in here? And why is it now coming to life?  

You sit up from your spot, still half-asleep, and follow the foul scent in horror until you realize the source.  

Jisoo.  

Sure, you have changed Jisoo's diapers plenty of times over the last two weeks, but before? There was no smell. At most, you get these weird, vaguely sticky robotic poops in her diaper that barely registered. Now? Now it’s like Professor Kim somehow remotely gave Jisoo a software update and coded her to emit a scent so pungent that it feels borderline illegal. You're convinced this is Jisoo’s final boss form—peak realism unlocked—solely just to spite you and your nostrils.

While you’re here on one end of the couch, one button away from confirming an Amazon Prime order to ship over a bottle of bleach for you to dip your nose into, Jay is still in blissful dreamland, not even flinching. You stare at him in disbelief, hoping your sheer mental outage might magically wake him up. No such luck. 

You grab the throw pillow that's wedged under you and chuck in right at his face.  

"Jay!" You're still half-asleep, so your voice comes out like a strangled whisper, somewhere between pleading and passive-aggressive murder.  

Jay jolts, sitting up with a sleepy yelp, blinking in confusion.

"Huh? What happened? Is Cedric okay?" His panicked gaze darts around the room wildly before they finally settle on you, across the couch. 

"What happened?" You raise a finger to the screaming, stinky, betrayal-machine between you two. "That happened, Jay. Jisoo happened."  

Jay blinks slowly, squinting at Jisoo, his brain clearly struggling to boot up, and then makes the fatal mistake of sniffing the air. The realization suddenly dawns slowly, and you can see the look of horror hit.

"Oh my god, how is she even capable of...of that?!" His voice breaks three octaves as his hand shoots up to pinch his nose.  

"I don't know!" You squawk, equally traumatized. "She's never done this before—I didn't even know she could!"  

Jay groans and rubs his eyes, hoping this is all a bad, bad dream. No such luck, yet again. He glances around helplessly. "So, uh, who's changing her?"  

You shoot him a glare as you get up from the couch and start looking for the baby bag.

"We're changing her, Jay."  

"We?" Jay winces, inching towards Jisoo with all the enthusiasm one has when approaching a radioactive waste barrel. He slowly reaches down to take Jisoo out from the carrier and he starts muttering to himself.

"Great. Fine, this is fine. Just another bonding moment with our adorable robo-daughter." He finally picks her up, reluctantly holding her at arm's length like she's a ticking time bomb. It's so ridiculous that, despite the war-crime-level smell permeating the room, you can't help the small laugh that you let out.  

"What?" Jay glares at you, though a look of amusement tugs at his lips. "You think this is funny?"  

"No," you say, barely stifling your giggles. "It's just—you're holding her like she's about to explode."  

Jay gives you a doubtful look, "Y/N, I'm not convinced she's not about to explode."  

You shake your head, still giggling as you shuffle the carrier off the couch and lay out a blanket, turning Jay's couch surface into a makeshift changing station.

"Alright, c'mon. Lay her down and hold her legs up. I'll handle clean-up duty. And maybe...brace yourself."  

Jay exhales like a man about to face his greatest fear. He gently lays Jisoo down and lifts her legs up with the tips of his fingers, his face still contorted as if you're both dealing with a toxic hazard. At this point, it probably is.  

"Oh my god," he breathes. "This is it. This is how I die."  

You crouch down in position so you're at level with the couch and say a mental prayer before you pull open the tiny diaper. The moment you do, the both of you immediately recoil as a scent that should not even be allowed to exist wafts up and fills the room.  

“Oh god.” 

The scent is so ungodly it feels like it came from the depths of hell itself and punched you both right in the face. It doesn’t just waft up—it attacks. You’re pretty sure you lost at least another three years off your life from one breath alone. 

"That's not legal," Jay chokes as he flings himself back at the sight, dropping Jisoo’s little toes in the process, flailing around as if the air itself betrayed him. "There's no way that's legal." 

You freeze in sheer horror, staring at the scene before you: Jisoo’s somehow realistic poop smeared across every surface of her bottom it possibly could spread to, the stench intensifying with every passing second.

Jay starts pacing the room, spiraling into an existential crisis.

“No, no, no, this isn’t normal. This is—this is a crime scene! This can’t be right.” 

“Jay,” your voice is muffled as a hand tries to cover both your nose and mouth from the contaminated air, “Jay, focus!” 

Jay looks at you from across the living room, wide-eyed and pale, like a deer caught in headlights.

“You expect me to—in this economy—” 

“Grab. The. Wipes.”

Jay groans and he stumbles back towards you, hesitantly rifling through the baby bag. His hands finally find the pack of wipes and he peers over your shoulder from behind you, as if you’re his shield. 

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you going to help?”

“I am helping,” Jay protests weakly, waving the pack of wipes like they’re a magic wand that might save you both.

You roll your eyes and turn back to Jisoo, “Okay, grab her legs again. I’ll wipe.” 

His eyes watch in horror as he reaches over you to take hold of the robot’s feet. With a deep breath, you start furiously scrubbing Jisoo’s little body, trying your best to breathe as minimally as possible, sticking your hand out towards Jay whenever you need a new wipe. 

“I signed up for fake parenting, not surviving a biohazard. This isn’t bonding; this is trauma,” Jay incoherently mumbles, placing a wipe in your hand. 

"I think this trauma is exactly what we're supposed to be learning and 'bonding' from," you retort, carefully tossing a soiled wipe into the designated waste bag.  

"Oh, so Professor Kim is forcing us to bond over mutual suffering? Very sweet," Jay deadpans as he hands you another wipe. 

"Exactly. Parenting at its finest."  

Finally, after you definitely lost three years of your life, the horror show is over. Jisoo is cleaned, diapered, and—somehow—actually looks peaceful for once. Like she didn't just commit a crime against humanity. 

Jay exhales, looking at her with a newfound joy. "Well. She's definitely...less terrifying when she's not screaming and emitting toxic fumes."  

You plop yourself on the couch and cradle Jisoo like she's a tiny, innocent angel instead of the cause of your collective suffering.

“I’m genuinely afraid to know what they put in her system for this to happen.” 

Jay collapses onto the couch beside you, visibly relieved, "Whatever it was, we did it. We survived. We did that." 

You can't help but laugh, still a bit punch-drunk from the adrenaline and exhaustion of it all, "We better get an A+ on this project."  

Jay chuckles, leaning his head back against the couch. The room falls into a brief silence, just the two of you sitting there, basking in the weird accomplishment of it all. Then, as if on cue, you both start laughing—a deep, exhausting kind of laugh that two people only share after a 'you had to be there' type moment. There's something about the whole ordeal—how ridiculous, how hilariously awful it was—that just makes it impossible to not laugh.  

"Now do you think we make a pretty good team?" Jay grins, nudging your shoulder with his.   

You roll your eyes at him, "I don't know...depends."  

Jay raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?"  

"Depends on whether you can make it through the rest of the project without crying again," you quip, lips twitching into an amused grin.  

Jay gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Excuse you, I did not cry. My eyes were sweating from Jisoo's toxic fumes. A completely normal biological response, thank you very much."  

"Sure, Jay," you deadpan, shaking your head.  

"Besides," he continues, leaning back smugly, "I did all the heavy lifting. Literally. I held the live grenade."  

You snort, glancing down at Jisoo in your arms before handing her off to Jay, "You're unbelievable."  

"And you're stuck with me, partner," he grins back, rocking Jisoo in his arms. "You too, Jisoo." 

You lean back into the couch, watching Jay coo at the now-peaceful baby. Somewhere between his flair for over-the-top dramatics, his secret love for young Robert Pattinson, and (for some reason) endearing passion for photography, you realize…maybe Jay Park isn’t the complete disaster you thought he was. 

"Yeah," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I guess I really am stuck with you."  

And for the first time since this ridiculous project started, you don't mind that as much as you thought you would.  

Jay would like to make a few things clear. 

First of all, none of this is his fault. 

He hopes you understand that, as his thumbs fly over the keyboard of his phone like his life depends on it.

Because, in a way, it does. 

Jay [11:32 AM]: “i swear it’s not my fault, but my friend, jake, his entire load of laundry is now the color of strawberry milk. and apparently i’m the only one that can help him. can i drop jisoo off with you for like… an hour? tops?” 

He stares at his phone, waiting for your response like you hold the key to his survival.

Because, in a way, you do. 

He hears Jisoo coo from her carrier, like even she knows how dire this situation is. Finally, his phone lights up with a buzz. 

Y/N [11:33 AM]: “i’m volunteering at a dog adoption event on campus, but sure, drop her off here :)” 

Jay blinks at his phone. A dog adoption event. Of course, you'd be saving puppies on a Saturday. Of course. Like some kind of unreasonably perfect human. And here he is, about to save a fully grown man from having to wear solely pink t-shirts for the next week.

Fantastic.   

With a sigh, Jay turns to Jisoo, who blinks back a stare that can only be described as the (robot) baby equivalent of good luck, bro. 

By the time Jay reaches campus, he's bombarded with the sight and sound of...dogs. Dogs everywhere. It's as if he's entered the chaotic lovechild of a Disney movie and a petting zoo, complete with wags, barks, and the smell of kibble. And then he sees you. 

You're smack in the middle of a fenced playpen, laughing, surrounded by every breed of fluffy chaos imaginable and passersby cooing 'aww' at the sight. And what a sight it is.  

You look ridiculously happy, and for some reason, that makes something in Jay's chest feel weirdly tight. He wonders what it must feel like to be able to make you smile that widely, that brightly. It's unnerving. He's not used to seeing you so relaxed, so content—or maybe he's just not used to noticing how good you look when you're not glaring at him.  

"Y/N!" a voice calls from the volunteer tent, snapping Jay out of his daydream. Jay watches from the distance as you haul a golden retriever pup into your arms and walk over to the tent, naturally falling into conversation with your friend and immediately organizing papers. Meanwhile, Jay stands there, dumbfounded at your unbothered, graceful rhythm that you seem to fall into like second nature. 

Jay thought he had you figured out, filed neatly in his mental drawer of uptight-control-freaks-that-happen-to-smell-like-roses-and-have-perfect-smiles, but now? Something about the way you look—so confident, so caring, so...natural—catches him off guard.

Now, you're like some serene multitasking goddess in the middle of pure chaos.  

That brings us to the second thing Jay would like to clarify (more so to himself): he definitely doesn't think you look good in, like, an attractive sense, or anything insane like that. Absolutely not. He just is simply impressed at how you seem to manage and carry yourself quite elegantly. This is pure admiration. Admiration, okay?  

But...while he's here, staring in 'admiration', it suddenly hits him—you're not just good at taking care of Jisoo. You're good at taking care of everything.  

And that makes his heart do a weird flip.  

The realization that he's been staring for way too long jolts him back to the present. Focus, Jay. There's a Jake somewhere out there, lost in a sea of pink underwear.  

Jisoo carrier in hand, Jay manages to push his way through the dog-packed crowds until he reaches you, but the second you turn around, flashing him that wide, carefree smile that he's still not used to, he's back to stumbling over himself.  

He’s 99% sure he audibly gulps. 

“Oh, Jay, you made it!” you say, shifting the puppy to one side of your arms to free a hand to grab Jisoo's carrier immediately. Your smile is disarmingly genuine. Jay thinks he may need to sit down.  

“Uh, yeah—um, thanks for taking Jisoo," he swallows, his voice barely steady as he's unsure what this feeling is that came over him. He doesn't know if it's the fact that he's seeing you in a completely different light right now, carrying both a live, adorable puppy, and a (not-so-live) baby, but something is different, and he's at a loss for words. "You look pretty—uh…busy.”  

He curses himself. Busy? Really? 

“Oh, no biggie,” you give him an easy, encouraging grin, one so casual that it really shouldn't make his knees feel like Jell-O. "Honestly, I'd be out here every weekend if I could. But you of all people know my schedule."  

Of course, you'd say something like that. Jay tries to think of a normal response, but his brain is spinning with all sorts of not-normal things about you—like how you look so aggressively pretty right now. 

And it’s a little infuriating. 

"Yeah, no, totally," Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. "Because who doesn't want to be covered in dog hair and slobber for fun?"  

You roll your eyes, smiling. "Says the guy who's about to be knee-deep in a laundry crisis. Isn't that a little messy, too?"  

Jay huffs, feeling himself return just a little bit back to normal. “Listen, Jake’s a special case, okay? You can’t just leave him in that pink laundry disaster and expect him to survive.” 

"Right..," you laugh, rocking back and forth on your feet, your smile lingering as a comfortable silence falls between you.  

Maybe it's the way you're looking up at him, or the fact that a literal golden retriever is currently nuzzling into your neck, but Jay is doing everything in his power to keep his cool. You're looking at him in a way that isn't remotely judgmental (for once), and it's throwing him completely off-balance.  

Before Jay can pull it together and say something else, another voice calls your name, waving you over to a different table. You turn back to Jay, giving him an apologetic glance.  

"Do you mind watching Jisoo—and, um, this puppy—for a sec?"  

Before he can answer, or even process your words, he's standing there with an actual puppy in one arm, and Jisoo in her carrier in the other, and his life has become a circus he never auditioned for.  

"Sorry! They just need me real quick!" You say with a grateful smile as you hurry off.  

As you rush off with another apologetic smile, Jay's brain, for better or for worse, decides that grin of yours is now his mental screensaver. He watches you go, dumbly smiling before he catches himself. 

Not attraction, he reminds himself. Totally not attraction.  

He looks down at his arms—one occupied by a carrier with a robot baby, the other holding a wriggly puppy.  

"Bet no one's ever been in this situation before," he mutters, awkwardly standing there as he waits for your return. Honestly, Jay has never felt so awkward or nervous before. Right now, he feels like the epitome of the standing emoji, just simply existing and there, waiting for your next command and hoping he doesn't screw it up.  

Jay tries to hype himself up. You can do this, Park. It's just a dog. And a baby. And you. You've got this. You totally have everything und— 

Before he can finish his mental pep talk, the sound of your laughter rings from across the event, making Jay's head snap over in record time. He tries not to look—he really does—but the sound is too angelic to not. But right when he does look over, he immediately wishes he didn't. 

You're standing there between two of your friends, and you're giggling. With some guy he's never seen before. And this guy, is nudging your shoulder and making you laugh so hard you're practically doubling over. He feels a distinct twist in his chest. 

Jay’s definitely not jealous. Nope. Not even a little. It's just...curiosity. Pure, innocent curiosity about what that guy could possibly be saying to make you laugh so hard. Because Jay has never seen you laugh like that with him—ever.

And suddenly, the longer you continue laughing with that guy, Jay feels something hot and uncomfortable bubbling up inside.  

Fine, it’s jealousy.  

Definitely jealousy.

He scowls at himself. Now he’s basically a bitter standing emoji, clinging to Jisoo and a puppy while glaring from afar. 

And there Jay stands, bitterness levels maxed, holding both a puppy and a robot baby, while across the way, your roommate Esther gives you a knowing smirk while you're recovering from your giggling fit. Your giggling fit which was caused by Heeseung making a comment about how he stepped in dog poop more times than the average human-being accidentally should.  

“You didn’t tell me that was Jay Park,” Esther says, trying not-so-subtly to sneak a glance at the bitter standing emoji himself, awkwardly shifting his feet in the distance, avoiding to look in your direction. “You said he was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around. You didn’t mention he’s a total cutie.” 

“He was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around,” you scoff, though you're clearly not thinking that right now as you catch a glance of him trying to balance both the puppy and Jisoo. "But...I don't think he's so bad anymore."  

You definitely don't add that he's a total cutie. Okay, maybe you think it, but saying it out loud is a whole other thing.  

“Oh, so you totally like him,” Heeseung snickers from your other side, nudging you again.  

You make a sound that's half out-of-tune trumpet, half hiccup, before breaking into a laugh to cover your sudden panic.

"No, I don't!" You clear your throat, trying to stay cool.  "We're just—look, we're just stuck together for this project. That's all. Even if I did like him, which I don't, he definitely doesn't like me back. We're probably just going to go back to bickering with each other to no end."  

“Right,” Heeseung chimes in, giving you a look that says he's clearly unconvinced. “Just saying, though—someone who doesn’t like you wouldn’t be staring at you like that, and looking at me like I just committed a first-degree crime just for breathing in your direction."  

You follow Heeseung’s gaze and, sure enough, you catch Jay trying to look casual while bouncing the puppy and acting like he totally didn’t just get caught. Your eyes meet, and he does a 180 so fast he nearly launches Jisoo into orbit. 

You quickly turn back to your friends, heat rising to your face as you catch Esther and Heeseung giving each other a knowing look before smirking at you. You roll your eyes and grab the both of them by the back of their shirts, turning them in the direction of the event, "Okay, okay, enough with the delusions. Shouldn't you guys be signing off some puppies or something?"  

"Don't say we didn't tell you so!" Esther calls after you as you turn on your heels towards Jay, furiously convincing yourself that they're so wrong.  

There's no universe in which Jay Park, the Jay Park, would ever be into you. The Jay Park, who can get any girl he wants, the Jay Park who's just too different from you, the Jay Park who you proclaimed your school rival (self-proclaimed). Absolutely not.  

When you get back to him, Jay’s desperately trying to look natural—so, naturally, he’s scratching the puppy’s belly while Jisoo clings to his chest like a tiny koala. Your heart gives a little traitorous squeeze, but you ignore it. Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.  

“Looks like he likes you,” you say, trying to sound casual as you nod to the puppy, who's squirming excitedly under Jay's attention. 

“He’s adorable,” Jay replies, blushing faintly as he shifts the puppy around.

“So, uh, everything okay over there?” he asks, totally not imagining a deep, romantic conversation to explain your laughter. 

You’re caught off-guard, blinking, wondering if Jay somehow became psychic and caught onto your previous train of thoughts about him, until you realize what he meant.

“Oh! Yeah, they just… needed help with paperwork.” 

Jay’s expression hardens ever so slightly as he tries to imagine a world where paperwork could possibly be that funny.

“Cool, cool,” he nods stiffly, side-eyeing Heeseung in the distance who’s still chatting with Esther. 

"Well," Jay shifts awkwardly as clears his throat, "I should get going to Jake. He's probably in tears by now, honestly."  

You frown at that, and Jay instantly self-identifies himself as the worst person on the planet. He barely resists the urge to apologize for everything he's ever done, from breathing in your direction to any other crime against humanity he's committed in your eyes.  

"Aw, come on," you say, teasingly, though even you're not sure why. It's just...fun having him around. "Stay a little longer. For the puppies!"  

Jay opens his mouth, fully ready to decline when he catches sight of your expression—those big, pleading eyes that make it impossible to say no. 

And that's it. He's doomed. Right then and there, Jay knows he's doomed.  

Is Jay currently surrounded by more puppies than he ever thought could physically exist in one place?

Yes. 

Does he think your puppy eyes are somehow cuter than all the puppies combined?

Annoyingly, also yes.  

And so, Jay would like to make some new things clear, for the record:  

First, there is no way any of this is his fault. If Jake ends up crying over outfit choices and demands to know why Jay ditched him for puppies, Jay has a rock-solid explanation. He’ll explain the situation, which obviously couldn’t be helped. Hanging out with you? Totally justified. Perfectly valid.  

And second, well—Jay would like to clarify that it's official now. Whatever he was feeling before?

Yeah, definitely attraction.  

Your fingers drum against your blanket. You stare blankly at your bedroom ceiling. You let out another deep sigh. You toss and turn, adjusting your position for maybe the hundredth time. It's no use.

You're bored.  

And that, in itself, is a shocking revelation. You're never bored. Your schedule is usually packed to the brim—between assignments, club meetings, work shifts, and impromptu Save the Puppies campaigns, there's hardly room for boredom. But today?  

Today, life has gifted you a rare stretch of free time. No assignments to finish, no midterms to study for, no dog adoption events or café shifts. And apparently, you have no idea how to handle that.  

You turn to look at Jisoo, who's chilling in her spot on your bed next to you, not having a single ounce of consciousness for you to share your boredom with.  

With another sigh, you grab your phone and scroll aimlessly through your apps. You eventually land in your Photos app and swipe through mindlessly until a recent picture stops you in your tracks.  

It's a selfie Jay took of the two of you, Jisoo sandwiched between your faces. The infamous day of the pizza-night-turned-accidental-nap-turned-godforsaken-poop-incident. You'd submitted the photo to Professor Kim as proof of your co-parenting efforts, but now, looking at it again, you can't help but smile.  

It's strange. The memory should be traumatic—okay, it is traumatic—but in hindsight, it's also...kind of fun. The chaos, the banter, the way Jay somehow managed to make everything feel less overwhelming just by being there.  

Funny enough, that day was also the last time you remember having any sort of free time, and you remember complaining that you had to spend the day with Jay of all people. But now, looking back at it, you honestly did have fun. Being with Jay was...fun.  

Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before it unconsciously drifts towards the Phone app. You hesitate, realizing with a jolt that you're one tap away from calling Jay. It's like your brain suddenly shut off and something took over you. What's gotten into you?  

You blink at Jay's contact on your phone, your thumb still hovering over his name.  

No. Bad idea.  

You don't need Jay to entertain you just because you're bored. You're perfectly capable of having fun on your own...obviously. Obviously, even though the last hour of groaning and ceiling-staring suggests otherwise.  

Besides, Jay's probably busy doing...whatever it is Jay does at 4PM on a Saturday. Napping, probably.  

And what would you even say? Let's hang out? Like some middle schooler asking out their crush? Not to mention, you already have your 'Jisoo' plans in two days, so it's not like you have an excuse to see him.  

You sit up abruptly, shaking your head as if to clear the fog of ridiculous thoughts. Seriously, do you even hear yourself right now? Looking for an excuse to see him? Since when did you need excuses for anything, let alone something as absurd as spending more time than necessary with Jay Park?  

This has to be some kind of stress-induced meltdown. It's the only logical explanation. All those late-night study sessions, midterm panic attacks, Jisoo diaper changes, and endless extracurriculars must've finally fried your brain. And now, here you are, teetering on the edge of reason, actually wanting to see Jay Park.  

Great. Now you have a new problem.  

Because as much as you try to convince yourself otherwise, the truth is glaringly obvious: you want to see him. And that, more than any amount of free time or boredom, is the real problem. 

You've officially lost it.  

I've officially lost it, you chant in your head as your thumb hovers dangerously close to Jay's name on your screen again.  

I've officially lost it, the words grow louder, taunting you, as you hover over the call button. 

I've officially lost it, your thoughts scream as you give in, pressing down and watching in horror as your screen shifts to Calling Jay Park. 

And now, your heartbeat picks up with every ring. You can't decide what's worse—him answering or him ignoring the call. Maybe if he doesn't pick up, it'll be a sign from above that you're better off leaving this madness alone. Maybe—

"Hello?"  

Your train of thought screeches to a halt.  

"Y/N? Are you there?"  

"I'm here!" You blurt out, your voice jumping two octaves higher than usual. Real smooth, Y/N.  

"Hi...what's up? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" His voice is soft over the phone, a little concerned, like you're about to tell him Jisoo had another diaper emergency.  

You falter for a moment, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there.

"No! Nothing's wrong! I just—uh–" Quick, think of something normal!

"I was wondering what you're up to."  

"Me?" He sounds genuinely surprised, and you can practically hear the smile in this voice. At least, you think. Or, once again, you've officially lost it. "I'm at the campus gallery, setting up for my photography showcase. It's tonight."  

The campus gallery. His photography.  

You blink, this is news to you. You vaguely remember Jay asking if you could watch Jisoo tonight, and he hadn't given you a reason back then, but this is why he couldn't be on Jisoo duty today. Because of his showcase.  

"Wait, really?" You ask, hoping the interest in your voice doesn't show too much.  

"Yeah. I didn't mention it? Guess I forgot," he chuckles lightly. "It's not a big deal, just a student showcase. I'm just setting up now, making sure my pieces are hung straight and stuff."  

You swallow, a sudden wave of curiosity washing over you. You find yourself smiling to yourself, feeling a wave of endearment wash over you for some reason. The idea of Jay being completely focused and serious about a passion of his is...it's nice. It’s hard to reconcile the carefree, sarcastic guy you know with the thoughtful perspective he must have to capture the kinds of photos he does. 

"You should come by," he says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but you think you catch a small, hopeful note in it. "If you're free, I mean. No pressure."  

You hesitate, your mind racing. Go? Don't go? It's just a showcase. It's not like it means anything. Right?  

"I'll think about it," you manage, trying to sound nonchalant.  

"Cool." There's a smile in his voice again. "Let me know. I'll save you a front-row seat."  

"Front row seat? For a gallery?" You deadpan, rolling your eyes as if he can see if over the phone.  

"Hey, I'm just being a good host."  

"Hmmm," you smile to yourself again. "Maybe. We'll see."  

But your decision was made the second he suggested that you should come. 

It doesn't mean anything. Friends come support each other all the time, right? Wait—

Are you and Jay even friends? You shake your head, trying to dismiss the warmth starting to spread in your chest.  

It's just photography.

It's just Jay.

Nothing to overthink here.  

✭・.・✫

“Okay, Jisoo, in and out,” you whisper to the robot baby in the carrier that's perched in your arms as you stand frozen outside the campus gallery doors. "We're just stopping by to say hi. Two minutes max. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Nothing dramatic."  

Jisoo stares back at you, wide-eyed and unhelpfully silent, which you take as strong moral support.

"Thanks, Jisoo," you mutter, like a lunatic seeking validation from a robot.  

Maybe you shouldn't even go in. It's basically the end of the event anyway—what are the odds he'd even notice you didn't show?

Slim. Probably. Right?  

It's not like you didn't have a valid excuse for your lateness. You did have to change Jisoo’s diaper before you left, and that was a whole thing. But let's be real. 

The real delay?

The real delay was you standing in front of your closet for a solid half hour like a contestant on America's Next Top Existential Crisis. What do you even wear to casually drop by someone's photography showcase? Something that says, Hey, I'm effortlessly supportive, but I totally don't care if you notice me (yes I do).  

Spoiler alert: that outfit does not exist.  

And then—because clearly, you love to torture yourself—you spent another thirty minutes pacing around your room trying to figure out why you cared so much in the first place.  

It's Jay. Jay. The guy who thought sticking googly eyes on Jisoo's bottle would make her drink faster. Why are you stressed? Why are your palms sweaty?  

But despite all that, you somehow made it here, standing outside the gallery with your stomach doing flips like you're about to walk into your own trial. You made it all the way here, so might as well go in, right?  

You swallow hard, adjust your grip on your emotional support robot baby, and push the door open. 

And there he is.  

Center stage, right where he belongs—or at least where he seems to thrive. Standing in front of a massive wall of his framed photographs, the studio lights catch his profile just right. It's almost unfair, like he's been personally photoshopped by the gods themselves. He's surrounded by a small crowd, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he speaks, his smile so bright you're convinced it's starting to hurt your eyes.  

But his eyes? There's this sparkle in them. Not the usual playful glint you've grown used to, but something deeper, softer. You've never seen him look so alive, so utterly in his element, and it's doing weird things to your chest. 

You can't help but wonder—what does it feel like to make him look that happy? Not that it matters, obviously.

It's just a thought.

A completely useless, irrelevant, go-away-right-now kind of thought.  

If you weren't busy trying not to trip over your own feet and accidentally drop Jisoo, you might have stopped to take it all in. To admire the way he looks standing there, talking about something he clearly loves, like he's found this magical pocket of the universe where nothing else matters. Might have.  

But instead, your thoughts screech in a halt, jolting you out of your daydream.  

Abort mission. This was a terrible idea.  

Why did you come here? Why is your face hot? Can Jisoo smell fear?  

Before you can think of a single coherent reason to not turn around and bolt, Jay glances up. And he spots you.  

His eyes light up even more—if that's even physically possible. "Y/N?" He calls out, grinning widely.  

Great. Now you're here. He's happy to see you. You're standing in the middle of his gallery with a robot baby that can most definitely smell your fear.  

Fantastic. Just fantastic.  

Jay's voice cuts through your existential spiral, "Y/N!" He's waving you over as he calls out your name again, like you're a long-lost friend who's just returned from war. 

Well, to be fair, you are fighting a war—against your own dumb feelings.  

"Hey!" You croak, trying to sound casual but ending up somewhere between a dog's favorite squeaky toy and a rusty car horn. You internally flinch at your own voice.  

"Wow, you came," he says, his sweet smile still on display as you shuffle over to where he's standing. "And you brought Jisoo! My biggest fan."

He reaches out to cup Jisoo's cheeks, and you almost smack yourself in the head for feeling jealous over your own robot baby.  

"Yeah, well," you start, trying to sound nonchalant. "I figured, you know, project partners should support each other...teamwork and all that."  

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to stifle a laugh, "Right. Teamwork. Totally."  

You shift your weight from one leg to another, awkwardly looking up, eventually landing your eyes on the wall behind him, scanning the photos on display. Each photo is so him—a little chaotic, a little bold, but somehow...strikingly beautiful. There's a photo of a rainy city street, the light catching every droplet; a close-up of a sunflower against a brilliant sky; a candid of a kid laughing, his face tilted up toward the sun.  

You suddenly feel a weird, warm pull in your chest. It’s one thing to see Jay cracking jokes and making sarcastic comments during late-night baby meltdowns. But this? This is a side of him you’ve never seen before—one that’s thoughtful, intentional, passionate. 

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until Jay speaks up, his voice softer now. “Do you like them?” 

You blink, startled, and then nod a little too quickly. You hope he doesn't notice (he does).  

"Yeah. I mean...these are really good, Jay. You're–" you cut yourself off, realizing you're about to say something embarrassing.

''–talented," you finish lamely.  

"Thanks," Jay tilts his head, looking almost shy. "That means a lot, actually."  

His voice is so genuine that it throws you off. You weren't prepared for this level of sincerity. It makes your stomach flip in a way that's both exciting and mildly terrifying.  

Jay gestures toward the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets like he's trying not to fidget.

"I wasn't sure if this was your kind of thing, thought you'd be busy and stuff, but I'm glad you came. I, uh..," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was kind of hoping you would."  

Oh.  

Oh?  

OH.  

Your brain immediately short-circuits. He hoped you'd come? Like...in a we're-in-this-together-as-project-partners way, or in a please-let-this-mean-something-more-than-project-partners way? Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? Should you call someone? Should you call him? No, wait, you're already talking to him—focus! 

You clear your throat and try to channel every ounce of chill you simply do not possess.

"Well," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady and failing miserably, "I'm here."  

It comes out barely louder than a whisper, and you immediately regret every life decision that's led you to this moment. But then Jay smiles—soft, something smaller, more private—and it's like the world shifts slightly off its axis.  

"Yeah," he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes you forget how to breathe. "You are."  

And just like that, the noise of the environment dissolves, and the rest of the world shrinks to nothing but the space between you and him. The moment feels impossibly big like it might swallow you whole, and yet so small it could shatter with the slightest breath.  

You're pretty sure you're about to combust. Explode. Turn into a human firework fueled entirely by sheer tension and whatever it is that's happening right now. God, why does he have to look at you like that? Like you're not standing here internally unraveling?  

You break eye contact to glance down at Jisoo, and you're positive she's giving you a look that screams, Stop being weird, you two.  

"Anyway!" You blurt out, desperate to break the tension.

"Which one's your favorite?" You gesture to the photos, your eyes darting anywhere but his own. 

He laughs, and the sound is warm and unguarded, "C'mon, I'll show you."  

He grabs your free hand without thinking, tugging you toward the far end of the wall. And just like that, you're helplessly following him, heart racing again, wondering how the hell you got here—and why you never want to leave.  

So much for in and out.  

Jay pulls you towards the far end of the gallery, his hand wrapped around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world.  

It's not.  

Your brain is in full-blown meltdown mode. Red alerts, sirens blaring, a voice screaming, "WE'RE HOLDING HANDS, PEOPLE!"  

But there's no way you're about to let him see how much this is affecting you, so you shove the chaos down, pretending like your hand isn't currently experiencing the touch equivalent of fireworks...and hoping that it isn't sweaty.  

"This one," Jay says, stopping in front of a photo that's somehow both ordinary and magical. It's a simple shot of your campus football field, taken from the bleacher stands. You've stood in those very bleachers too many times to count—for school events, games, the occasional half-hearted attempt to pretend you like sports. But somehow, in this shot, the field looks...different.  

The grass glows like it's soaked in liquid gold under a sky caught between dusk and twilight. The field is empty, yet it doesn't feel lonely. There's something about it that Jay managed to capture—like it holds a thousand stories and secrets, quietly hopeful in its stillness.  

"It's beautiful," you murmur, the words slipping out before you can catch them. 

"Yeah," Jay lets out a breath. "It's my favorite spot on campus. I go there a lot when I need to think or just...get away a bit."  

You glance at him, startled at the sudden vulnerability in his voice. Jay never strikes you as someone who gets lost in his head; he always seemed too confident, too effortlessly sure of himself. But right now, he's not looking at you—he's staring at the photo, like he's seeing something beyond it.  

"I took it on one of those days—I was just overthinking a lot about life. About who I am, I guess," he continues. "I didn't think it'd turn out good or anything, but...I don't know. It felt right."  

Your chest tightens. There's something so raw in the way he's speaking, like he's letting you see a side of him he usually keeps hidden. It makes you wonder how many other layers Jay Park has, and why it feels so important to uncover them all.  

The silence between you stretches as you watch Jay continue to study his own photograph. There's a softness in his gaze, a quiet vulnerability that makes you feel like you're seeing him a way few people ever do.  

But then he blinks, breaking the moment, and suddenly he's looking at you. You stiffen, panic bubbling up at the possibility that he might've noticed you staring at him.  

"Sorry," he says, his voice carrying a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's really cheesy and stupid."  

You find yourself shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence.

"No! Not at all, really," you blurt out, the words stumbling over themselves in their rush to escape. You feel the heat creeping up your neck, mortified at your sudden intensity.  

Jay raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn't say anything, so you clear your throat and try again, softer this time, "I mean it. You have a good eye, Jay."

You mean it more than you've meant anything in a while, and you hope he knows that.  

For a second, he just looks at you, like he's taking note of something, his head tilted ever so slightly. And then, slowly, his lips curve into that small, genuine smile that makes your chest feel annoyingly warm.

"Thanks, Y/N."  

Your heart does a little somersault. Oh great. There it goes again.  

And as if Jisoo can sense the moment might be getting too serious, she lets out a cry. You stumble back, jump scared enough by the loud and sudden sound, and Jay reacts instantly, steadying you with his hands on your shoulders.  

"You okay?" He asks, his face so close that you can now confirm there are literal, actual flecks of gold in his eyes. Of course there are.  

You blink. I've officially lost it. Completely, utterly, hopelessly, lost it.  

You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. Am I okay? No. No, you are not okay. You are decidedly not okay.  

Jay clears his throat, stepping back—though his hands linger a beat longer than they probably need to, but still a second too short than you should probably want to. 

You want to scream into the void.  

"Looks like it's time for Jisoo's dinner," he says lightly with a small chuckle. 

You fumble for words, your brain still offline.

"Uh—yeah. I left her bottle at my place, and I should probably get going anyways," you manage, your voice a little too breathless for comfort.  

Jay glances at his watch, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, something hopeful flicking in his eyes.

"I'm pretty much done here," he says, tilting his head towards the door. "It's late. Let me walk you home."  

You hesitate, torn between insisting you're perfectly fine on your own (you're not) and letting him (you want to). But the way he's looking at you—like it's no big deal, like he simply wants to—makes the decision for you.  

"Okay," you say, quieter than you mean to, and before you can second-guess yourself, Jay's already taking Jisoo's carrier from your arms, effortlessly shifting it onto his own.  

"Let's go," he says, flashing you a small smile that feels like a punch to your stomach in the best way possible.  

And just like that, you're walking side by side into the cool night air, your breaths visible in the chill, easily falling into a comfortable rhythm as you walk through the quiet campus, the streetlights above casting long shadows ahead of you. 

There’s something easy about walking with him like this. It shouldn’t feel this natural—your heart’s doing somersaults and pirouettes like it’s auditioning for a circus—but it does. You steal a glance at him, and he’s focused on the path ahead, his profile calm and soft in the glow of the lights. 

"So," Jay breaks the quiet as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, "Can you believe the project's almost over?"  

You let out a small laugh, tilting your head, "Honestly, no. Feels like just yesterday I was praying you'd drop the class."  

Jay laughs, a sound that seems to echo in the quiet environment.

"Wow, Y/N. I thought we were bonding."  

"We were," you tease, turning to him with a barely concealed smirk. "I just also thought you were going to be a disaster of a partner."  

He scoffs, giving you a mock-offended look, "I proved you wrong, right? I was amazing since day one."  

"You handed Jisoo to me like she was a bomb, Jay," you remind him, unable to stop yourself from laughing.  

"I was assessing the danger!" Jay protests, his grin widening. "And excuse me, I've stepped up. I've made bottles, I've cleaned her, I even know how to put on a diaper the right side up!"  

"Jay, the fact that you had to learn which way was right side up is concerning in itself," you manage to let out with a giggle. 

"Details, details," he waves a dismissive hand. "Point is, I'm practically father of the year."  

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. A sharp breeze suddenly hits the both of you, and you visibly shiver from the lack of warmth your outfit provides. All that time choosing an outfit, and you still couldn't pick a weather-appropriate one. Stellar, Y/N.  

And of course, Jay notices immediately. Before you can so much as form a protest, he's shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, your body immediately stiffening as his hands brush against you lightly in the process.  

You open your mouth to say something—anything, even just a whispered thank you—but Jay beats you to it, sparing you the effort of finding actual, coherent words. 

“So,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just sent your brain spiraling, “what do you think you’ll do when it’s over?”

"Uh," you blink, still needing a second to reorient yourself. "Sleep, for once."  

Jay laughs again. "Fair. You deserve it. But you'll miss me, right?"  

"Not even for a second," you deadpan without hesitation.  

"Liar," he teases, bumping your shoulder lightly.  

You reach your building all too soon, the doors looming in front of you like an unwelcome reminder that this walk, this moment, is about to end. You stop just before the steps and turn to face him, rocking on your heels.  

"Okay, maybe a little," you admit, shrugging. "But only because you make me look like the competent one by comparison."  

"Wow," Jay shakes his head, but there it is again. The smile—the small, amused one that makes his eyes crinkle just enough to be unfairly attractive. 

You glance up at him, wishing the walk had been just a few blocks longer. Or a few miles.  

"Well," you say finally, forcing your gaze away from his own. "Thanks for walking me. And for carrying Jisoo." 

You reach for Jisoo's carrier, and Jay hands it over without hesitation, but not before shrugging like it's no big deal.

"No problem," he says. Then, as you're adjusting the carrier on your arm, he adds, "And thanks again, Y/N. For coming tonight. It really meant a lot."  

Your heart does that stupid fluttery thing again it's been doing all night, and you're starting to think you need a medical consultation.  

"Yeah, well," you clear your throat. "Partner support, you know?" You sound dumb, Y/N. Dumb.  

Jay smirks, but there's something gentler in his expression now, a flicker of something you can't quite name. 

"Goodnight, Y/N. And goodnight, Jisoo," he says, giving a small wave to the baby carrier, making you giggle slightly.  

He takes a few steps back, his hands slipping into his pockets, and gives you one last smile before turning to walk away. But before he gets too far, something bursts out of you, unwarned.  

"Jay!"  

He stops, turning on his heels, his brows lifting in surprise. "Yeah?"  

You step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you, suddenly hyper-aware of how your voice wavers.

"Um, I was wrong. You're...not all that bad." Why am I doing this? "I'm sorry if I've been...you know, intense. These past few years."  

Jay blinks at you, his surprise turning into something softer. You take a deep breath, pushing through the self-inflicted awkwardness. 

"You've been a really good partner," you add, offering a small, genuinely smile. "And well...you're pretty cool."  

His studies your face for a moment, the look longing and careful, like he's piecing together something fragile. A faint smile tugs at his lips, and there's a warmth in his expression that sends heat rushing to your cheeks.   

For a moment, the two of you just stand here, caught in the glow of the streetlamp. The world around you feels distant, like someone's hit the mute button on everything but the sound of your heartbeat.  

Jay's smile widens ever so slightly, and he nods, his voice quiet but firm, "I'll see you around, Y/N."  

He takes a few steps backward, his gaze holding yours until he finally turns and starts walking away. You watch him disappear into the night, the outline of his figure fading with the streetlights, and only then do you realize you've been holding your breath.  

As you step into your building and climb the stairs to your apartment, the night replays in your head on a loop—his laugh, his smile, his everything.  

When you finally reach your door, you lean against it for a moment, his large jacket still wrapped around you. Your thoughts crash into you all at once, and two things become alarmingly clear:  

You are completely, utterly, hopelessly in like with Jay Park.  

You're in so much trouble.  

“Congratulations, everyone!” Professor Kim clasps her hands together at the front of the classroom, a wide smile on her face. “You’ve survived six weeks of parenting. Hopefully, you’ve learned something useful—and that it hasn’t scared you off from actual parenthood one day. Each baby had a monitor tracking its status, so I’ll be extracting that data, combining it with your progress reports, and factoring it into your grade.” 

Jay leans toward you from his seat next to you, his breath warm against your ear.

“That’s a little creepy…she’s going to take Jisoo apart? The poor thing.” His smirk is half-guilty, half-amused, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from laughing out loud. 

This is new. Six weeks ago, he was Mr. Front-Row Enthusiast, and sometime between then and now, you’ve somehow managed to convert him into your next-row-back partner. He’d grumbled at first when you insisted about your theory that the front row screamed try-hard, but since then, he doesn’t even glance at the seats up front anymore. 

“Grades will be out soon! I’ll see you all next week,” Professor Kim announces. “And don’t forget to submit your reflection posts!” 

The shuffle of bags and jackets fills the room as students thank her on their way out. Slowly, the lecture hall empties, until it’s just you and Jay lingering at your seats. 

“Well,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stand. “That’s it. No more parenting lessons for us.” 

Jay heaves a dramatic sigh, his lips pulling into a pout that’s far too endearing for your peace of mind, “I can’t believe it. I already miss Jisoo.” 

You chuckle lightly but feel an odd tug in your chest, “Right? I got so used to carrying her and her baby bag everywhere. It’s weird not having her around.” 

And it is weird. You never thought you’d feel this way about a glorified hunk of plastic and wires, but now, without Jisoo, something feels…off.  

Or maybe it’s not just Jisoo. Maybe it’s the fact that this project, unexpectedly enough, turned into an excuse—a reason to spend so much time with Jay. Now that it’s over, what happens next? 

The thought hangs between you as the two of you head out of the building. The campus is alive with the hum of students, the energy buzzing around you as everyone heads to their afternoon classes. You both stop outside, standing awkwardly side by side as the silence stretches. 

No more 'Jisoo days' to plan for. No more excuses to text. No more shared tasks or inside jokes. 

Will he go back to his front-row seat, forgetting these last few weeks? Or will he—will you—pretend none of this ever happened? 

Jay shifts beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flicker to yours, then away again, as if he’s waiting for you to say something first. 

“Well,” you finally say, breaking the quiet because it’s just too heavy to bear. “I have to head to my next class.” 

“Right. Yeah,” Jay says quickly, too quickly, his hands both fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. “Makes sense.” 

He hesitates, his mouth opening like he’s about to add something, but then he stops. You notice the way he’s looking at you, like there’s a thousand things he wants to say but can’t figure out how to start. You feel that familiar heat creep up your neck, the same one you tend to get whenever you’re around him nowadays.  

“Alright,” you finally say, shifting on your feet. “See you around, then?” 

Jay’s lips turn up in a small, almost longing, smile, “Yeah. See you.” 

He doesn’t move, though. Neither do you. It’s like both of you are waiting for the other to take a step away first, and the pause grows longer and longer until you can practically hear the universe screaming at you to just go already. It’s getting unbearably uncomfortable for all of us, Y/N.  

And when you finally start to turn, before you can even take three steps, his voice stops you. 

“Hey.” 

You glance back over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

Jay scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s fighting some kind of internal battle.

“Uh, you were also a really good partner. You know, with Jisoo. I mean, you were kinda terrifying at first with all your color-coded schedules and spreadsheets, but…” 

His smile softens, and his voice drops a little, “You were great. Really. I think I learned a thing or two from you.”  

Your stomach flips in a way that’s both infuriating and addictive. 

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound casual even though your brain is short-circuiting. “Means a lot from someone who had to Google which way a diaper goes.”  

He laughs, the sound bright and warm in the cool air, “Okay, one time, Y/N. Let it go.” 

“Nope.” You grin, turning fully toward him now, your nerves settling under the familiarity of teasing. “You’ll never live it down. It’s my parting gift to you.” 

Jay presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt, “Wow. I pour my heart out, and this is what I get in return?” 

“Exactly.” 

He chuckles again, shaking his head before finally stepping back, breaking the invisible bubble that’s been holding you both in place.

“Alright. I’ll see you, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Jay,” you say, forcing yourself to turn and start walking away.  

You make it a few steps before you hear his voice a second time, softer this time, almost hesitant. 

“Y/N.” 

You glance back, your heart skipping a beat. 

Jay looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile.

“Text me when you get home later tonight, okay? After your day is done.”  

You blink, caught off guard.

“What?” 

“Just…so I know you got there safe,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But the way his voice dips at the end betrays him. 

Your chest tightens in a way that officially feels dangerous. But you know you never want to get enough of this feeling.   

“Okay,” you manage to say, the word quieter than you meant, but it was the most you could muster up with the bubble stuck in your throat.  

Jay nods, his smile widening just a little.

“Good.” 

And this time, when you turn away, you can’t stop the smile that sneaks onto your face. 

✭・.・✫

By the time you get home, it’s late, and the apartment is quiet. Esther is nowhere to be found—probably out with Heeseung or at the library pretending to study. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, the routine feeling strangely empty without Jisoo’s carrier on your arm and her baby bag strapped to the other.  

With a sigh, you find your way to your room and collapse onto your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Jay’s parting words have been echoing in your head all day, barely letting you focus during the rest of your classes—“Text me when you get home.” 

You hover over your messages for a second longer than necessary, typing and deleting a draft once, then twice, then a third time, before finally hitting send: 

Y/N [8:52PM]: home safe 👍 

You stare at the screen for exactly three seconds before flinging your phone across your bed. You roll over, face buried in your pillow, half hoping he doesn’t reply so you don’t have to overanalyze the significance of a thumbs-up emoji. 

But, of course, your phone buzzes almost instantly. 

Jay [8:53PM]: good 👍 sleep well. 

A small, ridiculous smile tugs at your lips. You really shouldn’t be this giddy over such a mundane exchange, over a thumbs up emoji, but somehow, here you are. 

And that’s when you start going insane. You shoot up from your spot in bed.  

Why did he tell you to text him? Does he say that to everyone? Or was it just…you? And why does he keep looking at you like that? You’ve never been the kind of person to spiral like this, but lately, everything about Jay has you unraveling in ways you don’t know how to handle.

Clearly.  

You groan, flailing your arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you mutter to yourself, but it’s no use. Every little interaction from the past six weeks replays in your head on a loop—his laughter, his stupid jokes, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp buzz from your phone. You glance over, half expecting a random notification (the other half hoping Jay double texted you) but instead, it’s the one you’ve been waiting for without realizing it: 

Professor Kim: Final grades are posted! 

Your heart leaps. Practically fumbling with your phone, you open the grading portal, scanning the page with a held breath. And there it is, staring back at you in bold letters: 

Semester Project Grade: 100% 

“YES!” you exclaim, punching the air like a successful cartoon character. You’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt, practically bouncing in bed. It’s the kind of happiness that makes you feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t share it with someone. 

And there’s only one person you want to share it with. 

Before you know what you’re doing, your closet doors are wide open, your hands rifling through. Your hands land on his jacket—the one he lent you after the showcase—and something about it feels right. You shrug it on, ignoring the way it smells faintly like him (and comfort), and grab your keys without a second thought. 

By the time you realize what you’re doing, you’re already halfway to Jay’s apartment. It’s not like you had a plan—just this overwhelming need to see him.  

Because somehow, he’s become the first person you want to share everything with, want to experience every moment with, want to feel every feeling with, and that thought is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  

But you’ve never been so sure of anything else before.  

Your breath hitches as you reach his familiar door, hand raised to knock. You hesitate for a moment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this is. Who shows up at someone’s place at this hour, unannounced, just to tell them about a grade? What if he already saw it and didn’t even think twice? You look insane, Y/N. Insane.  

But then you think about the way he looked at you earlier, the way he smiled when he said “good job.” 

And you knock.  

✭・.・✫

Jay doesn’t know what’s happening. One second, he’s on his couch editing photos, and the next, someone’s trying to break down his door. At least, that’s what it sounds like. The pounding is so aggressive it makes his mug of tea tremble slightly on the table. 

Heart racing, Jay tosses his laptop aside and scans the room for a weapon. Nothing. Great. In a flash of panic, he grabs the TV remote because, sure, it’s sleek, ergonomic, and maybe intimidating in the right light. 

Bracing himself for certain doom, he yanks the door open— 

“Oh.” 

It’s you. 

At his doorstep. 

Unannounced. 

In his jacket. 

Jay flatlines. All he can do is stare at you in the oversized jacket—his oversized jacket—looking like you walked straight out of one of his dream scenarios. The rational part of him is trying to keep it together, but the feral part of his brain is screaming She’s in my clothes. Marriage now. 

You tilt your head, studying his expression.

“Jay? Are you…okay?” 

He blinks, realizing he’s been standing there for a good five seconds with his mouth slightly open.  

“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Uh—what’s up?” 

“Well first, why are you wielding a TV remote like it’s a sword?” 

Jay glances down at the remote in his hand, then back at you.

“…I thought you were a robber.” 

“A robber?” you repeat, struggling not to laugh. “What kind of robber knocks?” 

“I don’t know, maybe a polite one!” 

You let out a giggle and shrug, “Fair enough. But anyway, I’m here because—did you see?” 

“See what?” He frowns, confused, and still recovering from his adrenaline rush. 

“Professor Kim posted our grades! We got a 100%!” 

Jay stares at you for a second before the words sink in.

“Wait—what? We got a hundred?” 

“Yes!” You’re practically bouncing, a bright smile lighting up your face. “A perfect score, Jay!” 

He laughs and steps forward, grabbing your shoulders in his hands.

“No way. We actually did it?!” 

“We did it!” You beam back, jumping up and down. “We crushed it!” 

Jay’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, but he doesn’t care. There’s something about seeing you this happy, standing in his doorway like a whirlwind of energy, that makes his chest feel way too full, too complete.  

And for a moment, the two of you are just standing there, caught up in the moment, smiling at each other like idiots. 

When the excitement dies down, Jay notices the way you’re still slightly breathless, like you’d run all the way here.  

“Wait,” he squints. “You could’ve just texted me, you know.” 

“Oh,” you shift your weight, suddenly looking a little shy. “Yeah. But I just…wanted to see you.” 

Jay blinks. His brain is once again malfunctioning.  

“Oh.”  

Oh? 

OH.  

“Yeah. So…here I am,” you add, failing miserably to conceal the wobble in your voice.  

“Here you are,” he repeats, his voice back to that soft tone that knows how to make your heart go into overdrive.  

His eyes flicker to yours and stay there as the air between you suddenly feels heavier. Charged. 

“Is that all?” Jay asks, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him. “I guess.” 

Jay leans against the doorframe, studying you with that stupidly charming smirk of his, “Well, then.” 

“Well, then,” you echo, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever encountered (spoiler: it’s not. That would be Jay’s face. But we’re not admitting that just yet). 

Neither of you moves. Not even a millimeter. The silence stretches so long that you’re pretty sure somewhere in the world, a Netflix show just autoplayed its next episode. 

Then, suddenly, Jay watches as your face cycles through the emotional Olympics: panic, resolve, regret, and whatever it is that makes your eyebrows do that cute scrunch thing he secretly loves. 

“I should go,” you say, finally breaking the silence, your voice quieter now. “Sorry for barging in like this.” 

You look down at your feet, hands still mindlessly playing with the sleeve of his jacket. Jay’s stomach twists at the sight—at the quiet, unsure way you’re suddenly retreating.  

No. Absolutely not. He doesn’t know where his bravery is coming from (he suspects it’s sheer desperation), but he refuses to let you leave like this. 

Before you can fully turn away, Jay reaches out and gently grabs your sleeve, tugging you back like you’re his favorite person in the world—which, spoiler again, you totally are. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling you close enough that you bump into his chest. Both his hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that feels practiced. Like it’s where his hands were always meant to be. 

And that's when Jay knows for sure: he likes you. He likes you bad. Painful highlighters, confusing spreadsheets, and all. He likes the way you carry your stubbornness like a badge of honor. He likes the way you chew on your pen when you're deep in thought. The way you turn his every sarcastic comment into a competition he's somehow thrilled to lose.  

“You forgot something,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low as his eyes search yours, then your lips, then your entire face.  

Your heart stumbles, your brain short-circuits, and you’re pretty sure your face is now the color of a stop sign. 

“Oh, uh, the jacket?” you stammer, looking down at where he grabbed your sleeve, grasping for any logical explanation. “You’re right. Sorry, I almost—” 

But before you can finish, Jay does something both incredibly bold and incredibly reckless. He leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

For a moment, you freeze. This isn’t real. Is this an alternate universe where Jay kisses you instead of just driving you insane? 

But then, the realization sinks in—Jay is kissing you. Like, actually kissing you. And wow. 

The first touch of his lips sends a rush through your entire body, like every nerve has suddenly woken up all at once. He’s hesitant at first, almost like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, but when you don’t—when you finally let go of all the confusion, overthinking, and denial—you lean into him, your hands both instinctively reaching up, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself as you kiss him back, now realizing how much you desperately wanted this.  

And that’s all the encouragement Jay needs.  

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers brushing the hem of the jacket you’re wearing—his jacket, you remember with a strange, fluttering thrill. The kiss deepens, gentle but insistent, a slow, breathtaking unraveling of all the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks. 

It’s like the air shifts around you, the space between you collapsing into nothing. You feel his breath, warm against your skin, and the faintest hitch in it when your hand moves up to lightly curl against the back of his neck. 

He’s so close, and everything about this moment feels right—his familiar scent, the steady warmth of his hands on your waist, the way he tilts his head slightly to meet yours like he’s memorizing the shape of you. 

Your heart pounds, the world spinning just a little too fast and too slow all at once. It’s electric, and dizzying, and somehow everything and nothing like you imagined (because, yes, you’ve imagined it—so what?). 

Jay pulls back just slightly, his forehead brushing yours as he grins, his voice a playful mumble against your lips, not wanting to break the kiss, “You can keep the jacket.” 

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as you clutch at his arms for balance.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” 

“I’m a multi-tasker,” he replies, deadpan, his lips turning into a teasing smirk as he leans in and steals another quick kiss. He starts to pull back again, but you don't let him—your hand catches his sleeve as you dart up and chase his lips for one more peck, light and fleeting, but enough to make him smile like a fool.

You're completely, utterly, hopelessly obsessed with him.  

"Besides," he adds, the words smug as his arms tighten around you, "I've already sacrificed my jacket. Might as well give up my dignity too."  

You roll your eyes, “You’re still an idiot.” 

“And yet, I’m the idiot you kissed back,” Jay fires back, brushing a strand of hair from your face.  

You shake your head, your voice soft and teasing, “You’re so—” 

The words trail off as you meet his gaze again, and before you can even think about stopping yourself, you tilt your head up, close the remaining distance between you, and kiss him first this time.  

Jay freezes for a second, caught off guard, before he fully melts into the kiss again, one hand instinctively curling around your waist to keep you as close as possible. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no holding back—just the two of you in the quiet of his doorway, and the overwhelming certainty that neither of you wants to let this—this moment, this feeling—to end. 

When you finally pull back, Jay’s eyes are sparkling, his gaze holding an undeniable warmth. 

“You know,” he starts, voice light but tinged with something deeper, “if you keep doing that, I might start thinking you actually like me or something.” 

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in just close enough to make him squirm, your smirk playful. 

“And if you keep talking,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing, “I might change my mind.” 

Jay blinks, momentarily stunned, before letting out a breathless laugh, his arms instinctively circling your waist again, pulling you just a little closer.

“Noted. Say less. I’ll shut up forever. You’re stuck with me now.” 

Stuck with Jay? As in a more-than-project-partners kind of way? 

Yeah, you think, meeting the smile he’s giving you. 

You don’t mind that idea one bit. 

Now that the six weeks of parenthood is over, we ask that you write a reflection post in response to your pre-questionnaire answers we asked you at the beginning of the project. Were your expectations met? Exceeded? Any surprises along the way?

Y/N’s Submission [11:15AM, October 30th]:

Parenting, even with a robot baby, turned out to be nothing like I expected. I’ve learned that no matter how much you plan, babies (and life) have a way of completely ignoring your carefully crafted schedules. It was frustrating at times, but it also made things…unexpectedly fun.

Speaking of unexpected—let’s just say my partnership for this project caught me completely off guard, in the best way possible. Turns out, some surprises are worth breaking the plan for :)

Jay’s Submission [11:30AM, October 30th]:

Honestly? I expected surprises, but I wasn’t ready to lose three years of my life over a diaper change—or nearly go deaf from tantrums. Safe to say, I learned the hard way that being a little prepared isn’t such a bad idea.

But here’s the thing: turns out, babies (and certain project partners) have a way of growing on you. Who knew spreadsheets and sleepless nights could actually be…kinda great? I guess what I’m saying is, sometimes the best things aren’t planned. And also, I know how to change a diaper in 30 seconds now. The right side up :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! let me know what you think °ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°

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cue all tags now...

[yelenasbraid]

on your doorstep — joe burrow

summary — he really likes you, but you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he likes you.

warnings — fem!reader, lsu!joe, fluff, absolute sweetness, oblivious reader, flustered joey

note — my very first lsu joe fic 🤭 figured it was needed after the loss last night :( there is a fic coming from the game tho! but probably won’t be out until later this week.

LEAVING OHIO STATE was tough. as much as joe knew that it was going to be better for his football career, he had to start over. again. he didn’t want to meet new people in his classes, again.

to make things worse, some of his credits from ohio state didn’t transfer right. so, he had to retake some of his gen ed classes. it just made joe dread the transfer even more, but as he walked into one of his political science classes, he sat next to one of most beautiful girls he’s seen.

as his first semester went on, he got to know the girl beside him. you were incredibly smart; you grasped the content a lot quicker than he did. you were friendly too, easy to talk to and overall he just liked being around you.

so when it came around to an exam, of course joe asked you to be his study buddy.

“don’t you have practice basically all week?” you asked him as your class ended. he shrugged, offering you that goofy, boyish smile.

“well yeah, but i also really want to pass this class,” he replied, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulders. he was cute, especially with how his hair flipped out from under the snapback. his hair was still long, yet he swore up and down he was going to cut it. you liked it long, you liked how he had this happy-go-lucky thing about him, and you also liked how he wasn’t like some of the other players you met. you were drawn to him, but you kept your distance. you knew of the stigma around football players.

“you kinda need to,” you teased as the two of you exited class. ever since joe met you, he’s wanted to be around you. he found himself enjoying class just because you were in it. he had something to look forward too; you made political science interesting to him. you were normal around him too. when you found out he was the starting quarterback, you didn’t lose your mind, didn’t ask for an autograph, or even give him a look. you simply nodded your head, telling him it was cool, and moved on.

at first he thought he should be offended by how nonchalant you were, but as he got to know you, he wasn’t. he enjoyed the fact you two were friends, and not because he played football.

joe rolled his eyes at your comment as you two walked out of the building. it was a rather warm day in the bayou, the sun pelting down on the both of you as you stopped at a nearby cafe.

he liked how the sun made you glow. he liked how you hated the heat, but still made a point to be out in the sun. every interaction he had with you built a butterfly nest in his stomach, and the longer he knew you, the stronger the butterflies got.

“smoothie?” he asked you as you stood in line at the cafe, pulling out your card.

“of course, it’s too hot to not have a smoothie,” you smiled, looking up at him. he was so effortlessly adorable, but he was also kind. you had a mutual love for marvel and would often go on tangents about theories. you’ve never felt so at home with someone that quickly. you felt safe with him, which bred these annoying butterflies in your stomach. he’d never like you, you were just another friend, right?

“right, and it’s a strawberry yogurt smoothie, right?” he asked again, a prideful yet boyish grin plastered on his face. you looked up at him surprise, smiling.

“i’m surprised you remembered,”

“you get it every time we come here, i can’t help but remember it,” he teased. he remembered your order the second you told him, and he’s not forgotten it since. it’s only been a few months and he wants to be with you for the rest of his life. he was so down bad for you it hurt, but you wouldn’t like him. you didn’t seem the type to go after a football player, right?

“that is very true,” you agreed with a laugh. you went to pay, but joe stepped in front of you. you barely had time to question him before he ordered. he stepped back to wait, you joining him.

"you didn't have to pay for me," you told him as you stood next to him. he felt his cheeks redden, heat rising to his ears.

"you were too slow," he teased, but in reality he wanted to pay for you. he wanted to make you feel special and feel like you were the only girl in the world. your smoothies came, and you saw he ordered two strawberry smoothies.

“stepping out of your comfort zone?” you asked, grabbing your smoothie.

“you slurp those things down like it’s candy. i had to try it,” he shrugged. despite acting nonchalant, he wasn’t. he wanted to try the things you like, to do the things you enjoyed. he took a sip of the smoothie, your eyes watching for his reaction.

“you have good taste,” he complimented, a blush rising to his cheeks. every time he complimented you, even if it was small, his heart raced and he got all nervous. would you look too far into it? would you see that he liked you?

“see? they’re good! plus, it’s not too unhealthy,” you grinned, gently shoving him as you sipped your own. you felt eyes as you walked out with joe. he was the star quarterback; people believed that he was going to do lsu a huge favor. you believed it too, but you weren’t appreciative of the stares you got, or the backhanded comments you got.

“it’s so loaded with sugar,” he laughed.

“and yet you’re still drinking it,” you defended. it was the moments like this that you lived for. the smile from joe, the way he walked in step with you, the way he’d walk you back to your apartment. you wanted to be around him all the time, but you couldn’t be. he had practice, and you had other plans too.

the two of you were making your way to the student union to do some studying. would any studying get done? probably not. every time you attempted to study, you ended up goofing off. it happened every time.

you found a table, sat your stuff down, and got out your laptops. you guys actually studied for about 30 minutes until joe showed you a funny video.

“you hear the sound it made when the ball hit his head?” he was giggling so hard as he showed you this video he found. it was two brothers playing baseball in the living room of their home, the ball being a wiffle ball, and it bounced off the younger brother’s head. that then prompted the bat to fly out of the younger brother’s hands, and the chaos of the video was what had joe shaking with laughter.

“how did he not break anything?” you asked with a fit of giggles yourself.

“i don’t know,” joe laughed, a good silent laugh too. you started laughing because of how joe was laughing. you covered your mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles, but it was to no avail.

after a while, your giggle fits died down. you wiped tears from your eyes as you attempted to focus back on your studying.

“what’re you doing tonight?” joe asked you, wiping tears from his eyes.

“as far as i know, nothing. why?” you replied, flicking your eyes to meet his. every time you looked at him, you fought the urge to trace his features with your eyes. his lips, his jawline, his hair, even his neck. it drove you wild and made your nerves go crazy. oh what you would do to kiss him.

no, no you couldn’t think like that. he didn’t like you like that.

“we should have a movie night,” he suggested. you’ve had a movie night before, but it was more structured. mutual friends were hosting a movie night, and you two happened to go.

“sure, what movie are you thinking?” you asked, feeling the nerves bubble up inside of you. you had to keep your cool, absolutely had to.

“i’m thinking the original avengers movie. it’s been a minute so i thought we’re due for a rewatch,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his smoothie. he watched you, observing how your eyes squinted in thought, how your fingers hovered over your keyboard. he watched how your eyes flicked over his expression, and how badly he wanted to do the same. you were beautiful, and the way you sat there, a smile on your face that lit up your eyes; he’s never wanted to kiss you more in his life. suddenly, he was nervous to even be in the same room as you.

“oooh yes, i agree. your place or mine?”

“let’s do my place,” he suggested. his roommate was out of town and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. so, he had the apartment to himself. which was a good thing.

“great. should i meet you there?”

“no, i’ll pick you up,” he offered. he was bold, trying to keep his confidence as he planned this night out. he didn’t know why he was so nervous, actually, he did. joe liked you, he was falling for you, and it’d hit him like a brick wall. he’s never this nervous for a game, but having a movie night with just you? he thought he was going to be sick.

“oh, what a gentlemen,” you teased, feeling warmth spread across your body. you fell for him, and he was going to be the end of you.

—

you’ve been to his apartment before. it was kept clean, smelled nice, and not to mention it was clean. it was different this time, though. you weren’t going to drop something off, you were going to hang out with him. something very normal but very nerve wracking.

your phone buzzed with a text from joe. ‘i’m here!’ you scrambled to find your things, and once you did, you were out the door.

you walked down the stairs, trying not to trip and fall because of how shaky your legs were. you found his car, and before you could open the door yourself, joe stepped out.

“what’re you doing?” you chuckled, watching as he opened your door for you.

“making my mama proud,” he grinned. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. it was sweet, and god it made you fall for him even faster.

little did you know he was sweating just by opening the door for you.

“i bet she is,” you told him, sincerely. you knew his mom was proud of him. you knew that a lot of people were proud of him. you grew to be one of those people, especially after learning about his experience at ohio state.

joe got in, and started the drive to his place. soft music played over the speakers, but the silence wasn’t awkward. you leaned back in your seat, watching as the world went by. you turned your head, watching as joe had one hand on the wheel and the other on his thigh. why was driving so attractive to you? for a split second you imagined his hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. you erased that image; it would never happen.

joe pulled into his place, got out, opened the door for you, and led you up to his room. the whole car ride had him nervous. he kept wringing the wheel, thinking about the night ahead of him. he wanted to tell you how he felt, but what if you didn’t feel the same? what if you rejected him? he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you rejected him.

he unlocked his door, stepping in behind you.

“home sweet home,” he sighed as he tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter. joe watched as you walked in, blanket in hand, dressed in your comfiest clothes. he wanted you for himself so badly, but not now. he wanted a movie night with his best friend, and he’d have that.

“make yourself at home, i’ll grab some snacks,” he announced. you nodded, taking a seat on the couch. you laid the blanket over your legs as you turned on the tv. joe joined you, a bowl full of pretzels in hand. you raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down.

“pretzels?”

“don’t lie, you love em,” he grinned as he popped one into his mouth. you rolled your eyes, selecting the movie. you cuddled into the couch, facing joe. joe offered you the pretzel bowl, and you took a couple.

“thanks,” you hummed. you looked so soft, so comfortable, and he wanted to lay there with you. he wanted to feel you against him, your fingers through his hair, your lips against his. he fought everything in him to not reach out and hold your hand, or lean against you. it was going to be a long night for him.

—

as the movie came to a close, you adjusted yourself on the couch. the pretzel bowl was empty, and now you and joe faced the tv. you sat next to him, feeling his warmth radiate out from him. you gravitated towards it, leaning against his shoulder. you looped an arm through his, resting your cheek on his shoulder. exhaustion was creeping up on you, threatening to take you hostage. you stayed awake, barely.

joe, however, was electrified. the second he felt you against him he stiffened, but then forced himself to relax. he didn’t want you thinking he didn’t want you to do that. it was the opposite, he’s been silently begging for you to lean on him. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his hand resting on your arm. his fingers danced on your exposed skin, and he was hoping he wasn’t freaking you out. you both weren’t big on physical touch; he was lucky if you hugged him. this was a different feeling, one he didn’t want to let go of.

the second you felt his fingers on your arm the butterflies erupted in your stomach. warmth spread across your body, shivers crawling over your body. you wanted his touch on other areas of your body, but you stayed still.

the movie ended, but you stayed there. you didn’t want his touch to leave you, but it was late, and you were falling asleep. you needed to go home, but you were going to be thinking about this night for a long while. you pulled away from him, your cheeks a bright red.

“i love an original 6 movie,” you cleared your throat as you stretched your tight limbs, a yawn escaping your lips.

“me too,” he agreed. it was time to drive you home, the worst part of the night. he didn’t say what he wanted to say, he didn’t tell you how he felt and how you lit up his life. why did he let his nerves, his fears, control him? they didn’t on the field, so why now?

you gathered your things, slipped on your shoes, and got into the car. the drive home almost put you to sleep, especially since the music was low enough to tempt you.

joe pulled into your apartment, parking the car.

“what’re you doing?” you yawned.

“i’m gonna walk you up,”

“no, no you don’t have to do that,” you rubbed your eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them. joe thought it was cute, especially since you were so sleepy.

“please, my mama raised me better,” he told you, getting out of the car. joe and his mama. joe opened your door for you, and you stepped out. he walked with you up to your apartment door, his mind racing. now was his chance, he had to do something.

“we should do movie nights more often,” you suggested.

“we should. maybe we can watch the entirety of the mcu this semester,” joe added as you got to your door. you fiddled with your keys as you unlocked your door. as much as you didn’t want to walk in, you were exhausted.

“thanks for tonight, it was fun,” you smiled sleepily at him. he shoved his hands in his sweats pockets and shrugged.

“don’t mention it,” he watched as you started to walk in to your apartment, and his heart lurched.

“y/n, wait,” he called, grabbing your hand, spinning you to face him. you looked at him with a worried gaze.

“what-” you couldn’t even get the word out before joe’s lips found yours. you were shocked, but before you could process he pulled away. he opened his mouth to speak, but you grabbed his collar and pulled him back down to you. your lips met, and his lips were just as soft as they looked. your hands looped around his neck, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing you as close as he possibly could.

he couldn’t believe he was kissing you. he couldn’t believe he felt you against him, that you were kissing him. he imagined this for a while, the feeling of you in his arms and the taste of you on his tongue. he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. he smiled, not being able to control himself.

“i’ve waited so long to do that,” he admitted softly. you chuckled, feeling a blush on your cheeks and butterflies in your stomach.

“me too,”

“let me take you out on a date,” he suggested, pulling his forehead from yours. you looked up at him with a twinkle in your eye.

“i’m all yours, burrow,” you hummed, which prompted him to dip his head in, softly kissing you again. you wanted to stay there forever, kissing him on your doorstep, feeling his hands on your body. you never wanted the moment to end. you looked forward to that date, and hopefully, many more to come.

i can’t believe i’ve not written for lsu joe before??? and now he’s all i think about??? anyways, pls enjoy this absolute fluff piece! lsu joe is such a cutie so i had to write for him. hopefully this makes up for the terrible, depressing loss we had last night 😭

[godricgryffinsnore]

Heyyyyyy Della!

I have a request, go on if you want.

Here it goes:

Y/n is a transfer student from any random country/magic school and her and Hermione are immediate friends because of shared traits.

The thing is- Harry and her have a 'I love you but I will pretend I hate you' relationship.

If you actually write it — I am goddamn excited.

Yours,

V ;༊

She Came in Like Thunder ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : A fiery transfer student shakes up Hogwarts, instantly bonding with Hermione and clashing with Harry in a whirlwind of witty insults, stolen glances, and unresolved tension. Amid snowy chaos, glittering banter, and accidental confessions, two love-struck idiots slowly realize that maybe “hate” was just their favorite disguise for love.

warnings : Light profanity, Mild magical mischief, Flirty insults / teasing, Excessive pining and fluff, Secondhand embarrassment from two idiots in love, Truth potion chaos, Mentions of blushing, kissing, and heart-thumping feelings. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : I was giggling and laughing the entire time when I was plotting out this request. I hope you do enjoy it <3 AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

word count : 0.9k

main master list <3

banners : @fawndollie and @saradika-graphics

Hogwarts had seen its fair share of chaos: trolls in bathrooms, flying cars, Quidditch riots, and Fred and George Weasley’s existence in general. But it was woefully unprepared for you.

You arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning with wind in your coat and fire in your stride, eyes sharp as phoenix flame. A transfer from Castelobruxo, the Brazilian wizarding school nestled in the jungle—where students tamed magical beasts before breakfast and performed wandless magic with the grace of dancers.

You were thunder wrapped in charm.

Hermione Granger liked you immediately.

“She reads three books a week and corrects professors when they misquote theory,” she whispered in awe to Harry at breakfast. “We’re practically soulmates.”

Harry, whose spoon had been halfway to his mouth, dropped it and scowled.

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Another overachiever. As if one wasn’t enough.”

Ron blinked. “Jealous much?”

“No,” Harry snapped too quickly. “She just… looks like she’d hex someone for sneezing too loudly.”

“She saved Neville from a rogue Bludger yesterday.”

“She also called me ‘Scarboy Supreme’ in the library.”

Hermione hummed. “Yes, but she smiled when she said it.”

And that was the problem.

Because every time you tossed a smug quip Harry’s way, you smiled like a secret. And Harry, poor boy, kept falling for it.

── .✦

You were infuriating.

You hummed while working, corrected his wand grip without asking, and once said, "Your disarming spell is cute. Like a kitten trying to roar."

You left feathers in his inkpot. Charmed his robes to sing Celestina Warbeck when he got too cocky. You always looked too amused, too untouched by his scowls.

And the worst part?

You were brilliant. Better than him in Charms. Equally sharp in Defense. Fast on a broom. And you laughed like the sun got caught in your throat.

Harry couldn’t stand it.

He also couldn’t look away.

── .✦

“She’s annoying.”

“You’re in love with her,” Hermione said simply, not looking up from Advanced Arithmancy.

Harry sputtered. “Excuse me?”

“Anyone with a functioning brain can see it,” she added, underlining a line. “You hate her like a Victorian poet hates the moon—loudly, obsessively, while penning love sonnets behind a curtain.”

Ron choked on his biscuit. “He what?”

“I do not write sonnets!”

“Please,” Hermione said dryly. “You literally wrote ‘Her eyes are like bottled lightning’ in the margins of your Transfiguration notes.”

Harry turned red.

“That was metaphorical!”

“Sure, Potter.”

── .✦

And then came the snowball incident.

It was the first snowfall of December. Students frolicked. Couples kissed under enchanted mistletoe. Hogwarts looked like a greeting card. And you were perched on a bench in the courtyard, scarf draped like you were posing for an autumn fashion catalogue.

Harry was watching you again.

He didn’t mean to. His eyes just gravitated toward you like they were bewitched.

You were reading—of course you were—and twirling your wand in that dangerous way that made boys stupid and girls swoon. He scowled.

You looked up.

Smirked.

And flicked your wand.

BAM—a snowball slapped him directly across the face.

Harry sputtered. You grinned.

“Oh dear,” you said sweetly. “Did I hit something important?”

He stomped over, red-cheeked, snow in his hair. “You are a menace.”

“And you are terrible at ducking.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I know,” you said, too brightly. “Because I like seeing you flustered.”

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Considered his life choices.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he flung a snowball at you.

It missed.

You laughed.

God, that laugh.

Harry swore his heart was no longer his own.

── .✦

Later that evening…

“You’re smiling,” Hermione said, her eyes not leaving her book.

“No, I’m not.”

“Snow in your hair. Glitter on your robes. And you’re humming. Harry, be serious.”

Ron nodded solemnly. “Only two people make you this weird: Cho Chang and Butterbeer. And you don’t look sticky.”

Harry buried his face in his arms. “I hate her.”

“You love her.”

“Do not.”

“She called you pretty.”

“She called me a sentient broomstick.”

“She also asked you to walk her to the Owlery.”

Harry groaned. “She made me walk her to the Owlery. Said I had ‘stalker energy’ and might as well make myself useful.”

“And you went.”

“…Shut up.”

── .✦

Confession came by accident.

Well, by accident and a rogue Truth Charm gone wrong during Slughorn’s New Year’s Party.

“Tell us your deepest desire,” Seamus challenged Harry with a giggle, waving the glittering vial.

“Don’t drink that—” Hermione warned.

But it was too late.

Harry, flustered, dramatic, utterly cursed, downed the potion like an idiot.

“I’m in love with her,” he blurted.

The room froze.

“Merlin’s pants,” Ron whispered.

Harry looked horrified. “I mean, I hate her. Violently. With feelings. That live in my chest. Like traitors.”

You—standing nearby—blinked.

Then walked right up to him.

And kissed him.

It was soft. Hot. Terrifying.

Like finally touching fire you’ve stared at too long.

“God,” you whispered. “You’re so slow, Potter.”

“You knew?” he asked, dazed.

“I've been in love with you since you tripped over your shoelaces and called me a 'hex-hazard.'”

Harry smiled.

He was doomed.

He was delighted.

── .✦

The Aftermath

You still called him Scarface. He still charmed your books to hum. But now, there were stolen kisses in hidden alcoves, smirks behind held hands, and whispered “I love you” spoken like dares.

“I still hate you,” he said once, breathless, forehead against yours.

“I hate you more,” you replied, kissing him again.

And somehow, that meant forever.

[pervoshi]

MINE . blade , yingxing

blade wasn’t gentle.

the mara-strucken man could only hold himself back for one singular person; you.

even then he had his, well, moments when the two of you were alone.

you had been practically bratty today.

not focusing on the mission that the two of you were assigned too, making a scene every now and then, causing the two of you to have more encounters with guards then blade’s patience could handle.

he tried to be as nice as he could be at first, simply scolding you to get your act together.

“whatever, this mission is annoying anyways.”

his left eye twitched, but he held himself back, for now.

it wasn’t until the both of you were infiltrating the target’s base that you really got the man going.

the plan was simple: you were going to be the distraction while blade took out any guardsmen.

simple, right?

clearly not for you.

“you will approach— girl, where are you,”

you gave blade a sly smirk, skipping up the stairs without a care in the world, approaching the entrance littered with guards.

“hi boys, can you direct me to where the boss is?”

your voice was up an octave, the dress you were wearing hiking up slightly as you leaned forward, exposing the plump of your chest.

blade’s eyes were burning into you, you could practically feel them from where you were.

to you, it was so much fun teasing the poor man, knowing his self control was dwindling away the more you spoke.

your sweet voice wasn’t convincing enough however, so, you took things just a bit further.

“come on, don’t be like that,” you whispered, one of your hands coming up to caress the fabric of a guard’s jacket.

“you think i’m pretty, yeah?”

blade froze, watching you lean in to the man, your lips practically touching his.

“then let me in, ‘kay?”

everything went blank in blade’s eyes, in one swift motion he had taken down every single guard.

well, all expect one.

blade leaned down, his bandaged hand tangling into the guard’s hair as he made him look up, being forced to stare at the stellaron’s hunter demeaning gaze.

“what a pitiful excuse of a man.”

his voice was mean.

the guard’s eyes moved to you for just a second, pleading for you to do something.

blade was quicker though, yanking the man’s head away with such force it made him groan.

“no, don’t fuckin’ look at her.”

your thighs rubbed together; you loved when he got rough.

blade could see you out of the corner of his eye, watching you practically get off at him throwing a lone guard around.

he dropped the man from his grasp, now standing tall, towering over you.

“i will deal with you later, girl.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, quickly covering your mouth with your hand, knowing that blade was growing closer and closer to snapping.

“aren’t you cute; gettin’ all jealous just from that.”

his jaw clenched.

“say that again, brat.”

“what? that you’re cute when you’re jealous?”

blade hummed, turning away for a second.

he could feel that anger rising in him, the one he so desperately tried to control.

but, you didn’t want him to control it, you wanted him to let it out.

let it out on you, specifically.

“getting so mad, aren’t you?”

“do not test me right now.”

“why not? scared you’ll get rough with me?”

blade turned his head, staring you down like he hated you.

“is that what this is about?”

he stepped closer.

“you want me to get rough, huh?”

another step.

“get mean?”

you kept the smug look on your face, masking how soaked your panties were getting.

“maybe, but,”

you look up at him, that mischievous little stare making blade even more annoyed.

“i don’t think you have it in you.”

“you really want to test that theory with me, girl?”

“oh, it’s not a theory — it’s a fact.”

the coil within blade snapped.

he was quick with his movements, grabbing hold of your neck with his gloved hand, dragging your body closer to him.

you reacted instantly, your own hands grasping at his wrists as you attempted to tug his from your neck, your airways tightening up the more he kept his hold on you.

“l—let go!”

“do you ever shut that mouth of yours?”

blade let you thrash around, amused by the way you tried so hard to get away knowing this is exactly what you wanted.

he let go of you after a bit, letting you catch your breath before immediately shoving your head down, making you fall to your knees.

you caught yourself, knees digging into the concrete as a fit of coughs left you, your eyes teary as the man above you looked down at you.

“is that— all you got?”

blade watched you, intrigued by your response.

“cause so far, my theory is still right.”

the stellaron hunter didn’t respond, instead, he let his actions speak for him.

a hand came down to grip your hair before shoving the rest of your head into the ground, cheek now pressed fully into the rocky surface.

he removed the bandaged hand from your hair, making you let out a sigh in relief as the pressure was released.

a moment that was short lived as you felt something else press onto your head.

is that his fucking shoe?

blade put all his pressure on one leg, smushing your cheek into the concrete, watching your nails dig into your palms.

“get off my fuckin’ face.”

“you think you can give me orders?”

his shoe pressed harder, making you hiss in response.

“isn’t this what you wanted, girl,”

he leaned down, ramming your face harder into the ground, blood leaking from your cheek as he did so.

“for me to be rough, mean—,”

you couldn’t help how wet this was making you, knowing that blade was the one hurting you like this.

it made you feel dizzy.

blade noticed how you shifted your body, thighs pressing together and the little whimpers that kept slipping past your lips.

“you gettin’ off from this?”

“n—no.”

he scoffed, leaning over your body entirely until he was able to reach the hem of your dress, lifting the material up your body until it exposed your clothed cunt, arousal seeping through the material.

“you sure about that, girl?”

he was mocking you.

“got all drenched, just from me throwing you around a little?”

blade chuckled, leaning back up before finally removing his shoe from your head.

you pushed yourself up a bit, wiping off the dirt and blood from your cheek, eyes piercing into the man above you.

he squatted down, now face to face with you as he let his gloved hand cup the underside of your chin, squeezing the flesh so your lips puffed up.

“still want to be a brat, hm?”

“f—fuck you,”

there was silence, followed by the stinging feeling of blade’s hand connecting with your cheek, holding your face there after the fact.

“say one more word,”

he got close to your ear, lips brushing against the flesh making you jolt away.

“and i’ll make sure that little cunt of yours gets nothin’ tonight.”

you stayed silent, teeth gnawing into your cheek to silence a moan that almost snuck through.

blade let out an airy laugh, landing a few soft hits against your cheek before finally standing tall again.

“that’s all it takes to shut you up?”

you looked up at him, eyes glossed over with tears, a pout visible on your lips.

“so fuckin’ easy.”

“p—please,”

aeons, you looked so desperate.

blade had enough self control to not moan at the sight of you, but his cock was aching within the confines of his pants.

“c’mere, on your knees.”

you did as he said, kneeling right in front of his crotch, practically drooling like a starved dog.

he toyed with his belt, yanking the the leather off before pausing for a second, looking at the item then back at you.

“don’t move.” blade said sternly, circling around so he was behind you.

he knelt down, taking both of your wrists in his hand before wrapping the leather belt around them, tightening it, making you hiss a bit in response.

blade hummed, satisfied with his work, returning to his position in front of you.

you shifted your wrists, getting used to the feeling of them being restricted before looking back up at the man, a small pout on your lips.

“was this really necessary?”

he scoffed, his gloved hand reaching down to grip your jaw.

“still running that damn mouth of yours—,”

blade’s thumb slid over the flesh of your bottom lip, humming, before forcing the digit into your mouth.

“there, now you’re quiet.”

you whined against his finger, teeth grazing the fabric on it in an attempt to bite the stellaron hunter.

“don’t even think about it, girl.”

he saw that mischievous glint in your eyes, your lips pursed upwards, challenging the man.

“or what?” you slurred out, muffled by your mouth being full.

blade was on fire, his control still slipping from every bit of resistance you gave him.

the man slid his leg towards you, the tip of his shoe pressing against the fabric of your underwear.

you nearly choked on his thumb, your hips grinding into his shoe involuntarily from the lack of contact thus far.

“so greedy.”

he slipped his digit from your mouth, wiping the spit across the flush of your cheeks.

“go on,”

blade moved his shoe even further into your cunt, your full weight now sitting on top of it.

“i—i’m not getting off on your foot.”

“still want to talk back, hm?”

he leaned down, face now inches from yours, his expression unreadable.

“either start movin’ or you’re getting nothin’ from me.”

“don’t believe you—,”

blade sucked his teeth, how could you still be this mouthy with him?

“one more word from you and i swear to—,”

“swear to what, hm? that you’ll leave me here? oh p—please.”

you leaned in closer to him, mouth inches away from his ear.

“you leave me here, and you’ll get nothing too,”

blade felt your teeth nip at this flesh, a giggle escaping you as you leaned away.

“and we both know how much you love getting your dick wet.”

the stellaron hunter looked at you once more, eyes closing as he leaned back up, a long sigh leaving him.

you watched him undo the button on his pants, then the zipper, the material falling open, exposing the fabric of his boxers.

blade removed his cock from the confines of his pants, hard and leaking with his arousal.

“you think i need you, girl, to get off?”

he wrapped his hand around his cock, slowly pumping it as he looked dead in your eyes, a smirk forming on his lips.

“what are you doing—,”

his free hand slapped across your cheek once again, making you yelp in surprise.

“i don’t want to hear one fuckin’ word from you.”

his thumb slid across the tip of his length, wiping the precum away as he continued to pleasure himself.

all you could do was watch as he thrusted into his hand, your cunt leaking all over the surface of the man’s shoe.

without thought, you started slowly grinding your hips into his foot, small whimpers slipping from you as you became mesmerized by the sight of blade.

“did i say you could hump my shoe, brat?”

you jolted back to your senses when you heard his voice, hips stopping their movements while you gazed up at blade, eyes wide and lips glossy.

“no movin’ unless i tell you.”

so, there you sat, all helpless as you watched blade fuck into his hand, only the sounds of his occasional groans filling your ears.

you shifted your thighs, the lack of friction between your legs making your head dizzy, teeth chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“b—blade,”

“didn’t i say to keep quiet?”

he hissed out, tone mean and rough.

your eyes glossed over with tears, a few falling as you whined, catching the man’s attention.

“you want something, girl?”

you nodded, eyes begging him to do anything.

he slowed the pace at which he rubbed his cock, now focused on your desperate expression.

“spit it out then.”

“want— want to get off, please.”

blade huffed out a laugh, his hand now coming to a stop, giving you his full attention.

“i don’t think you deserve to after all the stunts you’ve played today.”

“sorry, ‘m s—sorry!”

he took a step closer to you, cock now inches away from your face, twitching slightly as it brushed against your lips.

“hm - are you actually sorry or,”

blade shifted his shoe beneath your cunt, making you moan as he continued his small movements.

“do you just want me to touch this greedy cunt?”

“n—no, no! ‘m sorry, promise i am.”

he contemplated for a moment, but finally came to a decision.

“you’re gonna let me fuck this mouth of yours,”

his cock slid past your lips, slowly pushing in as the tip approach the back of your throat

“and if you satisfy me enough—,”

blade groaned, the feeling of your tongue curling around his length distracting him from finishing his sentence.

“i’ll finally let you cum, got it?”

you nodded as best you could, your movements restricted due to blade’s cock being shoved down your throat.

“good, good girl.”

the praise alone made your hole clench around nothing, arousal dripping onto the concrete.

blade placed both hands on your head, curling them into your hair before shallowing thrusting in your mouth, letting you briefly adjust to the feeling.

his pace began to speed up, his tip now constantly pressing into the back of your throat making you gag every time he moved, drooling dribbling your chin.

“that’s it, girl.”

another groan left the stellaron hunter, his eyes closing as you swirled your tongue around his cock as he fucked into your mouth, edging the man to his release.

“so fuckin’—,”

he adjusted the leg placed under your cunt, the sudden movement making you whine against his length.

“c’mon, grind against me.”

you didn’t have to be told twice, your hips immediately beginning to move against his shoe, the feeling making your eyes roll into your skull.

the two of you looked absolutely filthy.

sweat pouring from your skin, a constant parade of moans filling the air around you.

blade’s cock twitched in your mouth, his movements becoming sloppy as tightened the grip on your hair, signaling he was close to his release.

you’re own high was approaching too, your cunt aching from how hard you were humping into the man.

“gonna— fuck, gonna cum soon.”

he could hear you utter a small please, watching the way your cunt dragged against him, your arousal pooling around the base of his shoe.

“you gettin’ close, girl?”

all he got in response was a whine, your movements never once faltering as he roughly continued his attack on your throat.

“better— fuckin’ cum with me, got it?”

blade got harder, rougher, his thrusts becoming erratic, one of his hands leaving your hair to cup your chin, lifting your head so your eyes bore into each others.

the feeling in your stomach boiled over, a mantra of muffled moans spilling from you as blade threw his head back, thrusting one last time into your mouth before spilling his seed down your throat, coating the flesh with white.

your own orgasm washed over you, hips stuttering as you rode out the high, arousal gushing from your hole.

“yeah, yeah— that’s it, come undone for me, girl.”

blade slowly slid from your mouth, his release burning your throat as some of it seeped down.

the hand on your chin forced your mouth open, thumb pressing against your tongue.

“stick it out, let me see.”

you obeyed, tongue moving on its own to show blade his cum coating the entirety of your mouth.

“good — now swallow.”

again, you listened, letting the rest of his seed coat your throat as it went down.

blade noticed the way your hips were still moving, slowly, but noticeable.

“always so greedy, aren’t you?”

he moved to stand behind you, one of his legs pressing into your back, pushing the weight of your body forward, making your cheek pressing into ground below.

blade knelt down, his hands finding your hips as he examined the mess that was your panties, all soaked through with a mixture of cum and sweat.

the man pushed the fabric to the side, his fingers running up and down the slit, your hips bucking from the sensitivity of your previous orgasm.

“she’s still sensitive, huh?”

two of his fingers circled your clit, his eyes watching the way your hole would twitch around air from every move of them.

“poor girl, you just want to be filled, don’t you?”

your mind couldn’t think straight, words becoming trapped in your throat as blade had his way with you, unable to resist any of his actions.

blade removed his fingers from your bud, now inching them towards your leaking hole, circling it before finally sinking them in, the clench of your words making the man smirk.

“b—blade!”

his thrusts were fast, unrelenting — curling into your sweet spot as his palm continuously pressed into your clit.

“must feel so good,”

blade leaned his body completely over your own, lips kissing your nape as he got close to your ear, his breath making your body shiver.

“having my fingers in you, filling you up.”

it was pathetic how quickly you reached your release, voice cracking as you let out broken moans of blade’s name, your hips moving against the movement of his hand.

“gonna cum already, girl?”

“y—yes, yes, gonna—,”

your mouth hung open, pupils dilating as you felt yourself release, a gush of liquid pouring onto the stellaron hunters hand, staining the ground below.

blade groaned just from the sight of you squirting, cock leaking as he didn’t let up the ministrations of his fingers, guiding you through your high.

“so fuckin’ precious, squirtin’ all over me like that.”

you were panting like a dog, all the thoughts in your head were only about him.

“love your f—fingers, fuck—!”

blade finally slowed his pace, fingers coming to a stop as he watched your body start to come down from your orgasm.

he slipped his fingers out slowly, the sticky substance leaving his gloves glistening.

his free hand grabbed hold of your waist, lifting your body so that it sat flush against his front, letting you rest in his lap.

“want you to taste yourself, c’mere”

you felt his clothed fingers brush against your lips, pushing past them slightly before you opened them yourself, the sweet taste of your own juices consuming your senses.

blade watched as you suck on his digits, tongue licking up every last drop of your release with ease, the sight alone making him stifle a moan.

“that’s my girl, clean all of it off.”

once he felt you had successfully licked his fingers clean, he guided them out, letting the hand settle against your neck.

he thought you would be burnt out, too tired to continue, but he watched you turn your head, eyes wide with need as you finally spoke.

“want you— want you in me, baby.”

his cock strained, your sweet voice driving him absolutely mad.

“yeah? think you can take it, girl”

“mhm, ‘course i can.”

blade hummed, acknowledging you, pressing a wet kiss your cheek as he turned your body around, laying you flat on your back.

he positioned himself over you, hands placing themselves on your thighs as he guided his cock towards your cunt, tip pressing against the hole.

the stellaron hunter slowly pushed the head into your warmth, the two of you moaning at the feeling.

“always so— tight.”

blade hissed out, your walls clamping around him as he made his way further inside you, your little whines sounding like music to his ears.

“s—so big!”

you didn’t have to look up to see the grin plastered on blade’s face, his grip on your thighs tightening from your words.

“hah—, thought you said you could take it?”

“can, i c—can!”

he pushed your thighs until your knees smushed against the plump of your chest, ankles dangling over blade’s shoulders.

with one final push, blade was finally all the way inside of you, his tip brushing against your cervix.

his gaze drifted to where you met his cock, mesmerized by how deep he was inside of you.

you felt his cock start to move, sliding half way out before slamming back in, your toes curling from the sensation.

“b—blade, blade—!”

“take it, take my fuckin’ cock.”

his thrusts were mean, constantly hitting the deepest parts of you as he practically folded your body in half.

your mind was blank, the only coherent sounds leaving you being a blend of whimpers and blade’s name, drool leaking from the corners of your lips.

blade pressed his entire body weight onto you, freeing one of his hands from your thighs to pull down the top of your dress, exposing your hardened buds.

his tongue was quick, swirling the flesh before fully sucking on them, teeth digging into the skin as he did so.

“taste so good,”

he was like a rabid dog, lips latching onto any patch of skin he could find, biting into it as he littered your chest with a gallery of bruises.

“gonna make sure you know who owns you,”

another bite, canines ripping into the flesh.

“every fuckin’ inch—,”

his bandaged hand slid down, fingers grazing your clit before beginning to rub the nerves.

“oh my g—!”

before you knew it, a stream of liquid released from you, coating blade’s cock with the substance.

blade’s thrust never slowed though, neither did the movements of his fingers on your clit, his mind too focused on burying his cock inside of you.

“this cunt,”

his hand lifted before slapping your sensitive bud, your body jerking at the sting.

“belongs to me.”

you couldn’t reply even if you tried, your brain too occupied with the feeling of your walls being stretched open.

blade could feel his balls tightening, the flow of his thrusts getting sloppier as he pounded into you.

he could tell you were close again too, walls squeezing even tighter around him, your moans getting louder with every passing second.

“w—want,”

blade looked down at you, watching you struggle to form any coherent sentence, eyes clamping shut.

“want what? c’mon tell me.”

“want, want you to—,”

the man saw you bite into your lip, head going limp as your jaw dropped open.

“no— look at me, girl.”

his hand found your head, wrapping around your jaw so he could turn it towards him, his eyes coming into contact with yours.

“be good and tell me what you want.”

“c—cum! want it fillin’ me up, please—,”

aeons, you were going to be the death of him.

blade chuckled briefly, his hands finding place on the backs of your thighs again, pushing them into you once more.

“yeah? you want me to fill you—?”

“yes, yes, yes—!”

“gonna leave you fuckin’ leaking then.”

his cock pistoned into you, your hole burning from how hard he was going, the stretch making you jerking away without realizing it.

blade noticed, a shaky laugh leaving him as he grasped onto your thighs harder, pulling you back to him.

“don’t fuckin’ run—,”

he could feel himself drooling, salivating at the thought of releasing his seed into you.

“gonna pump you full, leave you drippin’—.

“p—please, please! ‘m gonna, gonna—!”

blade pressed into you, his hold on you so hard you could feel the bruises forming where his hands were.

“yeah—, let go for me, cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

and that you did, body convulsing as your vision went white, your arousal coating the entirety of blade’s length.

blade let out one final groan, his hips slapping against your thighs as he spilled into your hole, painting the walls in shades of white.

“take it, take it, take it—!”

your body went limp, breaths heavy as blade finally slowed his thrusts down, his cock still buried inside of you.

he looked down, eyes trained on the white ring around the base of his cock, one formed your own arousal.

blade slid out slowly, your hole twitching at the loss before finally, the ooze of his cum began leaking from you, dripping down the length of your cunt.

his fingers wiped up any of the substance that fell from you, guiding it towards your hole before pushing it back in, making you whimper from the feeling.

“s—so full,”

blade kept his digits stuffed in you, leaning over you to leave a sloppy kiss on your lips, pulling away as he gazed into your eyes, all puffy and wet.

“all fuckin’ mine.”

[joaosnovia]

okay next, i js wanna laugh. okay so, were at a charity event or something, and im volunteering, helping hand out juice boxes, signing people in, keeping children from using cones as swords, that typa stuff. until FRANCO COLAPINATA shows up, he's js being annoying really, until shes had enough and YEET the juice box at his head, and then he's all nonchalant and shit like "UH HUH I DESERVED THATTT AHAHA" .... and then you can tell the juice box turned him on bc you can like tell he wants her, and thennn WEEKS pass, and he DM's her. "saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?” MUWUAHAHSNA

❦ - manzanas contigo.

warnings:: none, maybe cussing..?

writers notes:: pls send more franco/f1 reqs bc i loved writing this sm and hes so fun to write for!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you don’t even want to be here.

the email had said volunteers needed, and your overly kind soul had said sure, why not, and now you’re seven hours deep into wrangling children hopped up on fruit snacks and sun. the charity event is cute in theory, music, booths, a little track set up for games, and a bounce house, but in practice? it’s a battlefield.

you’re stationed at the welcome tent, handing out wristbands and juice boxes and fake smiles.

your feet hurt. your shirt is sticking to your back. a toddler is crying because he dropped his balloon into a bush. and some guy just tried to cut the line because he ‘swears his cousin is already inside.’

you’re not proud of how close you came to smacking him with the clipboard.

but then, because life has a sense of humor, he appears.

franco colapinto.

and you know it’s him, because who else shows up to a local charity event in an alpine cap, looking like he walked out of a sports magazine and directly into your personal hell?

you glance up at the exact moment he’s brushing a curl out of his eyes, all casual and oops i’m hot and didn’t mean to beenergy.

he scans the crowd, sunglasses pushed up on his head, mouth curled like he already knows he’s being stared at. and of course he is. a group of teenage volunteers behind you are whispering, one of them literally smacks the other on the arm and goes that’s him. that’s that guy. the car one.

sigh.

maybe if you stay perfectly still, he won’t notice you.

but of course, you are not blessed with that kind of luck.

his eyes land on you. direct. intentional.

and he starts walking over.

great.

you busy yourself with the juice boxes, shuffling them around pointlessly as if they need organizing, as if you’re not seconds away from face to face contact with a walking headache.

‘so,’ he says, leaning against the table like this is his full time job. ‘what does a guy gotta do to get one of those?’

you glance up. ‘a wristband?’

‘nah. a juice box.’

you stare.

he smiles.

you hold one up. ‘take it and leave.’

‘whoa. feisty. is this how you treat all guests, or am i special?’

you blink. ‘i’ve been here since 6am. i have zero patience and less charm left.’

‘good thing i’ve got enough charm for both of us.’

you raise a brow. ‘that supposed to work on me?’

he shrugs, peeling the wrapper off a straw. ‘worth a shot.’

he doesn’t leave.

he just stands there, sipping slowly, watching you like he’s never seen anyone pass out juice before. his gaze trails across your face, not in a creepy way, just annoyingly observant. like he’s trying to figure out what kind of person signs up for this kind of chaos and doesn’t run away screaming.

you try to ignore him. you really do.

but then he starts helping. like… physically taking wristbands from your hand to hand them to kids, leaning way too close to read names off the sign in list, nodding solemnly at the parents like he belongs here.

and the worst part? people believe it.

‘you two are adorable,’ one lady says as she signs in her daughter.

you nearly choke. ‘we’re not—‘

‘thank you,’ franco cuts in, smiling like he just won an oscar. ‘we try.’

you give him a look. he winks. kill me, you think.

it gets worse when a small child asks for apple juice and franco picks one up, does a dramatic gasp, and goes, ‘apple! the superior juice. i like your taste, kid.’

you break.

you don’t mean to. you truly don’t. but something inside you snaps, and the next thing you know, you’re yeeting a juice box straight at him.

it arcs through the air with surprising grace, smacks him right in the shoulder, and bounces off harmlessly onto the grass.

a moment of silence.

he blinks.

then he laughs. hard.

‘okay,’ he says, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘i deserved that. i fully, absolutely, one hundred percent deserved that.’

you cross your arms. ‘you think?’

he’s still grinning as he bends to pick it up. ‘apple again. symbolic.’

‘you’re ridiculous.’

‘you like me though.’

you scoff. ‘i like peace and quiet.’

‘you’re blushing.’

‘i’m hot. it’s eighty degrees.’

‘you threw a juice box at me.’

‘you were annoying.’

he tilts his head. ‘admit it. it was kinda satisfying.’

you bite back a smile. ‘maybe a little.’

he grins, stepping back finally. ‘i’ll leave you to your cone wrangling duties. but don’t be surprised if you see me again.’

‘god help me,’ you mutter.

he strolls away, sipping the slightly dented juice like it’s champagne.

and yeah. maybe your heart is doing something dumb.

maybe you do glance up once or twice, wondering if he’s still watching you.

maybe he is.

you don’t expect to see him again.

honestly, you’d hoped the juice box incident would be enough to scare him off. but two saturdays later, at a completely different event, you’re there, collecting raffle tickets and babysitting the world’s most chaotic face paint station, and there he is.

franco colapinto.

wearing a hoodie this time. hood up. trying and failing to blend in, as if his stupidly nice smile and the way he walks like the world was made for him don’t give him away instantly.

you see him from across the lot.

he doesn’t even try to be subtle. just lifts his hand in a little wave and starts walking straight toward you like this is a planned reunion and not a complete surprise.

you look around. as if there’s someone else he could be greeting. spoiler: there isn’t.

‘you again,’ you say when he reaches you.

‘me again,’ he grins, pulling down his hood like he’s revealing a secret identity.

you sigh. ‘are you following me?’

‘you wish.’

‘so this is a coincidence?’

he shrugs. ‘or fate.’

you deadpan. ‘you’re insufferable.’

‘you say that every time.’

‘i mean it every time.’

he gestures around, like he’s settling in. ‘need help again? or do i have to earn my juice box rights this time?’

you narrow your eyes. ‘don’t you have a job?’

‘i do. it’s off-season. i’m thriving.’

‘this is how you spend your free time? crashing fundraisers?’

‘not crashing,’ he says, very seriously. ‘contributing. i donated five bucks to the bouncy castle. i’m basically a hero.’

you don’t laugh. you don’t.

okay, maybe a little.

he’s already rolling up his sleeves and jumping into whatever task you’re doing, like last time, and suddenly you’re stuck with him for three hours again.

he helps a little girl glue pom poms onto a paper crown.

he nearly gets paint on his nose and doesn’t notice.

he lets a five year old draw a blue lightning bolt across his cheek and calls it his new racing stripe.

and every now and then, he looks over at you like you’re the funniest thing in the world, even when you’re just frowning at a clipboard or trying to untangle a balloon string from a folding chair.

you pretend not to care.

you pretend really hard.

the third time is the worst.

mostly because… you kind of expect him now.

you’ve made the mistake of mentioning your volunteer schedule to a friend on your story. and it’s fine. really. except now, when you show up to the saturday pet adoption drive with a clipboard and a tight ponytail, you scan the crowd. like an idiot.

he’s not there.

you tell yourself you’re relieved. that you don’t need another afternoon of his smug little comments and stupidly good hair.

but you still keep checking.

twenty minutes pass.

an hour.

two.

he doesn’t come.

you keep busy. hand out flyers. try not to cry when a little dog named charlie gets adopted. organize leashes by size.

and you don’t look at the time more than seven times. promise.

at some point, you’re wiping your hands with a napkin behind the tent when your phone buzzes.

it’s a dm.

from franco.

you blink.

sorry i couldn’t be there today. doing actual job things. tragic.

you stare at it.

then another:

but saw apple juice earlier. still flinched.

and another:

still want to hang out sometime. even if you hit me with stuff. maybe especially because you hit me with stuff.

you can’t help it. your lips twitch.

you don’t reply right away.

you finish your shift. take the long way home. drink half a juice box you saved from the cooler, even though it’s lukewarm now.

and when you’re lying on your bed, staring at the message, you finally type:

you’re impossible.

three dots.

impossible but charming?

you:

debatable.

him:

you didn’t say no though.

you stare at your screen for a second too long.

then:

one coffee. you pay. no weird pickup lines.

his response is immediate.

deal. i’ll try to behave. no promises.

you tell yourself it’s just a coffee.

one coffee. thirty minutes, max. maybe forty five if he says something dumb and you need time to drag him for it.

it’s not a big deal.

except it is. because you spend too long picking an outfit. change your shirt twice. then change it again. then panic change it back to the first one and tell yourself to get a grip.

you meet at some small place he picked, half hipster café, half bookstore. it smells like cinnamon and old paperbacks. you hate how nice it is.

franco’s already there.

and of course he looks… stupidly good. hoodie, again. curls poking out. one hand lazily spinning his coffee cup. and that grin, that stupid boyish grin, when he spots you.

‘you came,’ he says, standing.

‘don’t sound so surprised.’

he does a little half bow. ‘welcome to the least boring hour of your life.’

you roll your eyes and sit across from him. ‘don’t flatter yourself.’

‘not flattering. manifesting.’

you try to look annoyed, but the truth is, you’re already smiling. just a little. traitorous.

you talk.

not about anything huge at first. just… dumb things. favorite drinks. worst airport experiences. why he thinks pineapple on pizza should be illegal (you argue passionately against this).

he tells you about crashing a go kart once when he was twelve because he was ‘trying to wave like a champion’ and forgot to steer.

you tell him about the time you accidentally walked into the wrong class and sat through fifteen minutes of astrophysics before realising.

he laughs with his whole chest.

and it’s easy. too easy. every time your fingers brush reaching for the sugar, it feels like something electric. every time he leans in a little, like he’s really listening, your heart stutters.

you should not be this into him. and yet.

you’re both halfway through your drinks when he goes quiet for a second, then says, ‘i almost didn’t message you.’

you blink. ‘why not?’

he shrugs, looks down, spins the empty cup between his hands. ‘i dunno. didn’t want to be annoying.’

‘you already are.’

he grins, but it’s softer now. ‘yeah, but like… in a cute way.’

you shake your head, but your cheeks are warm. ‘you’re such a menace.’

‘you threw juice at me.’

‘because you were asking for it.’

he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes on yours. ‘maybe i was.’

your breath catches. just a little. just enough.

you clear your throat. ‘you’re not smooth, you know.’

‘i don’t need to be. i just need to make you smile.’

you hate him.

you really, really don’t.

you leave the café two hours later.

two.

neither of you wants to say goodbye yet, so you walk. just… around. your shoulder brushes his once. then again. then a third time, and this time, it stays there. just for a second longer than it should.

he doesn’t let go first.

eventually, you end up back where you started.

he looks at you like he wants to say something. then looks away. then back.

‘can i see you again?’ he asks, soft.

you nod. and for once, don’t try to be clever.

‘yeah. i’d like that.’

the second date happens faster than either of you expect.

you’d planned to wait. play it cool. but then franco sends you a picture of a strawberry smoothie and says ‘looked gross. thought of u,’ and you end up laughing so hard in the middle of your kitchen that you just… cave.

you text him:
you free tonight?

he replies in literal seconds:
always. pick the time. i’ll teleport.

you meet again at the same café. but this time, he’s not already sitting.

he’s waiting outside. leaning on the wall. hoodie again, he really only owns five of them, he tells you later, and his curls are just barely damp from the light rain that’s started falling.

he sees you and that grin hits his face like clockwork. like he’d been saving it just for you.

‘you came,’ he says.

‘you say that every time.’

‘yeah, but like… every time you do, it messes me up a little.’

you pretend you don’t hear that part.

it’s darker inside. quieter. the same table’s free, but this time, you sit next to each other.

close.

too close.

he smells good. not in an obvious, cologne drenched way. it’s something warmer. shampoo and sugar and the kind of scent that lingers even after he leaves.

your knees touch under the table.

neither of you moves.

you talk again.

about bigger things this time. pressure. travel. burnout. he admits he sometimes feels like everything’s moving too fast, and he’s scared he won’t be able to hold on.

you nod. you tell him about how you fake confidence half the time. how sometimes you feel invisible until someone needs something.

he listens. really listens.

then says, ‘you’re not invisible.’

you blink. ‘okay?’

‘just saying. i notice you. always have.’

you laugh a little. ‘that’s creepy.’

‘yeah,’ he says, smiling into his drink. ‘but like… romantic creepy.’

you don’t mean to stay late. but time’s slippery around him.

by the time you realize it’s almost midnight, you’re both sitting outside the café, sharing a leftover pastry and watching the rain slide down the windows.

you don’t want to go.

he doesn’t want to say goodbye.

so he walks you home.

he stops outside your door.

you both kind of hover there. like two idiots waiting for someone to do something. say something.

‘this was nice,’ you say quietly.

‘yeah,’ he says, and then, softer, ‘i wanna kiss you.’

your breath catches.

he doesn’t move closer. doesn’t touch you. he just stands there, all warm eyes and soft voice.

you whisper, ‘then why don’t you?’

he grins. all teeth and nerves and too much hope.

‘cause the minute i kiss you, i’m not gonna stop thinking about it. and i want you to wanna kiss me back. like really want to.’

you stare at him.

he shrugs. ‘just being honest.’

you nod. heart in your throat.

then say, ‘next time.’

he smirks, already backing away.

‘i’ll hold you to that.’

you tell yourself you’re not waiting.

not waiting for a text. not waiting for a call. not waiting for the memory of him saying i wanna kiss you to stop looping in your head like some kind of cursed romantic ringtone.

but when his name flashes on your screen two days later, your whole face warms.

what if we didn’t do coffee this time?

you stare.

what do you wanna do then?

he replies instantly.

drive. music. idfk. i’ll bring snacks. you bring the vibe.

you:
so i’m the vibe?

him:
always.

he picks you up at 7:03.

he’s in a black hoodie this time, and his car smells like mint gum and the ghost of bad fast food. there’s a half eaten bag of crisps on the passenger seat, which he tosses in the back when you open the door.

‘you’re late,’ you say.

‘you’re early. time’s fake. get in.’

he drives like he thinks he’s in a movie.

one hand on the wheel. other messing with the aux. windows down. hair wind-blown and wild. he sings under his breath to every second song. raps to the third one badly. you don’t stop laughing the entire first hour.

you don’t know where he’s going, but you don’t care.

being next to him feels like its own kind of destination.

eventually, he parks by the water.

some random lookout. the city’s lights glitter below, far enough to feel small. the kind of view that feels too beautiful to deserve.

you sit on the hood of his car. shoulder to shoulder. knee to knee. the air’s cold, but not too cold. and everything’s soft. quiet.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

and then, gently, he says, ‘i think about kissing you a lot.’

you blink.

he keeps staring ahead, like he didn’t just drop a bomb. ‘not in a creepy way.’

you laugh. ‘do you always think you’re being creepy?’

‘only when i like someone too much.’

the words settle in your chest like warmth. like lightning.

‘franco,’ you say.

he turns.

‘kiss me.’

his eyes go wide. like for a second, he’s not sure if he heard you right.

then, slowly, he leans in.

he kisses you like he’s afraid to mess it up. like he’s been waiting exactly this long, and not a second less. soft, steady, sure.

and when he pulls back, he just rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you speaks for a minute.

you break the silence. ‘not bad.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘that’s it? not bad?’

‘seven out of ten. you’ll need practice.’

‘cool. guess i better keep showing up.’

you’re not sure when it shifted.

when the maybe turned into definitely. when the texting turned into facetime turned into mornings with your feet tangled under his on the couch. when the almost turned into always.

but now, here you are, franco at your door with a half-melted milkshake and a stupid grin, like he’s been thinking about this all day.

‘you’re late,’ you tease, taking the drink.

‘you’re still hot,’ he says, walking in like he lives here.

(he kind of does.)

you’ve been soft ever since the drive.

he kisses you now like he needs to. like he missed you, even if it’s only been a few hours. like kissing you is just a normal part of his day, something between brushing his teeth and ruining your kitchen by cooking you breakfast at 2 a.m.

sometimes, you wake up to his hand resting on your waist, his face buried in your shoulder. like his body forgets how to be without you.

you don’t say it. not yet. but you feel it.

you think he does too.

it’s been weeks.

weeks since franco colapinto got beaned in the forehead with apple juice and decided that was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

weeks since he dm’d you with that dumb message:
saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?

weeks since you said yes.

and now here you are, propped up on his couch, socks mismatched, face lit by the glow of a documentary you’re not watching, because franco’s lying with his head in your lap and he keeps dragging his fingers along your leg like he can’t believe you’re real.

‘what,’ you murmur.

‘nothing,’ he says. then, quietly: ‘just thinking about the juicebox.’

you snort. ‘again?’

he nods, sleepy and fond. ‘you threw that thing with intention. it was beautiful.’

‘you’re so weird.’

‘you’re the one who assaulted me with a children’s drink.’

‘you flirted with me for two hours while i was working.’

‘you looked hot with a clipboard. sue me.’

you roll your eyes. he reaches up, brushes your hair behind your ear.

‘you know i really did think about you every time i saw juice after that?’

‘you said that already.’

‘i mean it. i’d be in a store and be like… damn. i miss her aim.’

you swat him. he laughs. kisses your wrist.

later, when you’re brushing your teeth in his oversized hoodie, he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head.

‘should we save the juicebox?’ he asks, voice muffled in your hair.

‘what, like… frame it?’

‘yeah. put it above the bed. shrine to our origin story.’

‘you’re so dumb.’

‘dumb for you.’

you groan. he grins.

he still gets teased by his friends about the Incident.

he still buys apple juice ‘for the bit’ and lines the fridge with it like a threat.

but when he kisses you goodbye before his next race, all soft and slow like he’s imprinting it in his memory, he says:

‘thanks for hitting me.’

and you say,
‘thanks for being annoying enough to deserve it.’

and maybe, maybe, that’s just your love language now.

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

[skzstarl0ver]

I know you did a long distance Felix but can you maybe do an in person one. It would make me really happy. and if you would allow me I'd love to reblog it if you do. But over all I absolutely love your work ♡

if you do accept my request please make sure to tag me if you can.

Love, Ember_Fires ♡

ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Hii @emberfiresbitchy I wasn't 100% sure what kind of fic you prefer so I just mixed a little bit of smut and fluff, I hope you like it xx

Lee Felix x reader / classmates to lovers / slow burn / smut / fluff / one shot

**involves!!** sex, strong tension, cursing, teasing, dirty talk

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

There’s a rule in our class that everyone hates, except for maybe two people.

Every Friday, Ms. Jang makes us add one song to the shared class playlist. She says it “fosters emotional intelligence and communal bonding through sound.” I say it’s just a way to expose everyone’s deeply embarrassing music taste.

But fine. Whatever.

At first, it was funny. Someone added “Barbie Girl” ironically, another added a 12-minute Norwegian death metal track that played at full volume while we were doing worksheets. But then..

The first time I notice it, I’m curled up in my dorm bed at midnight, trying not to cry over a theory exam I definitely failed. The shared playlist starts auto-playing, and instead of some chaotic EDM garbage or meme audio clip, it’s… soft.

Lo-fi. Gentle. Intimate.

The lyrics?

“I keep noticing you.” “How you laugh. How you lean back in your chair like you own the world.” “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The title is even worse: “if you knew what i felt, would you smile?”

My heart clenches.

I glance at the username. felixlee

We barely talk. He sits a few seats behind me in class, always in hoodies, always with that quiet, raspy voice that makes you want to lean in closer. He laughs easily. Smiles like he means it.

We’ve had small talk about—coffee machines, shitty printers, dumb assignments—but never anything real.

So why does this song feel like a secret he accidentally let slip?

The next week, he adds another one. And then another. Every Friday night like clockwork, after everyone else has already dropped their songs, he adds his: quiet confessions buried in dreamy lyrics.

“You smile at me like I matter. I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

I don’t say anything. I pretend I don’t notice.

But I do.

I start listening alone in my room, legs tangled in blankets, headphones in, heart in my throat.

I start looking at him differently, too.

The way he drums on his desk absentmindedly. The way his hair flops into his eyes. The way he’s started waiting at the classroom door for me.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

But when I laugh too hard one day and glance behind me, he’s staring.

And smiling.

We get paired for a midterm project.

Three weeks of working together. Study sessions. Shared notes. Coffee runs. Him leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen. Me catching his scent—clean and warm and a little vanilla—and pretending it doesn’t do things to me.

He teases me constantly.

“You always chew your pen when you’re stuck. It’s cute.”

“Is that a playlist of sad girl indie music? On brand.”

“You gonna steal another one of my pens?”

I roll my eyes. I call him annoying. I think about kissing him every goddamn day.

It finally breaks one night, deep into our last project session.

We're sitting side by side on the floor of an empty practice room, laptop between us, snacks spread out, low music playing from his speaker.

“I like your taste in music,” I say casually.

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I’ve been listening to your playlist songs.”

A pause.

His voice drops, quiet. “What do you think they’re about?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Someone you like?”

He looks at me. His eyes are soft and unreadable. “Yeah. Someone I’ve liked for a while.”

My breath catches.

He leans closer.

The air between us snaps.

And then he kisses me.

It’s soft. Gentle. Warm.

His lips move against mine slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

I kiss him back—harder, messier. My hands in his hoodie. His fingers sliding into my hair.

We’re breathing into each other’s mouths, flushed and panting, when he pulls back just enough to whisper, “Do you wanna—?”

“Yes.”

We stumble into his dorm thirty minutes later, soaked in rain and adrenaline.

He shuts the door behind us, then pins me to it—gently, hands braced beside my head. He kisses me again, slower this time. His tongue slides against mine and I groan softly.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he breathes.

My shirt is gone before I realize it. His hoodie follows. I run my hands down his chest, and he shivers under my touch.

He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down like I’m something delicate. Then he kneels between my thighs and just looks at me.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under my waistband.

I whimper. “Then stop teasing.”

He grins—and pulls everything off me.

His mouth on me is heaven.

He licks slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine while he holds my hips in place. I moan shamelessly when he flicks his tongue just right. His name slips from my lips like prayer.

When I come, it’s with his fingers inside me and his tongue still working my clit.

He climbs up my body after, kissing his way up my stomach, chest, throat, lips. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice hoarse.

“Condom,” I whisper.

He grabs one from the drawer. Rolls it on. Lines himself up—

And sinks into me with a groan that sounds like he’s been holding it in forever.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so good.”

He moves slowly at first. Deep, languid strokes that leave me gasping. He holds my hands above my head, kisses my mouth every time I moan. It’s not rushed. It’s not just sex.

It’s him saying everything the playlist couldn’t.

When I come again, I cry out his name. He kisses me through it, whispering how beautiful I look, how much he likes me, how he can’t believe he finally has me like this.

He follows right after—hips stuttering, breath catching, forehead pressed to mine like he never wants to let go.

We lie tangled in his sheets after, sweaty and breathless.

His arm is wrapped around my waist. I’m tucked into his chest. He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “You know they were all about you, right?”

I smile against his skin.

“I do now.”

The next morning, he adds a new song to the playlist.

“your name tastes better than coffee.”

And that’s when the class group chat blows up.

I feel like this one was kinda short but I still hope you liked it xx

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - can’t sleep

you just can’t sleep without your husband next to you (i hope my spanish was okay)

Maybe it’s your cycle, maybe its just the fact that you’ve been literally working all day for the past 3 weeks, but you’re tired as shit. The bags under your eyes are almost purple, your entire body hunches over like a zombie when you walk, you barely have time to think nor speak to anyone else besides your husband. The entire building is lowkey worried you’ll snap one day. 

Even Miguel is worried. Much how you like to do to him, Miguel’s been constantly ushering you to rest a little, borderline bribing you with nice takeout or some kisses to get you to sleep. But, to no avail. your sleep schedule is genuinely fucked. 

You’re cranky, hungry, and sleep deprived. 

At the moment, Miguel doesn’t really know where you are. Considering your current state, he thinks you’re out on a mission, or at least somewhere in the office. 

He’s already tried walking through the entire office just looking for you. He checked the cafeteria, gym, hallway, etc. muttering, “Where th’fuck are they?” But, you were nowhere to be found.

So, Miguel tries something different. He pulls up his watch, scrolling down to a button that he really only should be using for emergencies, but to Miguel, this is an emergency on its’ own. 

He presses the button, and suddenly his entire face is broadcasted to every single watch in the building. Dramatically, the emergency siren turns on, and all the spider-people are on their feet. 

“If anyone sees my wife, please report back to me asap. Tell her to come see me, I can’t find her anywhere.“

The whole office can see Miguel rub a hand over his face, visibly both annoyed and tired. Everyone starts looking back and forth, tilting heads and making sure that you didn’t just happen to be around somewhere. Once the camera turns off, though, nearly the entire building starts chuckling. 

It’s crazy how much Miguel’s face utterly lights up when he sees his watch ringing without your contact photo. Literally in a split second, he presses the button, opening up a microphone icon. 

“Miguel?“

Ugh, he just loves the sound of your voice. 

“¿Si querida?“

He hears you groan, possibly the sound of bedsheets shuffling, and it pulls at his heart. You’ve been so miserable lately, he just wants to see you back to your happy self again. 

“Come home, now.“

Just the tone of your voice alone put a worried frown on Miguel’s face. (He never likes to admit how much of an impact your emotions have on him.) An ugly, anxious swarm starts to build at the back of his head, making him impossibly nervous. 

Luckily, Miguel knows what to do. 

“Of course, hun. I’ll be there in 10.“

And he turns the watch off, sighing to himself after. He’s a little bit nervous now, fearing as though he did something to upset you, or that you had something serious to talk about when he came home. 

Every step Miguel takes to your shared home brought him closer and closer on edge, worry and theory swirling through his mind. His brain ping-ponged through every single possible reason why you’d want him to come home, especially in such a cranky matter. Maybe you were just tired? Maybe it was because he accidentally gave you a raisin bagel instead of a everything bagel?

By the time Miguel was at the door, his heart was beating erratically in his chest, hands the slightest bit shaky. Stepping inside, Miguel instantly beelined for your shared bedroom, gently opening the door. 

He sees you shuffle around in the covers, his heart secretly swooning. You’re just so cute when you’re half asleep; needy and cuddlier than usual. Already at the bedroom door, Miguel practically rips his shirt off, kicking off his pants and making his way over to where you lay. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, gingerly swiping strands of hair off your face. 

“What is it, hun?“ He coos.

You toss and turn, barely mustering a frown onto your face. Your eyes are half-lidded, tank top almost falling off your shoulder until Miguel readjusts it for you. 

“Can’t sleep without you.“ You mumble, slowly scooting yourself over and draping your arms towards him. Miguel practically swoons, cooing and leaning into your touch. How could he resist such an offer?

“Awh, baby.“ 

He tangles himself into bed with you, breathing the biggest sigh of relief. It wasn’t what he thought it was. You just wanted snuggles. Miguel takes it upon himself to spoil you extra, ghosting his touch over your back and kissing the darling skin of your temple.

Like the thousands of times he has before, Miguel tangles his legs into yours, kneading his fingers into the skin of your raised leg.  

Within a few minutes or so, Miguel feels you knock out like a light, tiny puffs of air escaping your mouth while you fist the sheets like a baby. He sighs, staring at you for a few moments while you sleep. Affectionately, he rubs his knuckles against your cheek, smooching your forehead. 

Miguel pulls a blanket over the both of you, knowing very well that by the time you’re awake, it’ll be completely on the floor. Readjusting his position, Miguel doses off to sleep, allowing himself to completely let go of all the stresses he holds. 

After all, he can’t sleep without you either. 

© 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔.

[aspenmissing]

Congrats on completing all those requests!

So, pretty please could I request the usual guys with a reader who’s a runaway bride? Like they were in an arranged marriage and fled because they wanted to be with their true love! Just something a little angsty and cute :)

Thank ya kindly <3

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 1

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 12881 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ꜱʟᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴀᴍɪᴍɢ/ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠɴᴇꜱꜱ/ᴀʙᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴇᴇᴇᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ 2 ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ…ʙɪɢ (ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜʏ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ). ʙᴜᴜᴜᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

JAYCE

Y/N had met Jayce in his lab, though she had known of him long before that day. As a student at the Academy, she had heard his name murmured in hushed conversations—his talent, his ambition, the way he had shaken the very foundations of hextech research with his ideas. But she had never expected to meet him like this, entirely by accident, wandering too far from the pristine halls of the upper districts, drawn in by the vibrant energy of the lower city.

She had always been curious about the world beyond her lectures and neatly organized textbooks. It was one thing to study hextech in theory, another to see it come to life. And it was in that search for something real, something beyond politics and academia, that she found herself standing in the doorway of a dimly lit workshop, its walls lined with half-finished blueprints and shelves cluttered with spare parts.

Jayce had been hard at work, his sleeves rolled up, arms streaked with grease as he adjusted the settings on a complex contraption. The soft hum of hextech energy filled the air, the glow of blue runes casting sharp shadows across the cluttered workbench. She had lingered there, mesmerized by the sight of him—by the sheer intensity in his gaze as he worked, by the easy confidence in his movements. He muttered something under his breath, tightening a few bolts with a practiced ease, utterly absorbed in his task.

He must have sensed her presence because, without looking up, he spoke. "If you're going to stare, you might as well come in."

Y/N startled, instinctively taking a step back. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Finally, Jayce turned to face her, wiping his hands on a cloth, his expression more amused than annoyed. "You’re a student, right? From the Academy?"

She nodded hesitantly. “I am. I’ve read some of your work.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Oh? And?”

She hesitated. “Your theories on stabilized arcane energy are… ambitious.”

Jayce laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a polite way of saying reckless.”

Y/N couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Maybe.”

That was all the invitation he needed. His face lit up with excitement as he beckoned her forward, stepping aside so she could get a better look. "Then you're in for a treat. This—" he gestured to the intricate device on the table, "—is going to change the world. Or at least, that's the plan."

Y/N stepped closer, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "It doesn’t look like much."

Jayce let out a mock-offended gasp. “Ouch. That’s because you’re seeing it in pieces. But once it’s all put together? This could revolutionize the way we harness energy.”

She glanced at the blueprints scattered across the table, trying to make sense of the carefully drawn schematics. They were complex, but the ideas were bold, innovative. She could see the brilliance in them, even if some of the calculations looked… unstable. “And you… you built this?”

"With a little help." He grinned, leaning against the workbench. "Though if you ask Viktor, he’d say I mostly break things until they start working."

She found herself smiling again before she could stop it. "Sounds efficient."

"Painfully."

That day, Jayce had eagerly explained his vision of a brighter future for Piltover, his words brimming with an enthusiasm she had never seen in the stiff, political conversations of the upper districts. His passion was infectious, and for the first time in a long while, she had felt truly captivated by something—not by duty or expectations, but by someone who believed in something greater than himself.

She hadn’t meant to return, but she had. Again and again, always with the excuse of academic curiosity, though deep down she knew it was more than that. Jayce was unlike anyone she had ever met. He challenged her, made her think, made her question the rules she had always lived by. And before she even realized it, before she could even name the feeling, she was falling for him.

=

Months passed, and their connection deepened. Their meetings became more than discussions about hextech or theoretical debates on Piltover’s future. They turned into stolen moments—late-night conversations in the glow of flickering lamps, laughter shared over hastily prepared meals, whispered confessions under the hum of hextech cores.

Jayce made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. He listened—not just to her words, but to the hesitations, the things left unsaid. He saw through the carefully composed façade she had perfected for the Academy, for her family, for the suffocating expectations of the upper city.

There were nights when she stayed too long, only leaving when the city bells signalled the deep hours of the night. Jayce would walk her as far as he could, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes lingering on her as if memorizing every moment before she disappeared back into the world that wasn’t theirs.

“You ever think about running?” he asked one night, his voice quiet in the dark.

She hesitated. “Running?”

“From all of it,” he said. “The expectations, the duty, the future someone else planned for you.”

Y/N swallowed, looking at him carefully. “And what would I do?”

Jayce gave a lopsided smile, but there was something serious behind his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe in the freedom he spoke of, in a world where she could choose her own path. But she wasn’t brave enough.

Not yet.

But she would be.

At least, that was what she told herself as she lay awake in the grand, suffocating silence of her family’s estate, staring at the carved ceiling above her bed. The echoes of their conversation haunted her, as they always did.

What if she could be the kind of person who chose herself over obligation? What if, for once, she let herself want without guilt, without fear?

The thought sent a spark through her chest—one that burned with longing and terror in equal measure.

Jayce made it sound so simple. And maybe, for someone like him, it was. Maybe that was what she admired most about him—the way he stood so firmly in his convictions, unshaken, unwilling to let the world decide his future for him.

She wished she could be that way.

One day, she hoped, she would be. One day, she would look him in the eyes and tell him she was ready. One day, she would stop being afraid.

But until then, all she had were stolen moments and the quiet, aching hope that maybe, just maybe, she was brave enough to try.

=

One evening, as they stood on the balcony of his workshop, the city lights glowing below, he had turned to her with a quiet seriousness in his gaze.

“Y/N… if you could choose your own path, what would you want?”

She had swallowed hard, staring at the twinkling lights below. “I don’t know,” she had admitted. “But I know I don’t want this life. I don’t want to be a pawn in a game I never agreed to play.”

Jayce had reached for her hand then, his fingers brushing against hers in a silent promise. “Then don’t let them decide for you.”

It was in that moment she had realized she was falling for him. Not just for his mind or his idealism, but for the quiet strength in his voice, the way he looked at her as if she mattered—not as a tool, not as an obstacle, but as someone who deserved to choose her own future.

The wind curled around them, carrying the scent of metal and ozone from his lab, but all she could focus on was the warmth of his touch. Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous—hope.

“What if I don’t know how to choose?” she murmured, the vulnerability in her voice barely above a whisper.

=

Y/N had known something was wrong the moment she stepped into the grand hall of her family’s estate. The air was too still, the heavy chandelier casting long, wavering shadows across the marble floors. Her parents sat waiting for her, their expressions unreadable, their posture rigid with the weight of something inevitable.

She barely had time to sit before her mother spoke.

“It’s been decided,” she said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her gown. “You’ll be engaged to Latimer’s son.”

The words fell like a gavel’s strike. Cold. Final.

Y/N felt the world tilt slightly beneath her feet. “What?”

Her father let out a measured sigh, as if speaking to a wayward child. “This is what’s best for you—for all of us. The Latimers are influential. This match will secure your future, ensure your place in the city.”

“My place in the city?” Her voice felt small, lost in the vast emptiness of the hall. “What if I don’t want it?”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to want it. You just have to do it.”

A cold numbness seeped into her limbs. She had known this day would come, had spent years preparing for the inevitable. And yet, sitting here, hearing it spoken aloud, it felt like something inside her was fracturing.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t some bargaining chip to be traded for power. But the words stuck in her throat, swallowed by the crushing weight of expectation, of duty, of the quiet, suffocating knowledge that there was no escaping this.

So she didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she rose stiffly, keeping her expression neutral, controlled—just as she had been taught—and left the room without another word.

But the moment she was out of their sight, she ran.

=

Jayce’s workshop was the only place she could breathe.

She didn’t knock, didn’t announce herself—just pushed through the doors, her heart slamming against her ribs, her pulse a frantic drum in her ears. The familiar scent of metal, oil, and ozone filled her lungs, grounding her for just a moment.

Jayce looked up from his workbench, confusion flickering across his face at the sight of her. But then he saw her expression—saw the way her hands trembled at her sides, the way her breath came too fast, too uneven—and he was on his feet in an instant.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle, careful. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth, but the words tangled together, a mess of emotions too heavy to hold back. So she just said it.

“They’ve arranged my marriage.”

Silence.

Jayce’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists before he forced them open again. “To who?”

“Latimer’s son.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he turned away for a moment, as if trying to get his thoughts under control. “And you’re just going to let them do this to you?”

Y/N flinched. “Do you think I have a choice?”

“Yes.” His response was immediate, fierce. He stepped closer, eyes searching hers. “You do have a choice, Y/N. You don’t have to go through with this. You can tell them no.”

She let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “You think it’s that simple?”

“I think it’s worth fighting for,” Jayce shot back, his voice rising. “You hate this life. You’ve told me yourself—you don’t want to be their pawn. So don’t be.”

“I can’t.”

The words came out too fast, too raw, cracking at the edges. She turned away, arms wrapping around herself as if she could hold herself together. “You don’t understand, Jayce. If I say no, I lose everything. My family, my name, my place in the world.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “Would that really be a loss?”

Her breath hitched.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to tell him that it mattered, that she wasn’t strong enough to throw it all away. But deep down, a small, terrified part of her knew the truth.

She wasn’t afraid of losing everything. She was afraid of what it meant if she let herself want something else. If she let herself want him.

Jayce sighed, running a frustrated hand over his face before stepping closer, his voice gentler now. “Y/N… I know it’s not easy. But if you want out—if you want something more—you don’t have to do this alone.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she let herself imagine it. A different life. A different future. One where she was brave enough to choose for herself. But she wasn’t. Not yet.

“I can’t,” she whispered again, and this time, it felt like she was breaking.

Jayce’s expression softened, but there was something else in his eyes now—something sad, something aching. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a hand against hers, his touch warm despite the cold that had settled in her chest.

“Then tell me,” he said quietly. “If you could—if none of this mattered—would you stay?”

Her throat tightened.

“Yes,” she admitted, barely more than a breath.

Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. Then he nodded, his grip on her hand tightening briefly before he let go.

“Then that’s enough for me.”

For now.

And for the first time, she wished it wasn’t.

=

After that night, things changed.

Y/N and Jayce didn’t talk as much.

Not because they fought, not because they had parted in anger—but because there was nothing left to say. She had made her choice, or at least, she had let one be made for her. And Jayce, for all his passion and conviction, couldn’t fight a battle she refused to step into.

Their stolen moments became fewer and fewer, their conversations shorter, more distant. The space between them stretched, quiet and aching, filled with all the things they no longer dared to say aloud. He still looked at her the same way, still lingered just a second too long whenever their paths crossed, but there was a quiet resignation in his eyes now—one that haunted her, one that said I would have fought for you, if you had let me.

And so, she forced herself not to think about it.

She had a role to play, a duty to fulfill. And so, she buried herself in preparations, in fittings and formalities, in endless rehearsals of a future she could barely imagine living.

Until now.

Now, she stood in her bedroom, staring at her reflection in the grand, gilded mirror.

The wedding dress was beautiful. Flawless. A masterwork of silk and embroidery, the fabric flowing around her like liquid moonlight. The delicate lace trailed down her arms, the shimmering gold thread woven through the bodice catching the light just so.

It was everything it was supposed to be. She was everything she was supposed to be. And yet, she felt nothing.

Her hands smoothed down the front of the gown, fingertips ghosting over the expensive fabric, the careful stitching. Every bead, every intricate detail had been meticulously chosen to represent her family’s status, to showcase the elegance and refinement expected of her.

But nowhere in its perfection did she recognize herself.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring, searching for something she could hold onto—some part of herself that hadn’t been erased.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned, her pulse quickening, half-expecting—half-hoping—to see him standing there.

But it was only a servant, their expression neutral, their posture straight and rehearsed as they bowed slightly.

“It’s almost time, my lady.”

Y/N nodded, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “I’ll be down soon.”

The door shut softly behind them, leaving her alone once more. She turned back to the mirror, her breath catching in her throat.

This is it. This is my life now.

Then why did it feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall?

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the smooth silk of her gown bunching beneath her grip. She wanted to move. To breathe. To run.

And then—her gaze drifted, landing on something out of place. Something small, something familiar. Sitting on the edge of her vanity was a small mechanical trinket, a delicate little thing made of brass and silver, shaped like a blooming flower.

Her breath hitched.

She knew this. Jayce had made it for her.

It had been one of the first things he ever gave her—a little prototype he had tinkered with absentmindedly one night, spinning gears and polished metal forming an intricate, delicate design. When he had handed it to her, he had laughed softly, almost embarrassed.

"It doesn’t do much," he had said. "But I thought you’d like it. You always seem like you’re waiting for something to bloom."

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it now, brushing against the cool metal. A small, hidden switch along its side clicked under her touch, and with a quiet whir, the petals slowly unfolded, revealing a tiny gemstone at its center.

A heartbeat. A memory. A promise.

"Then don’t let them decide for you."

Her pulse roared in her ears. She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t walk down that aisle, couldn’t stand beside a man who wasn’t Jayce, couldn’t trade away the last fragments of herself for duty and expectation. She would fall off that cliff. So she had two choices.

Fall.

Or jump.

The decision came before she could think. Before fear could creep in and stop her.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the hem of her dress, yanking it up as she turned toward the window. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the streets below dimly lit, quiet—waiting.

Her heart pounded as she unlatched the window, the cool night air hitting her like a shock. The silk of her gown pooled around her feet, beautiful and useless, not made for running.

She didn’t care. She climbed onto the ledge, looking down, looking forward. Then—she jumped.

And she ran.

=

The wind howled through the empty streets of Piltover, carrying the distant echoes of the grand celebration she had abandoned. The laughter, the music, the clinking of crystal glasses—it all felt like a cruel mockery now. Y/N’s wedding dress, once a masterpiece of delicate embroidery and flowing silk, was tattered from her escape, the pristine fabric now marred by dirt and grime. Her heart pounded as she ran, breath coming in sharp gasps, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest like a vice.

She had fled.

A grand engagement, an extravagant future, a husband chosen for her by duty rather than love—she had left it all behind.

That was the moment she knew there was no going back.

Now, she pressed herself into the shadows of a narrow alley, her golden bracelet clinking against the stone wall as she hugged herself, trying to steady her shaking breaths. It was the last relic of the life she was meant to have. A symbol of her betrothal, of her father’s expectations, of the cage she had just broken free from.

She should have taken it off. She should have thrown it away.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Because the part of her that had spent years trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect bride, the perfect pawn—that part still lingered, whispering that she had made a mistake.

The city stretched out before her, its winding streets both foreign and familiar. She had nowhere to go.

No one to turn to.

Except him.

=

Her feet carried her through winding streets, past towering brass structures and shimmering lamps, until she reached a familiar workshop. Her trembling hand rapped against the wooden door, desperate but hesitant. What if he turned her away? What if he thought she was a coward?

The door swung open before she could dwell on those thoughts. Jayce stood there, shirt slightly rumpled, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but they widened the moment he saw her.

“Y/N?”

She shivered, hugging herself. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He scanned her from head to toe—her ruined dress, her bare feet, the way she trembled not just from the cold but from the sheer weight of her decision. His jaw tensed. Then, without a word, he pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

Jayce grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair, draping it over her shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding. He was always warm.

“You ran away.” It wasn’t a question, just a quiet observation.

“I couldn’t do it.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t marry him. Not when I—”

She hesitated, but she didn’t need to finish. Jayce already knew. His expression softened, and for a moment, the world fell away. There was no arranged marriage, no expectations, no family breathing down her neck—just Jayce, looking at her like she was something precious.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Y/N…” He took a step closer, tilting her chin up so she met his gaze. “You should’ve told me.”

Tears burned in her eyes. “And what would you have done?”

“Anything. Everything.” His hands slid down her arms, his grip firm but gentle. “I wouldn’t have let them take you away from me.”

A sob broke free, and she collapsed against him. Jayce caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her. He held her like she was something fragile, but also like he had no intention of ever letting go.

“I love you,” she whispered into his chest, finally saying the words she had swallowed for too long.

Jayce stiffened for only a second before he let out a shaky laugh. “You really know how to throw a guy’s life into chaos, huh?”

She managed a small smile against his shirt. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You chose me, Y/N. You walked away from everything for me. I think I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you.”

The weight of the night still hung over them—the uncertainty of what came next, the inevitable fallout of her decision. But right now, none of it mattered.

Right now, with Jayce’s arms around her and his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, she knew one thing for certain.

She had made the right choice.

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been good with words. They bent to his will, formed theories, solved equations, built a bridge between ideas and reality.

But not with you. Never with you.

He had known you for years—since the very first time he had stepped foot in Piltover, a hopeful boy with a cane and too many ideas. You had been kind to him when others turned up their noses, when they saw only his limp and his shabby clothes. Where others muttered about a Zaunite who had no place among them, you had offered him a seat beside you.

And ever since, you had been at his side.

You were at his side now, sitting in his lab, idly flipping through one of his research notes while he worked. The warm glow of the lamplight cast golden highlights on your skin, and every so often, he caught himself watching you instead of his work.

He shouldn’t.

But gods, he couldn’t help it.

"Viktor," you said suddenly, breaking the silence. You stretched, groaning softly before tossing the notebook aside. "How long have we been friends?"

He stilled, fingers tightening around the piece of machinery in his hands. "A long time," he murmured.

"Years," you agreed, leaning back against the desk, watching him with a lazy smile. "Feels like forever."

It did. Viktor could hardly remember a time without you. Your laughter echoing through the halls of the Academy. Your voice teasing him when he forgot to eat. The way you looked at him—not with pity, never with that—but with something softer. Something kinder.

Something he would never deserve.

"You ever think about what life would’ve been like if we hadn’t met?" you mused, tilting your head toward him.

His throat tightened. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

Viktor exhaled, setting down his tools. "I do not wish to imagine such a thing."

Your smile faltered slightly, something unreadable flickering across your face. "Me neither," you said softly.

His heart ached.

He had loved you for as long as he could remember.

From the moment you had spoken to him like an equal, when no one else would. From the nights spent in the lab, when the world outside disappeared and only the two of you remained. From every touch, every glance, every moment where he let himself believe—just for a second—that maybe, maybe, you could feel the same.

But he would never tell you.

Because what good would it do? What life could he offer you? A man like him, with a failing body and a mind consumed by work? A man who could barely stand without his cane, who grew weaker by the day?

No. He would not ruin this.

Instead, he reached for his cane and stood, offering you the closest thing he could to the truth. "I am glad we met, (Y/N)."

Your eyes searched his face, as if looking for something. As if you knew. But if you did, you didn’t say.

You only smiled, gentle and warm. "Me too, Vik."

And that would have to be enough.

Even if it wasn’t.

=

The gala was suffocating.

Golden chandeliers bathed the grand hall in warm light, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished marble floors. The air was thick with perfume and wine, and the hum of conversation blended with the soft strains of a string quartet.

Viktor hated these events.

But you were here, and that made it bearable.

You stood beside him near the edge of the ballroom, where it was quieter. Your dress shimmered under the light, a thing of silk and elegance, and yet, you still looked like you—soft, warm, and a little out of place, just as he was.

"You look miserable," you teased, sipping from a glass of champagne.

He smirked, shifting his weight onto his cane. "Ah, yes, because these gatherings are simply my favourite pastime."

You laughed, light and familiar, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, as it always was. For a moment, he could pretend.

Your hand brushed his sleeve as you leaned in. “I’m glad you came, though.”

His breath caught.

“I—” But before he could finish, a voice cut through the air.

"(Y/N), dear!"

Your body stiffened, and Viktor turned just as your parents approached. Your mother was smiling—pleased, eager—but your father’s gaze was calculating as he flicked a glance toward Viktor before settling on you.

"Come," your mother said, wrapping an arm around yours. "There's someone we'd like you to meet."

Viktor saw it then—the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.

You didn't want to go. But you let yourself be led away. And he let you go.

Viktor watched as they guided you toward a man standing near the centre of the room. He was tall, well-dressed, handsome in the way that Piltover high society admired. A man of wealth, of power. A man who could give you everything Viktor could not.

Something twisted in his chest.

You turned your head, just for a moment, catching Viktor’s eyes from across the ballroom. And in that fleeting second, he saw it—an unspoken plea, a silent wish.

But what could he do? What could he say? So, Viktor did what he had always done. He said nothing.

And he watched as the world took you away from him.

=

The lab was quiet at this hour, save for the soft hum of machinery and the distant rumble of Zaun beneath Piltover’s pristine streets. Viktor sat hunched over his desk, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his cane as he read through a set of schematics.

He hadn’t seen you much in the past few weeks.

Not like before. Not like the days when you’d linger in his lab, curled up in a chair beside him, teasing him for forgetting to eat while he worked. Those moments had become rare now, slipping between the cracks of time and obligation, buried beneath the weight of your engagement.

But you still came. Sometimes in passing, sometimes under the guise of checking in, sometimes just long enough to share a look—one that said all the things neither of you dared to speak aloud.

And yet, when the knock came—three soft raps against the door—his breath still caught.

For a fleeting second, he considered not answering. If he ignored you, maybe you would leave. Maybe you would walk away and let him fade into the background of your life, where he belonged.

But then your voice came, quiet, hesitant.

“Vik… it’s me.”

His resolve shattered.

Slowly, he set his work aside, gripping his cane as he pushed himself up. The floor creaked as he made his way to the door, and when he opened it, there you stood.

You looked different.

Not in a way the world would notice, but Viktor did. He always noticed. There was something hollow in your eyes, something weighed down by exhaustion, as if you had been carrying a burden too heavy for one person alone.

His throat tightened. “(Y/N)…”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, you said nothing. Just looked at him—looked through him—like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

Then, you whispered, “I need to show you something.”

=

The city was quiet this late at night, but the air inside your dimly lit bedroom was heavy with something unspoken. A single candle flickered on the nightstand, the glow casting jagged shadows against the walls. Viktor sat beside you on the edge of your bed, still as stone, his golden eyes locked onto the figure before him.

You.

Dressed in your usual clothes, but before you, draped over the vanity chair like a ghost of your future, was the dress.

It was exquisite—delicate lace embroidery, pearls sewn along the bodice, the softest silk cascading onto the floor in an endless train. A gown fit for the life that had been chosen for you. One you never wanted.

The gala. When your parents led you away. When you met him. The man they had chosen for you.

“That was what it was,” you had murmured earlier, when you first appeared at his lab, voice shaking with something exhausted, something broken. “When they introduced me to him that night… it wasn’t just pleasantries. It wasn’t just some nobleman. That was my fiancé, Viktor. That was the moment they decided my future for me.”

The moment they took you from him. And now, here you were. The dress draped over your chair like a cage waiting to be closed. The proof of your impending fate.

And you, sitting beside him, looking at him, as though he was the only thing keeping you from drowning. He should not be here. He should have let you go, let you slip through his fingers like all things meant for better men.

But he had let you take him

And now, sitting in the dim glow of your bedroom, with only the weight of what would never be between you, he found himself incapable of looking away.

You swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on the gown. “I can’t do it, Viktor.”

Silence stretched between you.

Viktor’s gaze flickered between you and the dress, something unreadable crossing his features. After a moment, he spoke. “They will be looking for you. If you leave, you know this, yes?”

“I know.”

“They will not let you go easily.”

You turned to him then, desperate. “I don’t want their life.”

A bitter chuckle left him. “And you think I can give you something better?” He shook his head, looking away. “I am no safe haven, Y/N.”

His words stung more than you expected. You had spent years at each other’s sides—laughing, talking until sunrise, lingering in spaces too small for two people who shouldn’t have been so close. And yet, despite everything, despite how much you knew he cared, he still wouldn’t say it.

Your throat tightened. “I would rather be ruined than live without love.”

His breath hitched, and when his eyes finally met yours again, something in them cracked.

Because he had spent years convincing himself he was not enough. That he had nothing to offer you but friendship. That the idea of keeping you was selfish.

And yet, sitting beside him with your whole future crashing down around you, you had never looked more his.

But still, he shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I will not let that happen.” His fingers curled tightly around his cane. “You have to go through with this, Y/N. It is the only way.”

Your stomach twisted. “So that’s it?” Your voice wavered, sharp with disbelief. “You won’t even fight for me?”

Something flickered in his gaze—pain, hesitation, longing so raw it nearly shattered his restraint.

Then, abruptly, he stood. The floor creaked beneath his uneven steps, and for a brief, fleeting moment, his fingers ghosted over yours. A touch so light, so hesitant, that it almost wasn’t there at all.

“You deserve more than stolen moments in the dead of night,” he murmured, his words cracking at the edges. “You deserve more than someone who cannot even stand at your side without a cane.”

Your breath caught.

Viktor’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to take a step back, his expression unreadable—locked behind the same walls you had spent years trying to break down.

And then, softer, more broken than before—

“You deserve more than me.”

You didn’t try to stop him this time. You just stared at the dress, at the life suffocating you, as silent tears began to slip down your cheeks. Your shoulders trembled, and then, all at once, the weight of it crashed down.

A sob broke past your lips.

Viktor stopped. His fingers twitched against the head of his cane, nails pressing into the wood. He could feel the way his body ached to turn back, to wipe your tears, to whisper that he loved you, that he had always loved you, that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because if he turned around now, he would never let you go.

And so, he forced his feet to move, each step heavier than the last, until the door clicked softly behind him, leaving you alone with the dress.

Leaving you alone with everything.

=

The cathedral was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense, curling through the vast stone chamber like a phantom, and the weight of a hundred expectant stares pressed against your skin.

You stood before the altar, the silk of your gown pooling around you like a cage, heavy and inescapable. Your fiancé was beside you, his grip firm yet impersonal, like he was securing a business deal rather than taking a wife.

The priest spoke, his voice steady, rehearsed. You barely heard him. The walls felt like they were closing in, the candlelight flickering against the stained glass, casting eerie halos around the saints above.

Your fingers trembled in your fiancé’s grasp. This was wrong. All of it was wrong.

Then came the question.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The world went silent. Your lungs constricted. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

This was the moment—the point of no return. You saw the years stretched ahead of you, a life not your own. A home devoid of warmth, a man who would never understand you, a bed that would always feel cold.

Your lips parted. “I—” Your breath hitched. Your gaze flickered to the grand doors of the church. And then, clarity struck like lightning.

"I'm sorry."

Run.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You ran.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, shocked murmurs rising like a wave. Your mother’s voice, sharp and furious, pierced the air, but her words barely registered. Your father called your name, and then the stunned, outraged shout of your fiancé cut through the chaos.

But you didn’t stop.

You lifted your gown, your legs burning as you sprinted down the aisle, past the horrified nobles and scandalized whispers, past the heavy wooden pews and the golden altar that was meant to seal your fate.

The moment your feet hit the marble steps outside, you gulped in the cool air like it was your first breath in years.

And then, you really ran.

The streets of Piltover blurred around you, your slippers slipping against the cobblestones, your dress catching on debris, ripping at the hem as you pushed forward, desperate, breathless, free.

People stared. They gawked at the runaway bride tearing through the city like a ghost fleeing its grave, but you didn’t care.

Because you knew exactly where you were going.

=

Viktor’s workshop was dimly lit, the glow of his blueprints casting flickering shadows against the cluttered walls. The scent of oil and parchment filled the air, the steady tick, tick, tick of his mechanical work the only sound.

He sat at his desk, hunched over his latest project, fingers curled tightly around his cane, as if he had been sitting there for hours—waiting, thinking, regretting.

And then—

The door slammed open.

His head jerked up, golden eyes widening at the sight of you standing in the doorway, breathless, wild, your wedding dress in ruins.

For a long, frozen moment, neither of you spoke.

The fabric of your gown was torn, dirt-streaked from the streets, and your chest heaved with exertion. Loose strands of hair clung to your damp skin, your hands trembling at your sides.

Viktor’s fingers tightened around his cane, knuckles white.

"Y/N," he breathed. His voice was hoarse, disbelieving.

You took a shaky step forward, and then another, and suddenly your knees buckled beneath you. Before you could fall, Viktor was there—his cane abandoned, his arms catching you before you hit the ground.

You collapsed against him, gasping, gripping at his vest as though you were afraid he would disappear. His scent—books, ink, something faintly metallic—was familiar, grounding. The world still felt like it was spinning, but in his arms, it didn’t matter.

His breath was uneven against your hair, his heart hammering beneath your palm where it pressed against his chest.

“You absolute fool,” he whispered, but there was no malice in his words. Only something raw, something breaking. His hands clung to you, one pressed firm against your back, the other gripping your waist as if he feared you would be torn from him.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your vision blurred with unshed tears. “I had to.” Your voice was barely a whisper, fractured and desperate. “I couldn’t—not without you.”

Viktor’s throat bobbed. His hands flexed against you, hesitant, as if part of him still thought this was a dream.

His golden eyes searched yours, wide and aching, as though trying to memorize every part of you—every piece of this impossible, reckless choice you had made.

“You left everything,” he rasped, his fingers ghosting along the curve of your jaw. “For me?”

Your breath hitched.

“For us,” you corrected.

A shuddering exhale left him. His forehead pressed against yours, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured.

And then, finally, finally—

He kissed you.

It was desperate, trembling, inevitable. A kiss that tasted of longing and missed chances, of too many almosts and a love buried under years of silence. His lips were warm, unsteady, but when you sighed against him, when your fingers tangled in his curls, he broke.

A quiet sound escaped him, something fragile, something relieved, and suddenly, he was clutching you—one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like you might disappear if he let go.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling. “I have always loved you.”

Viktor sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening. When he spoke, his voice cracked.

“You are insufferable,” he murmured, a wry, breathless laugh escaping him. “Brilliant. Infuriating.”

He kissed you again, slow and lingering, as if he could pour all his unspoken words into the space between you.

And then, softer—softer than you’d ever heard him—

“I love you too.”

Your chest tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the world didn’t feel so heavy.

You had run. You had abandoned everything for this—for him.

And Viktor, who had spent years convincing himself that he was undeserving, that he was less, held you like you were the only thing in the world that had ever mattered.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to let go. Because for once—just once—this moment was yours.

And neither of you would let it slip away.

JAYVIK

The first time she met them, she hadn’t expected them to change her life.

She had been wandering through Piltover’s academy halls, drawn by the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the corridors. The walls, lined with polished brass plaques and intricate blueprints, seemed to breathe innovation, whispering of endless possibilities. It was a place where minds far greater than hers were shaping the future, molding science into magic. And yet, despite knowing she didn’t belong among these scholars, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the impossible things that could be created with just ingenuity and the right materials.

She didn’t mean to intrude. She told herself she’d just peek, just steal a glance before moving along. But curiosity had a way of rooting her in place, of pulling her toward a partially open door where the glow of warm lamplight spilled into the dim hallway.

Inside, two figures stood in the midst of an animated discussion.

One was broad-shouldered, gesturing with an easy confidence as he spoke, his voice rich and full of conviction. He had a presence that commanded attention without effort, his movements fluid and expressive. The other was leaner, more reserved, standing with the aid of a cane, his brace visible beneath the folds of his coat. He twirled a small mechanical piece between long, dexterous fingers, golden eyes flickering with sharp intelligence. He followed the conversation with the kind of quiet calculation that suggested he was always three steps ahead.

Jayce and Viktor.

She barely had time to process before Jayce turned, catching sight of her lingering in the doorway. His dark brows lifted, but rather than irritation, his face lit with curiosity. “Hey, you lost?”

She froze, caught between the urge to flee and the realization that she didn’t want to. The warmth in his tone, the lack of immediate dismissal—it was enough to keep her rooted in place.

“No,” she said quickly, smoothing down the fabric of her sleeves. “I just—was passing by.”

Viktor tilted his head, assessing her with quiet interest. He was less overt in his scrutiny than Jayce, but his sharp gaze missed nothing. Adjusting his weight slightly on his cane, he studied her, his expression unreadable. “Passing by,” he echoed, his accent thick around the words. “And yet, you stopped.”

She felt her face heat under his watchful stare, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place she must seem. “I guess I got curious.”

Jayce’s mouth curved into a grin, arms folding across his chest. “Curiosity’s a good thing. You interested in tech?”

Her instinct was to downplay it, to say she was just a casual observer, but something about the way both men looked at her—expectant, open, intrigued—made her hesitate. She didn’t want to sound foolish, not in front of people who clearly lived and breathed this world.

“I mean… I don’t know much,” she admitted, “but I like watching how things work.”

Viktor’s lips quirked, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “An observer,” he mused. “That is often where all great minds begin.”

There was something about the way he said it—something validating, something that made her feel less like a trespasser and more like she belonged here, in this space filled with half-finished blueprints and sparks of invention.

Jayce stepped aside, nodding toward their workspace. “You want a closer look?”

Viktor shifted slightly, leaning more on his cane, waiting for her response with a quiet kind of patience.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the doorway, crossing the threshold into a world she didn’t yet realize she would never want to leave.

And just like that, without even realizing it, she had taken the first step toward falling in love with them.

=

Time passed, and she kept returning.

At first, it was sporadic—an occasional visit, a fleeting conversation. But each time, she lingered longer. Jayce’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Viktor’s mind was an endless puzzle she longed to understand. They welcomed her as though she had always belonged there, offering explanations, demonstrations, and challenges that sparked something deep inside her.

It was Viktor who first noticed the way her eyes lingered on the complex schematics pinned to the walls, the way her fingers itched to trace the fine lines of the designs. One evening, after watching her hesitate by the worktable for too long, he slid a half-finished mechanism toward her without a word.

She blinked at him, startled. “What?”

“Try,” he said simply, resting his weight against his cane. “You are watching so intently. Perhaps your hands should do more than that.”

She hesitated only a moment before picking it up, feeling the cool metal under her fingers. Jayce leaned in, watching with interest as she studied it, testing the small gears with careful movements.

“You’re good at this,” Jayce noted, a grin forming. “You sure you’re not secretly an engineer?”

She scoffed, but there was warmth in her chest, a kind of pride she hadn’t expected to feel. “I just… pick things up quickly.”

Viktor hummed. “Quick thinking is valuable.” He nodded toward the blueprint on the table. “But understanding why it works—that is more important. Here.” He handed her a pencil and tapped the paper. “Explain how you think this functions.”

It started as a test, but soon, it became something more. With each visit, she grew bolder, speaking her thoughts aloud, questioning their designs, offering her own theories. And each time, instead of dismissing her, they encouraged her. Viktor would challenge her ideas with sharp precision, his golden gaze alight with intrigue. Jayce would grin, offer counterarguments, and praise her insight with genuine excitement.

She found herself thriving in their presence, her mind stretching in ways it never had before. They saw her not just as an observer, but as someone capable, someone intelligent.

And slowly, she began to see it, too.

=

The lab was unusually quiet that evening. The hum of machinery filled the space, but neither Jayce nor Viktor spoke. They worked, side by side, as they always did, the rhythm of their movements familiar, comforting. Y/N had always found peace in this—watching the two of them lost in their world of creation, a world she had slowly, unwittingly become a part of.

But tonight, that peace felt fragile, as if her words might break something irreparable.

“I have something to tell you both,” she started, voice careful.

Jayce looked up from his blueprint first, brows knitting together. “That sounds serious.”

Viktor didn’t glance up immediately, but the way his hand stilled over his notes told her he was listening.

She took a deep breath. “My parents arranged a marriage for me.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Jayce’s jaw tightened. Viktor slowly set his pen down, finally lifting his golden gaze to hers. “Arranged,” he repeated, his accent making the word feel heavier, as if he were weighing it, turning it over in his mind like an equation he couldn’t solve.

She nodded. “It’s… tradition. My family believes in securing beneficial ties. He’s from a respectable background. Kind, polite—he’s never been cruel to me.”

Jayce let out a sharp exhale, his fingers flexing against the table’s surface. “And you’re just supposed to accept that?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “He’s sweet, Jayce. He’s not a bad person.”

Viktor hummed, though there was no amusement in the sound. “That is convenient,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If he were cruel, it would be easier to refuse.”

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I just… I don’t want you to think this is some nightmare for me. It isn’t.”

Jayce crossed his arms, his expression stormy. His dark eyes locked onto hers, as if searching for something—an answer, a reassurance, anything. “That doesn’t mean it’s what you want.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Because, deep down, she wasn’t sure.

Viktor exhaled slowly, tapping his cane against the floor as he leaned forward. His gaze was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something unspoken, restrained. “And what do you want, Y/N?” His voice was softer now, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from her.

She looked between them—the two people who had become so important to her, the ones who had never looked down on her, never doubted her mind or her place among them.

The ones who made her feel alive.

She knew. She had known for a long time. But the words refused to form.

Jayce had always been warmth and fire, his passion as boundless as his belief in her. His confidence made her feel like she could do anything, like she belonged in this world, in their world. He was the one who had laughed with her, challenged her, made her feel like she was more than just a name, more than just a duty to her family.

And Viktor… Viktor, with his sharp mind and quiet, steady presence. He never underestimated her. He saw her—truly saw her—not as a curiosity, but as an equal, someone with thoughts worth sharing, ideas worth hearing. When he spoke, it felt like he was unraveling pieces of her she hadn’t even known were tangled.

They were everything she had ever wanted, and yet, none of them had ever dared to say it.

Because how could they?

How could she?

Her throat tightened. She forced herself to meet their gazes, to hold onto this moment for just a little longer before reality crushed it.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, the words a betrayal to everything she truly felt. But then, softer—so quiet she wasn’t sure if they heard—she admitted, “But I don’t think it’s him.”

Jayce let out a breath, his posture shifting as if he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find the words. Viktor’s fingers tapped soundlessly against the edge of the table, his golden eyes lingering on her as though memorizing every detail of her face.

None of them spoke the truth that hung between them.

But they all felt it.

=

Weeks later, the academy hosted a grand gala, an event filled with Piltover’s finest minds and most influential figures. It was here that she introduced Viktor and Jayce to her fiancé.

He was charming, well-mannered, and impeccably dressed, with the kind of polished refinement that made him fit effortlessly into Piltover’s elite. At first glance, he was everything a suitor should be—kind, attentive, even engaging in light conversation with Jayce about Hextech advancements.

But there was an edge to his words when he spoke to her. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

“You always did have a fascination with tinkering,” he remarked smoothly, offering her a practiced smile. “It’s sweet, really. Like watching a child take apart a clock and pretend to understand it.”

Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly. Jayce’s easygoing expression faltered, his jaw clenching.

She forced a smile. “I’d like to think I’ve learned more than just pretending.”

Her fiancé chuckled, as if amused by her response. “Of course, darling. But some things are best left to those who truly understand them, don’t you think?”

Jayce’s grip on his drink tightened, while Viktor’s golden eyes darkened. They exchanged a glance—silent, but telling.

She exhaled, the warmth and acceptance she had found in Viktor and Jayce’s lab suddenly feeling like a stark contrast to the cold, condescending words of the man standing beside her.

And for the first time, she truly questioned whether this was the future she wanted.

=

A week before her wedding, she hesitated before bringing up the idea to her fiancé. The weight of it sat heavy on her chest, suffocating. But she wasn’t afraid—at least, not yet. Up until this point, he had been nothing but kind to her, always polite, always well-mannered. There had been comments, little things that didn’t sit right, moments that made her pause.

You’re so bright for someone who never studied formally.

It’s adorable how passionate you are about things you don’t really need to understand.

I admire your determination. Even when it’s misplaced.

But he had never been cruel. Never raised his voice. Never done anything to make her fear him.

So she smiled as she brought it up, thinking nothing of it.

“I want to invite Jayce and Viktor,” she said lightly, swirling her tea in its porcelain cup. “They’ve been such an important part of my life these past few months, and I just know they’ll be thrilled. I was thinking we could seat them right up front.”

She looked up at him, expecting him to nod, perhaps even chuckle at her enthusiasm.

Instead, his entire demeanour shifted. His fingers stilled against the rim of his glass, his jaw tightening so subtly she almost didn’t notice.

“No.”

The finality in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

She blinked. “What?”

His eyes were unreadable, his expression calm—too calm. “No,” he repeated.

Her smile faltered. “Why not? They’re my friends.”

He sighed as if she were being difficult, setting his glass down with deliberate care. Then, he reached for her wrist. The touch was gentle at first, the way he had always been with her.

But then his grip tightened.

“Because I said so.”

A strange, heavy feeling settled in her stomach. His fingers, once reassuring, were firm now, like steel wrapped in silk. She let out a quiet laugh, confused. “That’s not a reason.”

His grip hardened. Not enough to bruise—not yet—but enough that she felt the warning beneath it. A subtle, possessive force pressing into her skin.

“You spend too much time with them,” he said, his voice lowering. It was still smooth, still perfectly controlled, but there was something beneath it now, something sharp. “I see the way you look at them. The way they look at you.”

Her breath hitched. Had she been careless? Had it been that obvious?

“They’re my friends,” she repeated, her voice smaller now, unsure.

His thumb traced over her wrist, deceptively soft. “Stay away from them.”

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick, pressing against her lungs. “You don’t get to tell me—”

She didn’t get to finish. His fingers clamped down harder, yanking her forward with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. Her pulse spiked. Panic flickered in her chest like a warning bell.

“Do you understand me?” His voice was quieter now, more dangerous, more intimate in its threat.

She swallowed, her throat tight. “Yes,” she forced out, nodding quickly. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might burst.

He stared at her for a moment longer, his gaze sharp, assessing, searching. Then, as if nothing had happened, his grip loosened. He brushed his fingers over her wrist in a slow, mocking caress, as if smoothing over the damage.

“Good,” he murmured, before turning away.

She stood frozen in place, skin burning where his fingers had been, breath coming in short, shallow pulls.

The moment she was alone, she staggered back against the nearest surface, clutching her wrist. She could already see the faint bruises forming—shadows of his grip, a physical mark of the line she had dared to cross.

She should have fought back. She should have said something.

But all she felt was the overwhelming sensation of being trapped.

=

For the few days, she didn’t speak to Jayce or Viktor. Whenever they approached, she found an excuse to leave. It felt like she was constantly running, ducking out of hallways, slipping past the lab doors before they could call her name. Avoidance became second nature, but she could still feel them watching, waiting, their concern growing with every passing day.

Jayce was the first to try, his voice warm and inviting, the way it had always been. “Hey—Y/N, wait up!” He caught her just outside the Academy, his broad frame blocking her way. His smile was softer than usual, hesitant, as though he already knew something wasn’t right. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

She forced a laugh, shaking her head as she hugged her arms close to herself. “No, I’ve just been busy. Wedding preparations, you know how it is.”

Jayce frowned. “Right,” he said slowly, eyes flickering down to where her sleeve had slipped just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of a dark bruise on her wrist.

His expression shifted in an instant. The easy warmth in his features drained, replaced by something hard, unreadable. “What happened?”

She quickly pulled her sleeve down, heart hammering. “Nothing. I—” She swallowed, forcing a breathy chuckle. “I fell. It’s not a big deal.”

Jayce’s frown deepened, skepticism clear in his dark eyes. He reached out, gentle but firm, fingers brushing against her wrist before she jerked away, stepping back as if burned.

“I have to go,” she blurted, turning so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. She didn’t look back as she walked away, feeling the weight of his stare follow her long after she disappeared into the city streets.

The next day, it was Viktor.

She had thought she could avoid them both, but Viktor had always been patient. He waited, watching, until the moment was right.

He found her alone in the archives, tucked between tall shelves of books, pretending to be absorbed in a text she wasn’t even reading. She barely had time to react before his cane tapped against the floor beside her, his voice quiet yet firm.

“You are hiding from us.”

She inhaled sharply but didn’t look up. “No, I—”

“Lying does not suit you.”

She flinched. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was something about the weight of his words that made her chest tighten. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and there was no mistaking the way his golden eyes settled on the faint bruise peeking out from under her sleeve.

Viktor didn’t reach for her, didn’t crowd her the way Jayce had. Instead, he simply stared, his mind clearly working, calculating.

“What happened?” he asked, softer now, but there was no missing the steel beneath it.

She forced a smile, trying to make it seem convincing. “I fell.”

There was a beat of silence between them, long and heavy.

Then Viktor tilted his head. “You are not clumsy.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I—”

“Do not insult my intelligence,” he cut in gently, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his tone, a warning. His fingers tapped against the head of his cane, his gaze never leaving hers. “Tell me the truth.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to spill everything, to lean into the safety of his presence, to hear Jayce’s reassuring voice tell her that everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

She stepped back, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Viktor’s expression darkened, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. He inhaled as if about to speak, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I have to go.”

And then she walked away. She felt his gaze burning into her back, the sound of his cane against the stone floor echoing in her mind long after she was gone.

=

The wedding day arrived, a day she had once thought would bring stability, duty, and an end to the expectations pressed upon her. But now, as she stood at the altar, her fiancé’s hand clasped over hers, all she felt was dread.

The grand hall was filled with polished faces, people dressed in their finest, murmuring their approval at what was meant to be the perfect union. Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, but she felt none of its glow. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, suffocating. She had always imagined weddings to be filled with love, with warmth.

Instead, all she felt was cold.

Her fiancé squeezed her fingers, hard enough that it stung, forcing her to meet his gaze. His smile was as practiced as ever, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge only she could see. He leaned in, voice low, meant only for her ears.

“Pull down your sleeve,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “Cover those bruises. They’re disgusting.”

Her breath hitched, the words slamming into her like ice water down her spine. A chill crept into her chest, spreading outward, paralyzing. Her fingers trembled, the fabric of her dress feeling too tight, too restrictive.

Disgusting.

The bruises he gave her. The marks left behind from nights of soft-spoken cruelty, from fingers that gripped too hard, from reminders that she belonged to him. Disgusting.

She had lied to herself. Lied and convinced herself that this was just a duty, that she could endure it. That she had no other choice.

But she did. She always had.

Her heart pounded, blood rushing in her ears as she pulled her hand from his grasp, stepping back. The air shifted, whispers rippling through the crowd, but she didn’t hear them. All she could hear was the sound of her own breath, the way her pulse hammered as realization crashed over her.

She had to go. Now.

And then she ran.

Gasps followed her, voices rising in confusion, in outrage, but she didn’t stop. She lifted the hem of her dress and sprinted down the aisle, past rows of stunned guests, past the weight of expectation and control.

Someone called her name—her fiancé, maybe. Or her parents. But she didn’t listen. She shoved through the grand doors, bursting into the open air, the cool wind hitting her face like a slap.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But she knew exactly who she was running to.

=

The silk of the wedding dress clung to her like a ghost of a life she never wanted. A gilded cage of ivory lace and expectations. Her breath came fast, fogging the cool night air as she ran, the hem of her gown dragging through the grime of the streets. Her veil had been lost somewhere along the way, but she didn’t care. She was free. Or at least, she was trying to be.

Behind her, she could still hear the distant shouts of guards searching for their missing bride. The weight of her arranged marriage had pressed down on her for months, a slow suffocation, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Not when her heart belonged elsewhere—to two brilliant minds who had captured her in ways her fiancé never could.

Viktor and Jayce.

The thought of them made her chest ache, hope and desperation twisting together as she reached Piltover’s academy entrance. Her fiancé had always known of her affections, and that’s why he had forbidden it. Locked her away with threats of what he could do to them if she disobeyed.

But she was never the obedient type.

=

She pounded on the door to the lab, her fingers trembling from both the chill and adrenaline. Her lungs burned from running, her body aching under the weight of exhaustion, but she didn’t stop. She had nowhere else to go.

For a horrifying second, she feared they weren’t inside, that she had escaped one nightmare only to be stranded in another. But then—hurried footsteps. The familiar creak of the door swinging open.

Jayce stood in the doorway, his usual vest and rolled-up sleeves now slightly rumpled from hours of work. His eyes widened in utter disbelief as they landed on her.

“Y/N?”

She barely had time to speak before he pulled her inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. His warmth, his presence—it was a stark contrast to the cold, suffocating weight of her wedding day. His hands hovered near her shoulders, hesitant but protective, as he took in her dishevelled state. The torn fabric of her dress. The bruises peeking out from her sleeves.

“You—what the hell happened?” he asked, voice wavering between concern and panic.

She swallowed, shaking from more than just the cold. “Where’s Viktor?”

“I’m here.”

Viktor’s voice was softer, but no less urgent. He emerged from the back of the lab, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he approached. His golden eyes swept over her, taking in every detail—the ragged breaths, the way her arms clutched at herself, the marks on her skin that shouldn’t have been there. His jaw twitched, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cane.

“You ran,” he said simply. But there was something behind those words. Something raw. Something furious.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry him.” Her voice cracked. “I needed to be here. With you two.”

Jayce exhaled a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, Y/N. He’s gonna come looking for you. He won’t just let this go.”

“I know,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “But I didn’t care. I had to take the risk.”

Viktor stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he was within arm’s reach. He didn’t touch her—Viktor was always careful with his affections—but his presence was steadying, grounding. His eyes searched hers, looking for something, anything that would tell him she was safe now.

“You are hurt,” he murmured, his voice measured but tight. “Did he do this?”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. A barely-there movement, but enough. Enough for Jayce to curse under his breath, his entire body tensing beside her. Enough for Viktor’s grip on his cane to tighten so hard his knuckles turned white.

A thick silence settled between them, heavy and crackling with restrained emotion. Jayce’s breathing had turned unsteady, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he didn’t know what to do with the rage simmering inside him. Viktor, though quieter, was no less affected—his eyes burned with something dangerous, something deadly.

=

A sudden, violent crash shattered the fragile peace as the lab’s door was nearly torn from its hinges. The force sent sparks flying from the broken lock, the heavy metal door groaning as it swung inward.

Y/N’s breath caught as her fiancé strode in, flanked by armed guards, his expression twisted with fury.

“Y/N!"

Her fiancé. His voice carried the weight of humiliation, of wounded pride, of a man who had never been denied anything—until now.

Jayce was already moving, stepping in front of her with his hammer gripped tightly in his hands, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to strike. Viktor, though slower, lifted his cane just slightly, his golden eyes sharp with calculation.

“You think you can just run away from me?” Her fiancé’s voice dripped with venom. His gaze flickers between the two men before settling back on Y/N “Like some common whore scurrying off to her filthy lovers?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the insult, but she refused to flinch.

“Let me guess,” he sneered, taking a step closer. “You couldn’t wait to spread your legs for them, could you? You always were a little harlot, always chasing after men who have no future, no status. Do you really think they love you, Y/N? Or are you just a game to them?”

The sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air as Jayce shifted his hammer in his grip, his knuckles white from how tightly he held it. His entire body vibrated with restrained fury, muscles coiled as if he were moments away from striking. The air in the lab felt charged, humming with the tension of a battle waiting to unfold.

"Say one more word," Jayce warned, his voice low and lethal, each syllable laced with the promise of violence. "I dare you."

Viktor, though eerily calm beside him, was no less sharp. His golden eyes gleamed under the dim workshop light, his fingers flexing subtly against the head of his cane. When he spoke, his tone was smooth, his words cutting like a finely sharpened blade. "Your insecurities are showing," he observed, adjusting his grip with measured ease. "It is not a good look."

A laugh echoed from the doorway, but there was no humour in it, only bitter amusement masking barely-contained rage. Y/N’s fiancé took another step into the workshop, his sneer curling with contempt as he eyed her and the two men standing between them. His confidence, shaken but not yet shattered, dripped from every venomous syllable.

"You really think you can keep her?" He scoffed, his voice gaining a manic edge. "You think you can protect her from me?"

Y/N took a slow, deep breath, steadying herself before stepping forward, placing herself between Jayce and Viktor before either of them could make a move. Her pulse pounded in her ears, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest like a vice. She felt the heat of Jayce’s fury behind her, the quiet steel of Viktor’s presence beside her, but she did not waver. She would not let this man dictate her fate any longer.

"I was never yours to begin with." Her voice was steady despite the tremor she felt deep in her bones. Her eyes met his, unwavering, unflinching, burning with a conviction she had never spoken aloud before. "I belong to no one but myself. And I chose them."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, stretching unbearably as the weight of her words settled over the room.

And then—

"Enough."

The single word cut through the tension like a knife, sharp and commanding.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the guards at the doorway stiffened, stepping aside to make way for the man who had just spoken. A tall, imposing figure emerged from the dim light of the street outside, his heavy coat swirling as he stepped into the lab. His expression was unreadable, his face set in the kind of cold composure that sent a chill through the room.

Her father.

Her mother followed close behind him, her usual poise slightly cracked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though trying to hold something together. The air shifted, the power in the room subtly tilting. Even the guards hesitated now, caught between their orders and the unspoken authority of the man before them.

Her fiancé, the arrogant, entitled man who had spent the night throwing insults like knives, suddenly found himself at a loss for words. His mouth opened, then closed, his gaze flickering between the older man and Y/N, realization dawning like a slow, creeping poison.

They had heard everything.

Her father’s gaze swept over the scene—the shattered door barely hanging on its hinges, the guards standing rigid at attention, Jayce and Viktor poised to defend Y/N with every ounce of their being. And finally, his eyes landed on his daughter.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm but firm, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. "Come here."

She did not move.

The command that once would have sent her falling into line now barely made her flinch. She was not a child anymore, not the obedient daughter who would bow her head and step forward simply because duty dictated it.

Her father studied her carefully, his sharp gaze piercing through the heavy air of the lab, and then, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath. His next words caught her completely off guard.

"Is this truly what you want?"

It was not a demand. It was not an accusation.

It was a question.

A choice.

Her hands clenched at her sides, not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of the moment. She swallowed hard, turning her head slightly to look at Jayce, at Viktor, at the two men who had risked everything for her, who had given her a chance at something real. Jayce, all fire and passion, his heart too big for his own good, his unwavering belief in her stronger than anything she had ever known. Viktor, all quiet brilliance, his mind a fortress of calculated logic, but with a depth of understanding in his golden eyes that told her she was not just something to be protected—she was something worth standing beside.

She turned back to her father and lifted her chin. "Yes," she said, her voice steady and certain. "This is what I want."

Her father exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting away from her for the first time, moving to the two men at her side. And something in his expression—subtle, but undeniable—changed.

Because these were not nameless, lowborn men from the undercity.

Jayce Talis, co-creator of Hextech, the man who had revolutionized Piltover’s future, stood before him with an unrelenting presence, a man who had carved out his own legacy, who held power not just in name, but in action. Viktor, the brilliant mind behind it all, carried himself with quiet certainty, a man whose intelligence had shaped the very foundations of Piltover’s progress.

These were not insignificant men. They were innovators. Visionaries. Men of status. Men who had power in their own right.

Men who would protect Y/N from anything and anyone.

Her father turned back to her fiancé, the young man now pale and rigid, his confidence crumbling under the weight of the shift in power.

"The arrangement is off," her father stated coolly, leaving no room for argument.

Her fiancé gaped at him, his entire body going taut with disbelief. "You can’t be serious! She belongs to me—"

Her father’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp and unwavering. "She belongs to no one."

A tense silence filled the space, thick with the weight of finality.

Her mother finally stepped forward, her voice softer but no less firm. "You have embarrassed yourself tonight," she said plainly, her eyes sweeping over the room before she addressed the guards. "Escort him out."

There was hesitation—just for a moment—but then the guards moved. One by one, they turned on their heels, the power of status winning out over the remnants of loyalty.

Her fiancé’s face twisted in fury, his lip curling as he cast one last glare in Y/N’s direction. "You’ll regret this," he hissed, his words a desperate attempt at control.

Jayce stepped forward, his hammer still in hand, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. "Try to come near her again and see what happens."

Viktor didn’t move, but his voice, soft and deliberate, held an edge sharper than steel. "I assure you, it would not end well for you."

The last flicker of arrogance drained from her fiancé’s expression. He had lost. He knew it. With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out, his boots echoing loudly against the stone floor.

The moment the door shut behind him, the room seemed to exhale.

Y/N’s knees felt weak, but before she could stumble, Jayce was already at her side, steadying her with a hand on her back. Viktor exhaled beside them, adjusting his grip on his cane, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

Her mother reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear. "You always were stubborn," she murmured. "You could have just told us."

A breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips. "Would you have listened?"

Her mother did not answer. But the silence spoke volumes. As her parents turned away, Y/N looked up at Jayce and Viktor. Relief, exhaustion, love—all of it tangled together inside her.

She had won.

She had chosen her own future.

And she had no regrets.

[eunandonly]

contemplating : love, friendships and theories of time

୨୧ ; fate is a strange concept, isn’t it? because park sunghoon was the last person you had expected to see in your philosophy lecture in uni

pairing! philosophymajor!sunghoon x philosophymajor!reader | wc. 0.8k | warnings: wrong philosophy info, prob cringe EN-

🖇️ : philosophy major sunghoon SKDKDKSK. also, to the girly who asked for a uni fic for the science and maths girls, i hope you’re looking forward to my sunoo uni fic ~

you and sunghoon go WAYYYY back

he was your neighbour in that little picturesque town you both lived in, your mum's friend's annoying son who always seemed to be loitering around at your house

you thought your mum adopted him or smth bc why was he at your house more than his own?? — more under cut!!

you used to tease him about being homeless back in the days

but yk you two were best friends

but you and sunghoon kind of just drifted apart in high school after he moved during his freshman year at high school

you see his instagram posts sometimes, pictures of him out with his friends, jawline still jawlining

you sometimes even scroll down to his older posts where you are present in his photos, smiling next to him with a wide braces smile

but you never thought you would cross paths with park sunghoon again

that is, until university.

you walk into your first philosophy lecture and oh look there he is

park sunghoon sitting in one of the corners with his notebook looking like the exact definition of brooding intellectual

what is that guy doing here WHY IS HE HERE?

you two recognise each other instantly but there's this moment of awkwardness

like "oh, do you remember when we used to steal each other's snacks in 5th grade?"

except now he's all grown up, wearing wireframe glasses and quoting descartes during class discussions

you just try to focus on your lecture but you can't really forget about sunghoon being in your philosophy lecture

oh yeah, and he looks x100 hotter than you remember WHAT'S GOING ON

puberty hit him hard

after the lecture, you're about to pack your stuff and leave as soon as you can but he just strides up to you with his obnoxiously long legs

you always hated his stupid long legs you always had to run to catch up

you're certain he walked faster on purpose to leave you behind

ANYWAYS sunghoon just says long time no see in that smooth voice of his.

he's polite, maybe a bit shy, but there's a hint of a smile on his face and it's almost like the years of not seeing each other disappears

you two start hanging out more- grabbing coffee together before 8AM morning lectures designed to kill university students, studying together in the library

your mum is also really happy to hear that you've met sunghoon

you always knew she liked him better than you.

but you guys only get closer on a fateful thursday morning as you’re making your way to your morning lecture

because sunghoon is standing in the courtyard with a baby kitten in his arms whilst panicking

“y/n this cat keeps following me and she doesn’t have a mum.”

ofc you need to take it in SHE’S SO CUTE

you end up skipping lectures and spending the entire day with sunghoon to bring the cat to the vet and buy food

sunghoon wants to name the cat descartes but you veto that immediately

by the day is over, you have a kitten named mochi with sunghoon as a co-parent

now you’re seeing him all the time bc guess who has joint custody over mochi??

ok but spending time with sunghoon isn't as hard as you thought it would be

like yes he moved without a word and practically ghosted you in highschool

but it all feels really natural WHO CHEERED??

but between kitten playdates and philosophy study sessions stuff start feeling kinda different HMMM

which you didn’t think was possible btw sunghoon’s hobby is literally talking about existentialism and calligraphy

yeah and you knew him since he was five

ok but he looks really hot whilst talking about sartre NDJDKDKSKS

who knew you would start feeling all warm inside from sunghoon

not the 14 years old you in the past

but now everytime you touch in any way, you feel yourself flush pink

and you can’t ignore how sunghoon tries to act all nonchalant about it but his ears are turning red

how cute.

“you ever heard about hegel’s theory of love?”

“if you’re about to lecture me, i’m leaving.”

“no- listen, it’s about how love is this push and pull that makes you grow and stuff, and i don’t think i’m just studying it anymore. i think i’m feeling it, with you.”

ok that sounded a lot better in my head please don’t come for me

but yeah

aristotle believed everyone has a purpose they’re meant to fulfill. perhaps you didn’t know it back than, but losing touch with sunghoon and finding him again… it feels like you two were meant to meet in the future. perhaps it’s fate

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[apomaro-mellow]

the govt gets kas!eddie 4

part 3

Steve typically found it so easy to get lost in Eddie. It wasn't always easy to steal moments alone. The walls of the trailer were thin and his house wasn't always an option. It got to the point where they had tried to use the Scoops Ahoy freezer but it hadn't been worth it. The point is, when they got hot and ready, they usually went right for it, knowing they might not get another chance alone for a while.

But this time, as Eddie was thrusting his hips against him, Steve did his very best to keep his head above water. Not only was his boyfriend's new breeding endeavor a lost cause, but Dustin was screaming in his ear.

"Steve! Steve! STEVE SAY SOMETHING DID HE EAT YOU!?"

Eddie growled at the noise and Steve quickly pushed the button. "I'm fine! I'm fine! I'm just-Eddie, Eddie stop-Jesus stop!" The annoyed tone in his voice turned to breathy laughter instead as Eddie started to lick his neck.

Getting Eddie to stop took just a bit more, but finally he was able to get him to pause. He didn't remove himself from Steve though. He remained on top of him, looking like a dog that was told not to eat a treat that was right in front of them.

Eddie could be patient. He could wait. Wait until his mate was ready. But then he started taking too long. Was talking for too long. Eddie rubbed his face against his belly, thinking of it growing, getting round, filled with babies.

Then Steve was getting up. Eddie whined, prompting Steve to touch his cheek while he continued to talk, although it sounded more like arguing the longer it went. Then Steve was on his feet, walking around, then he was walking to the door-

NO

Eddie was on him in seconds, pinning him to the door. "Need you. Need you here."

"Eddie. Eddie listen to me. I have to go."

"No."

"Eddie...I'm not leaving you." Steve cradled his face. "We're going to bring you home."

That made Eddie pause. And Steve's touches didn't hurt either. "Home...you and, you and Wayne?"

"Yes", Steve nodded.

Then he leaned in and kissed Eddie's nose. That pulled a new sound from him. Like a trill from the back of his throat. It was cute. And enough to let him release Steve. Mission in mind, Steve returned to the others. By the time he did, the cameras were back on Eddie.

"What did you do?", Dustin asked the moment he got back.

"Don't worry about it", Steve said. "We need to get Eddie out of here."

"I agree", Wayne said, arms crossed.

And then negotiations began. Because of course the government was absolutely against letting him free but they had to admit that the creature seemed much more calm after Steve had spent some time with it. And a few of the scientists already had their theories on what had happened with the cameras off. Steve could only fix his hair and clothes so much.

They didn't get what they wanted right away. It took a few days of Steve and Wayne coming back to argue their case before Eddie was finally transported to Steve's house under cover of night. Steve had told Wayne beforehand that he was more than welcome to stay too. Wayne declined, thanking him and saying he'd visit, but that he'd give the newlyweds at least one night alone.

Steve still couldn't believe that Wayne had known this whole time. But he never would have gotten this second chance with Eddie had his uncle not been aware.

And then they were alone.

Steve thought Eddie had been practicing patience but instead he'd just been very busy. It was another sign that his Eddie was still in there. His Eddie could never sit still for long. And this version of him remembered where some things were. That was the only explanation for how he'd begun to gather pillows and blankets and bring them to the living room.

Steve just watched him for a moment, wishing he had a camera in hand to capture this. Eddie spotted him and perked up then. Then, before Steve knew it, he was scooped up in his arms and carried over into the soft pile.

"Nest for mate. Nest for pups", he said. "Do you...like it?"

It was a pile of blankets in the middle of his living room. But it was soft. He nodded. "Yes, I like it Eddie."

Eddie cooed and hugged Steve tight. He nuzzled his neck. Steve allowed himself to relax. There weren't soldiers or monsters outside. He finally had Eddie all to himself. All of his feelings since the funeral began to wash over him like crashing waves. He sniffled a little and he held Eddie tight.

He didn't think he'd ever get to do this again. Eddie picked up on his mood change and touched his cheek.

"Steve?"

He looked up to meet Eddie's eyes. "Eddie, I love you. I never stopped loving you and I'm so-I'm so goddamn happy that you're alive."

Eddie made a sound from his chest. One that sounded like uncertainty. "Even...even like this?"

Steve's fingers brushed over his cheeks. There were sharp fangs now, and something feral in his eyes now. But he was still the one who had captured his heart.

"You haven't changed a bit."

He kissed Eddie then, fully on the mouth and suddenly his boyfriend's entire weight was on top of him. Eddie worked his legs apart. He purred against Steve's mouth and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"Mate?"

And, well, call Steve weak because he was skeptical that anything would come of it, but he was intrigued by the prospect of it. He gave a slow nod and spread his legs even more. Right away, Eddie slid down his body and began to nose as his crotch. Steve whimpered. It didn't take much to turn him on but Eddie was working over time.

Steve appreciated it because he was sure when morning came he'd have a dozen people at his doorstep.

Part 5

Taglist

@estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @bxnghy @gutterflower77 @v3lv3tf0x

@tinyplanet95 @thedragonsaunt @stripey82 @ajeff855

[meanbossart]

Unsure if you've ever answered this before, but I was curious. With how DU Drow has a breeding kink, does he actually want children? Would he and Astarion actually ever end up as parents?

I have a few asks stored away for the inevitable moment when the call of "the fellas adopt some stinky urchin" beckons, and I guess with their life spans being what they are (undetermined) it is almost a certainty that something akin to that will happen eventually, be it in ten years or a hundred.

That said, DU drow's breeding impulse is more so something instilled into him by his origins and inspired by some of the lore suggested (well - explicitly stated, rather) by the game. His body says "make cute little murderlings". He looks at himself and he looks at Astarion and his eyes get all bright at the idea of a gorgeous little silver-skinned murder machine. He thinks if Astarion were able to reproduce and either of them could carry, they would make some truly beautiful and exceptional little blood fiends.

This is more of a lost-in-the-throes-of-passion kind of thought, though, or something he tells Jaheira about just to annoy her. At any other time when he's thinking clearly, having children just seems like a nuisance. Not to mention the implication that it would leave him with a little bhaalspawn to take care of - fun in theory, troubling in practice.

[svtstella]

relationships with the vocal team!

performance - hiphop

stella + jeonghan ౨ৎ

thought she was super cute when she joined the team

his little sister

he would always watch over her and do her homework

made sure she would not skip any meals even on her diets

he treats her the exact same now too

always knows what to do to comfort her

will listen to her yap about her conspiracy theories without actually knowing what is going on

forces her to help prank the others.

two peas in a pod!!

stella + joshua ౨ৎ

she warmed up to him quickly and they were really close as trainees

he reminds stella of her brother

would help teach her english so she could surprise her brother when he returned home for holidays

now they always communicate in english so she can practice

he think’s she’s really strong and independent

but wants to protect her regardless

one of the ones dragging her out of bed whenever she’s tired

she always ends up appreciating his pushiness after he pays for lunch

stella + jihoon ౨ৎ

did not like her at first

did not want to be near her

he actually hated her

but she did not notice

she would constantly bother him as trainees, always following him around

it would annoy him but he eventually warmed up to her

and realized he was wrong

after debut he would enjoy teaching her things

they turned her poetry into song lyrics

she learns a lot from him and really appreciates him

was so surprised when he told her he originally didn’t like her

like i said girl was clueless

stella + seokmin ౨ৎ

stella loved his personality from the moment they met

they would always play around as trainees

hide and seek warriors

they both want to protect each others happiness

he will literally tag along with everything she does

always makes sure she is comfortable

looking out for her unconsciously

they have a sibling bond that cannot be broken

always hugging each other

she loves his voice and always listens to him sing

stella + seungkwan ౨ৎ

one of the first ones to warm up to her when she was added to the team

she appreciated him so much

she acts like his older sister even though she’s younger

makes sure he’s eating properly and sleeping

he sings her to sleep sometimes

stella wishes she could sing like him

rarely ever get into fights because they talk about unserious things.

she has so much respect for him

[astarswish]

OIKAWA TOORU FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

all

husband headcanons | @clawsdevour | fluff

he whispers sorry while hugging you | @c0ffeejelly1 | fluff

guessing the flavor of your lip balm | @makkir0ll | fluff omg this is just so cute i love it

tragic heros | @revasserium | fluff he'll always be you're hero

applying mascara on him | @makkir0ll | fluff

cracking his back | @makkir0ll | fluff wholesome fluff with you in an established relationship with oikawa.

manager reader | @strawberrykake | fluff enemies to lovers. a short scenario about the beginning of your relationship

beach dates with him | @strawberrykake | fluff

you have insomnia | @strawberrykake | hurt/comfort

he has a crush on you | @semifilms | comedy | fluff how does he react when a guy asks you out during lunch?

you tend to censor yourself | @cottonlemonade | insecure!reader | hurt/comfort

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

oikawa breaking you up

asking him to get you boba

asking for another player's autograph

bf texts | 2

syrup t. | @eggyrocks | sfw | smau he has a thing for the barista at his favorite coffee shop. & he’s pretty sure she feels the same. the only thing in the way is her annoying boyfriend.

nonsense | @idlerin | sfw | smau celebrity!oikawa x reader. you were his no. 1 fan and then his no. 1 hater. exes to lovers. cute little romcom.

HAIKYUU KARESHI

bed time

morning

HEADCANONS

he forgets to order contacts

coming home after practice

love at first sight

you look good

best traits

how he hugs you

small things he does for you

you forget to kiss him

how they say i love you

love language

pulling them by the belt loop

someone asks you out

ignore his kisses

opening your mouth in front of him

s/o shopping hall

touch-starved s/o

meet cute

not s/o's usual type

you're drunk

when they're bored

someone is harassing you

almost getting caught making out

first date

bump into him on the street

wearing his hoodie to sleep

calling him husband

confessing to them

going to a concert with him

doorframe lean

you compliment another player

first time and regular sex with him

crushing on you 1 | 2

he's clingy 1 | 2 | 3

cuddling with you 1 | 2

kissing you 1 | 2

wedding headcanons 1

how he hugs you 1 | 2

dating him -- 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

all

drink it all | @tiza0925 consensual drugged sex. overstimulation. squirting. dumbification.

pretty face, bad habits | @thevirtualvalentine from 1 to 10 how sadistic is he? cunnilingus

phone sex | @shoyoist

lemme ride, baby | @tonycries riding your cocky boyfriend

the "fuck it" list | @anisespice there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

love is blind | @tonycries he doesn't take his glasses off when he eats it.

celebrating the win | @sodium how he celebrates an olympic win after the game

taping it | @prosypepper you film a sex tape with tooru.

he makes it fit | @tiza0925

fucking you to sleep | @nekomanager

nsfw headcannons | @palbabor-writes

pegging him | @aenais omg he's the brattiest bottom

HEADCANONS

cliche sex trope

how he eats you out 1 | 2

back

header art belongs to very talented loony.

[abs-blabs]

Charlie Dalton in a nutshell based on things that @graceofgondor and I have said about him:

“Charlie Dalton pretty privilege”

“When he’s annoying asf but kinda cute so it’s okay”

“Big brown eyes and won’t shut up”

“He’s a slut in theory not in practice😔”