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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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The Alpine McLaren Fiasco

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

Summary: The Alpine - McLaren Fiasco…and Felicity Piastri’s hand in it. (Or: why multiple F1 team principals are terrified of Oscar’s wife.) Set in the Summer of 2022.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The pen in Oscar’s hand felt heavier than it should’ve.

Zak was across the table, nodding. The contract was crisp, the numbers bold. The McLaren badge printed at the top of the page gleamed in the light.

He was about to sign to a Formula One seat.

It should’ve felt like adrenaline. Like fireworks. Like victory.

It was a seat. An opportunity. A shot at doing what he loved.

But Oscar’s thoughts weren’t on the track. They weren’t even on the car.

They were with Felicity. And Bee.

In that too-small apartment in Enstone with the leaky kitchen tap and the one bedroom that doubled as a nursery and an office and a place where Felicity folded laundry between uni assignments.

He thought of how Felicity had taped Bee’s drawings to the side of the fridge because they didn’t have enough wall space.

How she tiptoed around her own life so Oscar could chase his dream.

How she never once complained.

Not when they had to squeeze Bee’s crib into the corner. Not when she had to stack books on the floor because there wasn’t a bookshelf. Not even when the neighbor’s dog barked through Bee’s naps and the heat didn’t work half the winter.

She’d just kissed him good luck each morning and said, "We’ll get through this. We always do."

Oscar looked down at the contract again.

It wasn’t just a deal. It was a door.

A way out. A way forward.

A house with a garden where Bee could run barefoot. A kitchen big enough for Felicity to hum and dance and bake without balancing the baby monitor on top of a stack of unopened mail.

Space. Safety. A future.

He signed.

Zak smiled and shook his hand. Someone said something about celebrating.

But all Oscar could think about was going home.

Not to the apartment — to them.

To Felicity. To Bee.

To tell them that the next chapter had just started. That this dream he’d been chasing — this seat, this opportunity — wasn’t just for him.

It was theirs.

He’d come home with takeout, he decided. From that noodle place Felicity liked, the one too expensive to justify often but always worth it. He’d pick up Bee’s favorite yogurt. And maybe a tiny plant for the windowsill — something green and alive.

Because they’d be moving soon.

Because McLaren wasn’t just a team.

It was the key to building the life he’d promised them.

And for the first time in months, Oscar let himself breathe.

Not for the racing. For home.

The apartment was dark when Oscar slipped through the door. The kind of dark that came with soft exhaustion — not nightfall, just drawn curtains and a tired toddler finally sleeping.

He closed the door gently behind him, careful with the handle so it wouldn’t creak, and toed off his shoes without a sound.

The hallway was cramped, the kind of too-narrow that made it impossible to pass Bee’s drying artwork on the walls without brushing it. The kind of space that didn’t feel like it was built to hold a family — just borrowed time.

It had never been enough.

He found Felicity in the living room. She was sitting on the old sofa, knees tucked to her chest, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning her frame. The television was on low, but she wasn’t watching it. Just sitting there, staring at the quiet shadows on the floor like they held answers.

She looked up when he walked in, and he saw it — the tired hope in her eyes, and still, she smiled at him.

Oscar walked over slowly and dropped to his knees in front of her, right there on the fraying rug. He reached for her hands, holding them gently in his own.

“It’s done,” he said softly. “It’s McLaren. We signed today.”

Felicity blinked, her breath catching.

“Wait—”

“We’re going,” Oscar said, voice suddenly tight with everything he hadn’t let himself feel. “We’re leaving. No more Enstone. No more trying to squeeze Bee’s cot between the heater and the dresser. No more pretending this place is enough.”

Felicity’s hands trembled in his.

He squeezed them gently. “I’m buying us a house.”

Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“A real one,” Oscar continued, rushing now. “With a garden. And a bathtub that doesn’t leak. A proper bedroom for Bee. A kitchen where you can open both cabinet doors without hitting the fridge.”

Her eyes flooded.

“I want you to have somewhere that’s yours,” Oscar whispered. “I want Bee to grow up with a tree she can climb and space to dance and—and a door that locks properly, for God’s sake.”

A tear slid down Felicity’s cheek.

Oscar leaned forward, forehead resting against her knees.

“I’m sorry it took this long.”

Felicity moved, wordless, and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her like he’d never let go.

“I didn’t mind the small space,” she whispered finally. “I minded you thinking that Bee and I deserved more. That you failed us in some way.”

Oscar’s chest cracked wide open.

“You deserve everything,” he breathed.

Felicity laughed quietly through her tears. “A garden?”

“A garden,” he promised. “With lavender. And a swing for Bee. And enough room for your books and a kitchen table that actually fits all three of us.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at him. Her cheeks were damp, her smile trembling but real.

“I love you,” she said.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“Good,” he said. “Because I just changed our lives.”

***

The first sign that something was wrong came from the way Oscar closed the door.

Not rushed. Not dramatic.

But soft. Measured. Careful.

Felicity looked up from the dining table, where Bee was hunched over her coloring book. The late sun poured gold across the room, catching the faint frown on Oscar’s face like a spotlight.

He dropped his keys in the tray by the door and stood there for a beat too long.

Felicity’s heart sank.

Bee didn’t notice. She was busy sorting her crayons by colors again.

Felicity rose quietly, walked into the hallway, and touched his wrist. “Oscar?”

He looked at her. And just shook his head.

She didn’t press. She just waited.

Eventually, he exhaled — slow and low — and said, “Otmar told me I was driving for Alpine next year.”

Felicity blinked. “I’m sorry — what?”

“In the sim,” Oscar added, still stunned. “In front of some of the engineers. Who didn’t even know.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Not enough to shake. Just enough to sharpen.

“He blindsided you?” she asked.

Oscar nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene. I just… nodded. Finished the session.”

Finished the session. Of course he had.

Because he was Oscar — calm, controlled, collected to the core. Even when humiliated. Even when put in a position no one that professional should ever be put in.

“And did you explain—?”

“I’ve explained, Felicity,” he said, finally lifting his head. “They knew. My camp told them multiple times we were exploring other options. I said it myself. It was never confirmed. They never had my signature. They just—”

“Claimed you.”

Oscar looked down again.

Felicity’s mouth went tight.

She’d seen it too many times — the way men like that assumed ownership, assumed quiet meant compliant. That saying it out loud made it real. That playing politics in front of others gave them leverage.

Oscar had never played those games.

And now he was paying for it.

“They’re not just trying to control the story,” she said. “They’re trying to corner you. Back you into looking like the villain if you correct it.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guys. It wasn’t their fault.”

She nodded.

Of course he hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious.

They’d worked so carefully. So intentionally. The McLaren option hadn’t come from nowhere — it had been months in the making. Every conversation, every clause, every piece of it had been considered and weighed.

This wasn’t immaturity.

This was calculated.

And Alpine had chosen narrative over truth.

Felicity breathed slowly through her nose. “When are we releasing the statement?”

“Today, probably,” Oscar said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Mark’s furious.”

Good, she thought. She wanted him furious.

Because she was fuming.

Felicity could already see how it would play out — the headlines, the noise, the armchair contracts lawyers. The spin.

“You are not unprofessional,” she said, low and steady. “You are not a backstabber. You’ve been measured every step of the way. They underestimated your quiet.”

Oscar’s lips twitched. “That sounds familiar.”

Felicity smiled without warmth. “I’m used to it.”

Bee’s little voice drifted in from the other room. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”

Felicity turned toward the kitchen doorway, then looked back at Oscar.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, reaching out and brushing a hand down his cheek. “We’ve got receipts. We’ve got truth. And we’ve got you.”

Oscar caught her wrist, just for a second. Held it. “Thanks.”

Felicity smiled, this time real and quiet.

“Go say hello to Bee,” she said. “I’ll text Mark and check the contract files again. They wanted a public war, Oscar. They picked the wrong family.”

Oscar stood, kissed the top of her head, and walked to their daughter.

Felicity turned to her laptop and opened the Alpine folder.

Let them come.

Let them try.

She had the facts, the documents, the dates. She had Oscar’s name, signed only where he meant it.

And most of all—

She had no intention of letting anyone turn the man she loved into a villain.

***

The living room was a battlefield of open laptops, phones buzzing, and half-drunk coffee mugs.

Oscar sat hunched on the couch, scrolling furiously through Twitter and official press releases, looking about two seconds away from a full existential crisis.

Felicity sat cross-legged beside him, calm as a storm before the first clap of thunder, flicking through her own phone.

Bee was sleeping in the bedroom, mercifully oblivious to the fact that her father was at the center of a global motorsport meltdown.

Oscar scrubbed his hands through his hair. “This is a mess. This is an actual, full-on mess.”

Felicity hummed noncommittally, tapping something into her notes app.

Oscar looked over, wild-eyed. “Aren’t you freaking out?! Alpine’s posting like I signed a contract with blood and glitter, and McLaren’s playing it cool, and half the grid thinks I’m lying, and—”

Felicity set her phone down neatly on the coffee table and turned to him, entirely serene.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly, “we did everything correctly.”

He blinked. “But—”

“They made promises they couldn’t back up. They leaked information before confirming it. They tried to paint you into a corner because you’re young and polite and they thought you wouldn’t fight back.”

Oscar opened his mouth.

Felicity leaned in, smiling like a wolf in a fairy tale. “But they underestimated you. And they didn’t count on you having a lawyered-up, spite-driven wife who reads contracts for fun.”

As if summoned, the phone rang.

Mark Webber.

Oscar winced and picked up.

"Hey, mate."

The sound of pure exasperation poured through the speaker. "How the bloody hell are you so calm? We’ve got half of Formula 1 Management breathing down our necks, and the internet's lost its mind."

Oscar opened his mouth.

Then Felicity, without looking up, said mildly, “Tell him we’re fine. That Alpine leaked confidential information prematurely. That we have documented evidence of their breach of duty. And that the Contract Recognition Board is going to back us because we're right."

Oscar blinked at her. Then relayed it word for word.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then Mark said, very slowly, “Is Felicity there?”

Oscar handed the phone over like it was a live grenade.

Felicity took it without blinking. “Hello, Mark.”

“Hi.” A beat. “You’re terrifying.”

Felicity smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

Mark coughed awkwardly. “I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.”

“I know.”

There was another pause.

Then Mark said, almost reverently, “Honestly, between you, me, and the twitter post... I think Alpine’s lawyers should be more scared of you than of McLaren’s entire legal department.”

“That would be the correct assessment,” Felicity said pleasantly. “Would you like me to draft a bullet-point memo for Oscar to quote if anyone gets difficult in interviews?”

There was a stunned pause.

Then, almost meekly: “...Yes, please.”

Felicity grinned. “I'll have it to you in an hour.”

She hung up, handed Oscar his phone back, and sipped her tea like she hadn’t just calmly bent reality to her will.

Oscar stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

"You scare Mark Webber."

"And you," Felicity teased.

"Yeah," Oscar said with a soft, dazed smile. "But it's the best kind of scary."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, entirely relaxed. "You’re moving to the right team. You did nothing wrong. And if anyone tries to make you feel otherwise—" she smiled, all teeth, "—we’ll remind them politely."

Oscar stared at her, a little awed. Maybe a little scared.

Felicity sat back and sipped her tea. “We are legally sound. You are moving to a team that actually values you. And if anyone still doubts you after today?”

She smiled wider. Dangerously.

“They can sit on the grass and watch you win from there.”

Oscar blinked.

“...God, I love you.”

Oscar closed his eyes and let out a long breath, tension bleeding out of him.

He had Felicity.

He had Bee.

And somehow, even in the middle of the biggest motorsport drama of the year, that made him feel invincible.

***

The kitchen table had stopped being a place for breakfast weeks ago.

It was now Command Central — home to three laptops, two legal pads, a rainbow of highlighters, half-drunk mugs of coffee, and a folder so thick it had earned its own spot on the chair beside Felicity like an honored guest.

The tabs alone told a story: blue for correspondence, yellow for contracts, pink for press statements, green for legal precedent. She’d chosen the colors late one night while Oscar slept curled around Bee, and something about the order calmed her.

She needed the order.

Because the rest of it was chaos.

The headlines, the speculation, the deliberate noise. And beneath it, the truth — quiet, sharp, waiting to be weaponized.

Felicity clicked open the spreadsheet for the seventh time that morning. It was color-coded, time-stamped, annotated.

July 13 – Verbal confirmation Alpine was “exploring options” July 15 – Email from Oscar’s management to Alpine: “No signed agreement exists” July 22 – Internal Alpine memo leak to press claiming Oscar’s “contractual obligation” August 2 – Alpine public statement: “We have Oscar under contract.” [note: NO contract signed. Cross-reference clause 3.1 of FIA driver agreement terms]

She didn’t even have to read the lines anymore. They were burned into her skull.

Every time someone tweeted about Oscar’s "lack of professionalism," she opened this document. Every time a commentator said he’d "done Alpine dirty," she updated the footnotes. Every time someone mentioned loyalty, she added another timestamp, another receipt, another piece of ammunition.

Because she wasn’t letting them rewrite the story.

Not this time.

Not after everything she’d given up.

Oscar didn’t ask her to take on the case. He’d asked her to let it go.

But Felicity had been letting things go for years.

She let go of her family the day she chose him.

Not in a dramatic, slammed-door kind of way — but in the quiet way that people who love carefully often lose things. They hadn’t approved. Of him. Of the life. Of the risk. They’d said things like “This won’t last” and “He’ll never pick you over the sport.”

They hadn’t seen him at two in the morning, rocking Bee back to sleep when Felicity was too exhausted to lift her head. They hadn’t watched him leave for another test session with aching eyes and a whispered “Thank you for doing this. For letting me try.”

They hadn’t read the letter he wrote her on their wedding day. The one where he said, “Every podium, every contract, every bit of success — it’s all because you believed when no one else did.”

They hadn’t heard how her voice steadied his when the cameras shook him. They hadn’t seen what she’d sacrificed so he could grow.

She’d given up her family. Her country. Her parents. Her safety net.

But she’d never once regretted it.

And now? Now someone was trying to take the man she loved — not with force, but with assumption.

Like he didn’t deserve to choose. Like he should be grateful for whatever scraps they handed down.

Not on her watch.

Felicity pulled out a press release — Alpine’s, dated August — and highlighted a single sentence:

“Oscar is our driver for 2023, as per our agreement.”

Then she opened the corresponding legal file and added a note beneath it:

NO agreement signed. Misrepresentation of contractual status. Possible breach of good faith negotiation standards under FIA governance protocols.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t tweet.

She built her case, brick by careful brick.

Oscar would go to that hearing with his team — with Mark, with lawyers, with the truth.

But he’d also go with her preparation. Her structure. Her work.

Because if the world was going to talk about Oscar Piastri, they’d do it based on facts.

Not fiction.

Not noise.

At 1 a.m., Oscar padded in from the bedroom, hair rumpled, Bee’s stuffed frog in one hand.

“Fliss,” he said softly, “come to bed.”

“I’m almost done,” she said, not looking up.

He walked around the table and gently took the pen from her fingers.

“You’ve done enough.”

She looked at him, and for the first time that day, let herself breathe.

“I just don’t want them to get away with it,” she whispered. “With turning you into the villain.”

“They won’t,” he said, crouching beside her chair. “Because I have you.”

That broke something open in her. Not in the fragile way.

In the unshakable, I’d go to war for you kind of way.

“I gave up everything for you,” she said, not as a wound — but a fact. “And I’d do it again. But I won’t watch anyone try to drag you through the mud for having boundaries. For being smart. For knowing your worth.”

Oscar just pulled her into a hug. Held her there. Silent. Certain.

Because that’s what they were.

Not perfect.

But certain.

***

The days stretched long.

Not in the leisurely, golden-summer way. But in that suffocating, gray-laced kind of stretch where everything felt suspended — like someone had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again.

Oscar’s name was everywhere.

Not in the way drivers dreamed about. Not headlines about timesheets or potential or precision. Not praise for his cornering or racecraft.

No, his name was in the noise. “Contract Chaos.” “Alpine Stunned.” “The Rookie Who Said No.”

Oscar had stopped reading the articles two weeks in. Felicity hadn’t — she’d compiled a spreadsheet.

With sources. And timestamps. And quotes cross-referenced against public statements and private emails.

Oscar didn’t ask how many tabs she had open on her laptop at any given time. He just brought her coffee and kissed her temple before sitting down at his own screen.

Waiting was the hardest part.

They weren’t allowed to say much — not until the CRB hearing. Everything had to be careful. Measured. Legally sound. Which meant there were long, maddening stretches of silence where the world speculated loudly and they just... endured.

Felicity kept things steady. Quiet, but never passive. She chased updates with the precision of someone who’d spent years patching together stability from scraps. She spoke to Mark almost daily. She checked and rechecked contracts until she could quote clauses in her sleep.

Oscar trained. Sim work. Gym. Notes. Repeat.

When he wasn’t on a call with his legal team or being told to “stay calm” for the fifteenth time that week, he was on the floor with Bee, building LEGO cars and pretending none of it touched them.

Some nights, though, after Bee was asleep and the dishes were done, he’d find Felicity on the balcony, a hoodie pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes scanning the sky like the stars might offer answers.

“Do you think they’ll rule in our favor?” he asked one night, joining her.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she passed him her mug and said, “I think truth doesn’t always win. But paper trails do.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, took a sip. “Romantic.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “You married a realist.”

Oscar wore a navy suit and the most impassive face he could manage to the hearing. He also carried The Folder — the one Mark jokingly called “Felicity’s Sword.”

It was thick. Color-coded. Cross-indexed. Tabbed and terrifying.

The hearing wasn’t dramatic.

There were no shouting matches. No grand revelations. Just sharp questions, crisp answers, and lawyers who underestimated how well-prepared the Piastri side was.

Oscar didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to.

He did — once. When asked to clarify the correspondence timeline.

He pulled out an email, read it aloud, and then pointed out a contradictory press quote from Alpine dated three days after it that Felicity had found.

He didn’t smile.

But Mark did. Like a man watching someone drop a precision-engineered anvil on a house of cards.

The ruling came on a Friday.

Oscar was at the table with Bee on his lap, coloring quietly. Felicity was on speaker with Mark when the email landed.

There was a pause.

Then Mark’s voice: “We won.”

Oscar blinked. “Wait—”

“It’s McLaren. Fully binding. The CRB ruled unanimously. Alpine never had a contract.”

Felicity let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting in her chest for months. Bee dropped a crayon. Oscar stood, numb with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Mark was already laughing. “Mate, you’re officially a McLaren driver.”

Oscar turned to Felicity.

She was smiling. Not the careful kind — not the one she wore when she was holding things together for everyone else. But a real, wild smile. The kind that said, we did it.

He pulled her into his arms and spun her in the middle of their too-small kitchen. Bee squealed as they bumped into the table.

Felicity clung to him. “We’re free,” she whispered.

Oscar nodded, forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re going home,” he said, meaning McLaren. Meaning out. Meaning forward.

And for the first time since that awful meeting in the sim room, Oscar felt light.

Like gravity had finally let go.

“You’re going to drive orange cars now, Papa?” Bee asked him very seriously.

Oscar smiled, eyes wet. “Yeah, Bumblebee. I am.”

***

The ink was barely dry on the Contract Recognition Board’s official ruling.

McLaren had won.

Oscar Piastri was officially McLaren’s. Alpine was left scrambling to save face. And Zak Brown was feeling the rare, giddy high of a clean, decisive victory — but also the lingering shock at how ruthlessly, brilliantly, and perfectly the whole thing had been handled.

He leaned back in his office chair, rubbing his jaw, still half laughing in disbelief as Mark Webber sat across from him, looking far too relaxed for a man who had just navigated an international legal war.

“Okay,” Zak said finally, throwing his pen down with a clatter. “I need to know.”

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“Who’s your lawyer?” Zak said, grinning wide. “Because whoever handled this — the paperwork, the contracts, the way you all walked Alpine into a brick wall — they’re a shark. We need someone like that. Seriously. Name your price."

Mark’s mouth twitched, like he was enjoying this far too much.

Zak waited, half-expecting Mark to name some fancy law firm out of London.

Instead, Mark said, perfectly straight-faced: “She’s not a lawyer.”

Zak blinked. “What?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “She’s Oscar’s wife.”

Zak blinked harder. “His wife?”

Mark nodded, looking far too satisfied. “Yep.”

There was a stunned pause.

Zak sat forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait. Oscar’s married?”

Mark smirked. “He is.”

Zak threw his hands up. “He’s, what, twenty-one?”

“Married,” Mark confirmed cheerfully.

Zak stared at him. “And the woman who just ran circles around Alpine’s legal team is his wife?”

Mark chuckled under his breath. “Felicity. Brilliant, ruthless, scary when she wants to be. She reads contracts for fun."

Zak shook his head slowly, as if trying to reboot his brain. “How have I never heard about her? Or seen a single post, or interview?”

Mark shrugged. “Oscar keeps his family very private. Always has. Protects them like his life depends on it.”

Zak opened his mouth — and Mark, because apparently today wasn’t wild enough already, added, totally casual:

“Oh, and they have a daughter too.”

Zak actually choked. “A what?!”

Mark was openly grinning now. “A little girl. Bee. Two years old. Smart as hell. Already critiques Oscar’s driving sometimes.”

Zak pressed both hands over his face. "Married. With a kid. And somehow still the most put-together twenty-one-year-old on the grid."

Mark laughed. "Told you. Built different."

Zak dropped his hands and let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus. I thought we signed a rookie. Turns out we signed an entire bloody empire."

Mark clapped him on the back as he stood up to leave, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he had delivered to McLaren.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Zak just sat there for a long moment after the door shut, muttering to himself.

“Married. Kid. Legal assassin wife. ...We are so screwed in the next contract negotiation.”And somehow? He couldn’t even be mad about it.

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miaoua3 · 2 months ago

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Ghost of Your Dreams

Pairing: bf!scoups x f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), size kink, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy), dom!scoups, spanking, choking, spitting, degradation(slight), praise, cosplay! ghost

Description: all it took was one comment of your and here he was, embarrassed and shy but ready to commit to the fullest in order for him to fulfil your fantasy

Note: everyone went berserk last year when i posted on my tiktok as what characters id like to see svt as for halloween and put coups as ghost from cod so naturally i had to bring even more chaos and write a whole fanfic about it…enjoy hehe (post writing edit of the notes: i passionately hate this my bad guys i suck so bad. and again, not proof read so…yeah lmao)

you knew what you were getting into the very minute you first stepped a foot into your boyfriend’s s home and saw a whole professional pc set-up, with headphones and the kind of keyboard that lights up in rainbow light every time you press any key on it. you knew what to expect from him-late night gaming sessions between him and his friends, him yelling whenever he got annoyed, and a whole lot of cursing.

these are just some of the things you knew to expect.

cheol, on the other hand, never even thought what kind of an effect his hobby could have on you. he knew you would be supportive, and that you would probably use his gaming time to do and practice your own hobbies.

but now, several years into the relationship, he never even expected for you to take any special interest in his hobby, never mind for you to make such an…out-of-character comment like you did two weeks ago.

he was just starting a new game, concentrating on the plot and character dialogue so he knew what to do, when he felt you approach him from behind, carefully watching the screen right beside him.

after a few seconds, cheol sees your pretty pointer finger point at one of the characters from the screen and hears your sweet voice ask “who is that?”

cheol looks up at you with his pretty and big boba eyes, a bit of confusion visible in the way his eyebrows furrow.

“his name is simon riley, but they call him ‘ghost’.”

you only hum in response, tilting your head to the side as you carefully watch the character move around the screen. after a few seconds, you deliver a comment that will forever change seungcheol and who he is as a person.

“he’s hot.”

cheol looks at you, both in confusion and in offence, totally blindsided by the two words that have just left your mouth.

“what- why? how? you can’t even see his face because of the mask. plus, you have a boyfriend, miss. how dare you find another man other than me attractive?”

you finally look at the boyfriend in question, only to see his big cherry lips set in pout, making you smile in amusement. you bend down to hug him around his neck, softly kissing his cheek to comfort him. after you see the corner of his mouth twitch in weakness, you answer his questions.

“i don’t know, something about him is attractive, maybe the way he carries himself and the mysteriousness because of the whole mask thing.”, you muse as you go back to watching ghost on the screen.

cheol does the same, the pout still present as he looks at his favourite character, now with a bit of disdain due to your newfound attraction to him.

after a few seconds of silence, you chuckle before you add another comment that will play a big part in both your futures.

“plus, he kind of reminds me of you, baby. with all the dominance, confidence and that deep voice.”, letting another chuckle, you look him directly in the eyes, you faces only inches apart so he can see your eyes clearly as you add “who knows, maybe you should cosplay him sometime. i know i would love to see that.”

you smile at him before you let a brief kiss land on his lips before you part your body away from his and go back to laying on the bed.

you may have said it in the joking manner, but cheol knew. he saw that look in your eyes, the way your pupils were dilated, the way your smile hid something a bit darker, a bit more sinister in the corners of your lips.

he knew that you weren’t joking.

so here he is, two weeks later, on a saturday night, in the full cosplay, waiting for you to get back from work, his blushing and red face hidden behind the balaclava and mask.

he fondles with all the little belts around his body, namely his waist, chest and thighs. a bit uncomfortable, but nothing cheol couldn’t handle.

hey, anything for love, right?

cheol looks around the apartment as if it will give him an answer as to what he should do, what the plan to surprising you is, but to no avail. the nervousness and sort of excitement is getting more and more unbearable the closer your arrival is getting.

finally, he settles on hiding in the bathroom, knowing that your first move will be to check your shared bedroom to see if he’s there, making the bathroom the perfect place to hide, as it is directly across the bedroom and he can then quietly sneak up behind you.

just like he planned, cheol skilfully hides behind the bathroom door, leaving the light off and the door slightly open as to make you think he isn’t inside. he stills his movements the moment he hears the keys jingling behind the entrance door before the door click open.

you drop your keys into the little dish beside the door before hanging your bag and coat on the hanger right beside it. he hears you sigh deeply, probably meaning that you have had a long day and that you need some relaxation.

perfect.

after you take your shoes off, he hears you still for a moment, carefully listening to the sounds in your own home. after a second, he hears you call out “cheol? are you there? i’m home!”

but to no avail. because he doesn’t answer.

right in that moment, cheol's belief that he knows you better than anyone else was solidified.

because just like he predicted, he hears you take a few steps before you lightly open the door of your bedroom, peaking inside to see if your boyfriend is inside.

showtime.

ever so quietly, cheol moves until he’s standing right behind you, his eyes looking at the top of your head. he just had to smirk at your cluelessness, how you are so cutely looking for him while he’s standing directly behind you.

not being able to resist the temptation, cheol leans in until his covered lips are right by your ear before he utters in his deepest voice possible.

“looking for something, m’love?”

you gasp in shock, eyes wide as you quickly turn towards him, stumbling back so much that if it weren’t for his hand catching your arm, you would’ve fallen right onto your ass.

you gape at his tall and darkly clothed silhouette, being somewhere between shocked and in awe of your beautiful muscle-y boyfriend standing in front of you in a costume you never could’ve imagined seeing him in.

the shock lasts all but 5 seconds before the widest smile he has ever seen on you takes over your features, your pupils blown out, so much so that they appear almost completely black.

with excitement you start word-vomiting “oh my god, i can’t believe you really did this. i think this is the best day of my life. oh my god, are you gonna spank me and say that i’ve been a bad girl? or maybe-“

something about the way you look little too excited, like a kid on a christmas morning that can’t wait to open their presents, the way you smiled so wide, maybe even too widely. like cheol just walked right into your trap.

it rubbed him the wrong way, blood boiling slightly.

although that just might be the multiple layers of clothes that he’s wearing.

oh well.

wasting no time, seungcheol suddenly grabs you by your neck and pulls you towards him, making whatever words you wanted to say die on your tongue and a gasp slip out instead.

the moment your body collides with his, he uses his big and broad body to push you against the wall by your bedroom door, harshly.

your body slams against the cold white wall, and cheol has the oh shit- thought for all of half second that he might’ve pushed you too hard and that he might’ve hurt you.

that is before he hears you moan loudly at the action, throwing your head back.

little masochist.

cheol then immediately comes closer to you, crowding your space so much, until the only thing left to focus on is the mask that covers his face. his chest pushes into yours, making it that harder to breathe, and his knee finds its home right between your legs, pushing upwards until he can feel the warmth between your legs on his thigh.

your beautiful and cute eyes are already teary as you look upwards at him, desperation forming on your waterline in the form of tears.

you don’t have to see it to know that cheol is smirking at the effect he has on you, smugness dripping in his voice as he says.

“what do we have here, hm? your pussy already desperate for me, baby? but we haven’t even started.” he pauses for a second to press his covered forehead against yours before he continues “is this all it took to reduce you to what you really are? a desperate, cock-hungry little bitch? so hungry for my cock hm? can’t even wait for it to enter that little pussy of yours, already rubbing yourself on me.”

it is only when his glove-clothed hand suddenly runs over your front, right where your pussy is desperately rubbing on his thigh, that you even notice what you’ve unconsciously started doing, his fingertips digging until he finds the slit of your pussy lips, pressing hard until he reaches your clit, despite two layers of clothes being in his way.

you moan at the contact, hands grabbing at his wrist, somewhere between pushing his hand away and closer to where you need him the most.

seungcheol won’t let you have any control tonight, he wants you to completely surrender to him, to let him use you and move you however he wants, to just accept whatever he gives you with a fucked out smile on your face.

hence why he grabs both your hands into his before slamming them onto the wall above your head, quickly switching his hold onto your wrists.

with a purposefully made angry face, he looks into your teary eyes. something dark and far more sinister than he thought he could ever feel awakens inside of him, the feeling of giddiness overcoming him as he watches your eyelashes get wet by the tears gathering in your eyes, neediness and desperation swimming in them.

with a deep voice overflowing with warning, he says “no touching tonight, are we clear pretty girl? you are at my mercy tonight. everything i want to give you…”, he pause for a few seconds so he can remove the skull mask from his face and reveal the identical balaclava beneath it, before he pushes his face closer until his cloth-covered nose meets your own and continues “…you will take like a good girl i know you are. understood?”

you watch his dark eyes, purposefully covered in black paint, as you process his words. your mouth are agape, shaky breaths leaving the opening until the sound hits cheol’s ears. his free hand that isn’t holding your wrists comes to hold your cheek gently, a touch of love to show you that this isn’t real, that this is just a bit of a fun game to both of you, that he still loves you despite his harsh words.

with wide eyes, you slowly nod your head to his demand, showing him that you understand.

contrary to his tone just a few seconds ago, cheol gently whispers in the little space between you two “use your words baby, i need to hear you say ‘yes’ before we continue.”

you heart squeezes in love that you have for this man. the fact that he basically interrupted his own fantasy in the name of having you consent to him with your own words makes you love him that much more. sure, it may be the bare minimum to the rest of the world, but to you, who never experienced such gentle love by the previous partners? it means the whole world.

with hoarse voice, you whisper “yes. i understand.”

cheol looks at your eyes for a second, looking for doubt and fear, only to find excitement and trust instead. nodding his head, he pushes his balaclava until his lips are freed, and using the newfound freedom to lay a gentle and light kiss to your mouth, letting them linger just for a second before he pushes the balaclava back in place, now fully ready to push you to the point of tears of pleasure.

within a second, that old flame of desire returns to his eyes. for a second you could’ve sworn that his eyes had a tinge of redness in them, almost like they were literally set on fire.

his hand slowly but firmly wraps around your neck, the leather material making the squeaky sound as he repositions his hand so his fingers are only squeezing the sides of your slender neck. the last bit of air leaves your lungs as cheol squeezes your neck, making you feel lightheaded within seconds.

your boyfriend uses your distraction and hazy mind to just observe you-the way your eyes flutter shut and how tears gather at your water line, how your hands try to grasp onto something to no avail because he’s holding the hostage above your head, how your mouth can’t decide if you want to bite your lip and keep the gasps and moans from escaping or opening them as wide as possible and letting all those pretty sounds flow like a river straight out.

he watches how your hair is already messy, a complete opposite to how you usually style it for work. then to how your pretty neck bobs in an effort to take in more air. the way his black leather glove wraps prettily around it.

his eyes fall onto your chest, and the way your button up shirt gives him a peak of your cleavage, as well as the necklace with his initials engraved on the back of the pendant hanging from the chain. the way your chest raise and fall at rapid speed, the way your tits move with every exhale.

his pupils follow the curvature of your waist, and the way your pants hug your hips-the hips he loves to hold, grab, squeeze and use as his anchor while he’s fucking you from behind.

lastly, cheol observes the movement of your hips, how you slowly roll your hips in slow and small circles on his leg that is pushed between your legs in an effort to relieve the uncomfortable tingle on your clit, the warmth from between your legs making his mouth water in need to taste you, in need to have your tight pussy wrap around his cock.

fuck, he needs to fuck you. right now.

his head drops beside yours, a groan hitting the shell of your ear before he demands “take your pants off, need to have that needy pussy around my cock right now.”

no sooner than when his hand lets go of your hands that were hanging above your head that you immediately got to work, unzipping your pants and missing the zipper a few times. the minute it was unzipped enough, you pulled your pants down, along with your panties, before you kicked them to the side.

while you were preoccupied by taking your pants off, cheol did the same to his. well, he couldn’t really take them off due to insane amount of tiny belts hugging his big thighs. instead, he just unzipped them and pulled them down just enough to free his aching cock from his boxers, precum leaking from the tip the moment it bounces upon being taken out.

your eyes immediately get drawn to the sight, how big he looks, the tip the slight pinkish colour due to lack of stimulation.

but it’s not just his dick-cheol as a whole, right at this moment, looks like something straight out of your wet dreams, like a desire or a kink you can’t talk about, keeping it locked inside a box instead, hidden deeply inside your closet.

the black balaclava with the skull printed on it hugging his head and currently hiding his beautiful face, the black turtleneck that is covered with the fake black military vest, with tons of tiny pockets. the way his big biceps bulge out, protruding even with the longs sleeves trying to keep them hidden.

the black leather gloves that are trying to keep his pants below his cock, kind of frustratedly fumbling with the material because it’s not obeying to his orders. the black pants that hug his legs, the black boots-simply everything.

it makes your whole body feel hot, so hot like somebody poured hot lava all over it.

fuck, i need to suck him off dry right. now.

just as cheol was about to grab you, you let your knees drop, kind of painfully hitting the floor, and as gently as possible due to the hunger grabbing his dick.

cheol confusedly looks down at you, mouth open to say “wha-“ but gets cut off with a moan the moment your warm mouth wraps around his cock.

normally, you would go slow, paying attention to his tip for a minute or so before trying to swallow his whole length.

normally. but not now.

the moment you open your mouth and lean in towards his dick, you start bobbing your head up and down his cock, you hand working on the base that you can’t reach with your mouth just yet. you other hand pulls on his pants, trying to keep them in place while you suck his length.

feeling overwhelmed by your sudden actions, cheol gasps a moan and slams a hand onto the wall to keep him balanced, knees buckling due to the sheer force of your movements.

your mouth haven’t even been around his dick for a minute and he can already feel his balls ready to burst, breathing deep and looking towards to the ceiling (or the heavens, whichever way you want to interpret it), praying that he doesn’t cum so quickly.

you continue with your movements, tongue wrapping around and licking his cock as you drag your mouth back before you suck his length back in, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

cheol watches you in awe and fascination, the way your eyebrows furrow not in concentration, but due to the neediness to have yourself choking on his big cock, moaning every few seconds in pure enjoyment.

never thought sucking a dick could be so good and so…sexually full filling.

you look up through your eyelashes at your boyfriend. even with the balaclava you can tell that his mouth is opened, letting those beautiful and loud moans flow freely out of them, that his eyebrows are furrowed because he’s trying to contain himself and not fuck your face.

which is exactly what you want.

you pull away, both to let yourself and himself breathe, though you keep the eye contact going.

and cheol sees it. that look in your eyes that is begging him to fuck your mouth.

how could he ever deny his baby anything?

just as you were about to go back to sucking his dick, cheol grabs your hair and pulls you away, and keeps pulling on it, making you move your body with it. he only stops once your whole body is back to leaning against the wall, legs kind of awkwardly bent before you readjust them.

your glossy eyes look up at him, needy and demanding for him to fuck your mouth, now.

tapping your cheek with two fingers, he's only able to rasp out "open your mouth."

your lips fall open without a second thought, poking your tongue out as you wait for him to give it to you hard and fast, just like how you like it.

cheol wishes that he could take a mental picture of you like this-eyes glossy, face littered with sweat and mouth calling his name. this right here, how you like right now.

this is everything cheol has ever dreamt about.

ever so slowly, cheol pushes his pelvis foward, his cock held tightly in his hand as he guides it straight to your mouth. he smears the head a bit on your tongue, letting you taste him yet again, but immediately pulling away once you try closing your mouth around it, a sound of disapprovement escaping his lips. once you look at him confusedly, eyebrows furrowed, he's adds "don't move. let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours like i know you want me to, like a good slut i know you are. just relax and enjoy, hm?"

you nod your head quickly before opening your mouth again, an amused chuckle echoing in cheol’s mouth.

very carefully, cheol pushes his cock back into your mouth. his eyes are fully trained to follow your every move, eyes cloudy with desire as he watches you close your mouth around his girth, pretty eyes looking right back into his. he continues pushing his pelvis until he feels the back of your throat close against the head, pearly precum falling down your throat, before he pulls back.

he continues repeatedly doing this a few times, getting you used to the motion and pace, before he speeds up slightly.

your fists are clenched against your thighs, desperate to touch him but resisting the urge to touch him, to pull him closer until you feel yourself choking on his thick cock. instead, you focus that energy to let all the little sounds that you know cheol definitely loves, your humming and moaning creating vibrations on his length.

cheol moans right back, throwing his head back every so often because it just feels so good. the warmth of your mouth as he rocks his hips, the way you try swirling your tongue around the head, the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only man ever for you.

it all messes with his head.

naturally, he loses himself in the pleasure, unconsciously speeding up his movement until his cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, choking sounds hitting the shell of his ear every time he pushes his cock back in.

after another few minutes of him fucking your pretty mouth, of him letting little comments like “fuck, just like that pretty girl” and “yeah chock on my cock, just like that”, cheol feels himself being so so close, almost a second away from cumming. and although he would like nothing more to paint your pretty face with his cum, to smear it around, almost like he’s marking his territory, to see tears spill from your eyes and mix with his fluids, he would much rather cum inside of you. now.

harshly, he pulls all the way out, hissing once the cold air meets his wet length, before grabbing your jaw harshly with one hand. using that hold, he quickly picks you up, dragging you up to meet him.

you gasp at the action and the way it cuts your airway off, hands quickly grabbing his forearm as he drags you to your feet.

the moment you are close enough, he pulls his balaclava all the way off and clashes your mouths together, tongue swirling around your own, stealing yet another breath away from you.

just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls away, lips swollen from both the kiss and biting on his lips while fucking your mouth, eyes dark and cloudy like a stormy night.

you’re still gasping because he still has a hold on your cheeks with one hand, nails digging into your skin in a painful yet delicious way, your own hand squeezing his wrist in indecisiveness, unsure if you want him to squeeze it even more or to let you breathe.

pushing his forehead against your own, you can clearly see him struggling to control himself by the way he’s harshly breathing. in a dangerously low and warning tone, he just says “i’m gonna fuck you so hard, just like you want me to. gonna fuck you like a slut i know you are. gonna make you beg me to let you cum. now jump.” before he bends down and grabs you by your legs, picking you up like you weigh nothing and wrapping your legs around his waist.

your heart jumps to your throat in excitement, everything about this so new and so unfamiliar-the face fucking, the cosplay, the degradation. you previously told him it was something you’d like to try, just to see if you would like it more than when he praises you and worships you, and although you like how every time he called you ‘slut’ a shiver went down your back, his praise and calling you his love and baby while he’s fucking you will always be number one place.

cheol quickly grabs his dick and slaps it a few times against your clit before he pushes it inside of you, gliding much easier due to your arousal. you both moan loudly at the contact, cheols eyebrows furrowing almost like he’s in pain. his eyes focused entirely on how your pussy is swallowing his big cock.

you feel heat on your cheeks at the sound your cunt makes every time cheol pushes back inside you and pulls back, it’s all wet and loud, and it makes you want to hide your face in embarrassment. you can’t remember the last you were this aroused, so much so that the slick was staining cheol’s pants that were still just pushed right under his dick.

in the matter of seconds, cheol starts fucking you hard and fast, your loud moans echoing in the hallway, probably making it a show for the neighbours to hear. head thrown back against the wall, you focus on gripping cheol’s shoulders like your life depends on it.

his hands are harshly gripping your thighs, both to hold you up and keep you in place so you don’t slip due to sheer force of his movements, but also because he adores your thighs-if it were up to him, his face would be permanently squished between them while eating you out, all day, every day.

you can quickly tell that neither of you will last much longer, the long foreplay already getting you close to the finish line. for yourself you can tell by that funny feeling in your tummy and in the quiver of your legs that are wrapped around cheol’s hips. for cheol, you can tell by how his movements have lost the rhythm, only focusing on fucking you as fast as possible, desperate to cum inside of you and make you cum on his dick.

cheol presses his sweaty forehead against your own, his glassy eyes looking directly into your own. despite how dirty this all feels, you can still feel love pouring from his eyes into your own. you feel his adoration for you, you feel that his heart is beating for you and for you only. al of that is enough to make the knot inside of your tummy slowly start to unravel, your pussy squeezing around cheol’s dick stronger than ever before.

at the feeling of you milking him dry, he moans loudly, his movements sloppier than ever, holding out his orgasm and stopping himself from cumming just so you can cum together with him.

“that’s it, baby, cum around me. take it, take what’s yours. lemme feel that pussy-“

the rest of his words don’t register in your brain because cheol lets go one of your thighs so he can rub your clit, thumb pressing harshly into it as he moves it side to side in quick movements, and in a few seconds you are cumming.

cheol moans as he feels you cumming around him, his own finish following your own immediately. he tries to ride your orgasms as long as possible, but then he feels liquid drench his pants, only to see you squirting on him, his brain short-circuiting at the sensation.

he successful holds you up through your orgasms despite his legs shaking like crazy from how hard he has come. using the fact that you are leaning on the wall, cheol pushes you further into it in the name of getting closer to you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he feels the last of your orgasm drenching him, his own dick pulsating almost painfully inside of you.

for a minute or so, you two just stand there, hugging each other as you breathe heavily, trying desperately to regain your vision. you pat his hair slowly, just like how he likes it. cheol, in return, hugs you impossibly close to himself, whispering beautiful nothings into your ear like “good girl” and “i love you so much baby”, just how you like it.

after another moment or so, he finally pulls back, his big brown eyes looking you over to see if everything is good, only to be met with your spent but satisfied expression, eyes unfocused as you try to look back into him.

he uses one hand to slowly move your hair away from your face, grimacing a little at the feeling of sweat that sticks to his hand as he wipes your forehead.

he watches you for a few seconds, eyes so gentle and full of love, he can’t resist kissing you slowly, his lips a bit chapped from continuously biting it, but still somehow so soft.

you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of his love, arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders, fingers twirling his hair at the back of his head.

he slowly pulls away, eyes searching your own. once he sees you finally being able to focus on him, the first thing he says to you is

“i love you so much baby.”

and for some reason, probably due to all the adrenaline and because of how gentle he is being, you feel your eyes prickling with tears, quickly hiding your face in his shoulder and hugging him closer than ever, seeking out his comfort.

cheol tries prying a bit worriedly, gently asking things like ‘what’s wrong baby? hm? tell me so i can make it better’ but all you have strength for is to whisper quietly to him “i love you too. so much…bedroom, please.”

cheol gets the hint, quickly pulling out of you so he can carry you to your bedroom so he can cuddle you and take care of you, lips kissing your temple as he kicks the door open and walks to your bed.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you stir awake, eyes blurry as you try to find your boyfriend.

only to see his side of the bed empty.

you quickly get up in panic, still a bit needy and in need of his touch, looking around with furrowed eyebrows.

only to see the bathroom door open, cheol standing in front of the mirror as he’s trying to take off the black paint from his eye area, softly and quietly cursing at how stubborn the paint is, only smudging around instead of getting off his face.

you immediately stop panicking, observing his half naked form, his soft muscles and little tummy getting all of your attention.

he’s so effortlessly beautiful, it makes you wonder how he is even yours. he’s just standing there, only in his black towel, yet he looks like a god, wet hair falling into his eyes as he’s still trying to take the makeup off, pouting at how unsuccessful he is at getting it off.

slowly, you get out of the bed and walk towards him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist from behind the moment you are close enough to him, nuzzling your face into the soft skin of his back.

he smells fresh, like his body gel. luckily your boyfriend isn’t one of those people who uses 36 in 1 shower gels, instead of opting for the regular one, this time having grabbed the one that smells like…cucumbers maybe? nevertheless, he’s clean and smells great, and you enjoy every second of it.

cheol drops one hand across your own that are rubbing his tummy, still trying to take the paint off.

you watch him across his shoulder, smiling in amusement for a few second before you use your hands to slowly turn him around so he’s facing you.

he immediately starts pouting at you, hands quickly finding your waist under his shirt that is hanging from your frame.

in whiny voice, he starts complaining “it won’t come off baby. what am i supposed to do? i have an important meeting tomorrow morning.”

you smile as you take the cotton pad from his hand and take your own micellar water, dabbing the pad a bit with it before you gently start rubbing his eyes.

you feel his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hip bones in comfort, enjoying the sensation and his touch to the fullest.

“you need to use a micellar water that has some oil in it as well, so the oil can break off the paint particles. your micellar water isn’t strong enough for it apparently.”

cheol just hums in response, fully taking advantage of you taking care of him, eyes closed in enjoyment.

after a minute or so, you pull your hands away to see if everything has come off successfully, nodding your head as you see his open eyes clear of paint. you tell him that he can wash his face now, but before you can pull away and let him get back to it, cheol uses his hold on your hips to pull you into a hug. his lips immediately find yours, tongue slowly entering your mouth so he can deepen the kiss. you kiss him right back, melting in his arms because of how gently he’s kissing you.

your hands rub his chest as he’s kissing you, his own hands travelling up your back, pulling your (his) shirt with it, cold air greeting your ass that is only in a pair of panties.

slowly pulling away, cheol again looks at you with those eyes, making you feel something catch in your throat at the look he’s giving you.

smiling gently, he bends down a little so he can kiss your forehead, the whole action performed slowly and gently.

pulling away yet again, he smiles again as he uses one hand to cup your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing your skin as he looks at you.

seconds go buy as he just watches you before he lightly says in the little space between you “i am so in love with you. you don’t even know it but you own my whole being. i want to give you the world. i want to spend eternity with you, if you would let me.” he pauses so he can push his forehead against your own. almost inaudibly, he adds “in this world, it’s just you and me, love. i don’t need anybody else as long as i have you.”

and as you kiss him to shut him up before he says something else and makes you cry yet again, you think to yourself.

if only you knew, choi seungcheol. if only you knew.

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #fluff #scoups #smut #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups x y/n #scoups x you #choi seungcheol the man that you are

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whateverloomis · 9 months ago

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Kinktober week one: Hate sex (Billy Loomis x AFAB reader) 🎃

Here's the first drabble for the first week of kinktober. This was really fun to write and I'm definitely going to include some of this vibe in future fics. Hope you enjoy babes! 💋🎃

Warnings: Hate sex, jealousy, insults (use of slut,) oral (reader receiving,) rough sex, pinning, hair pulling, scratching, AFAB reader, unedited

Masterlist

It started with him having a jealousy fit over some guy talking to you. Then, you ended up having arguments the whole week.

You hated how controlling Billy could be especially because you guys weren't even dating. He didn't have the right to be that way with you, however it was also somewhat attractive and it low-key boosted your ego too. That's why tonight you decided to rile him up by telling him about Steve Orth and his grabby hands during science class. How he grabbed your thigh after you pushed his hand away several times. You were angry, turned on and agitated. Both of you were.

"You could've moved to another chair but instead decided to stay there and get touched by someone else like a slut." Billy said, losing his temper slowly.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed in disbelief; "I don't know why you're so mad, we're not even dating," you replied and he lifted an eyebrow.

Billy took a deep breath and let out a sarcastic laugh; "YN, you know we're much more than just friends. You know our relationship is the only one that matters to me and all I get is you letting that asshole grope you in class? Hm? How am I supposed to feel, YN?!"

He lost it.

"Shut the fuck up Billy, you don't own me! I can do whatever I want;" you replied and he walked towards you, grabbing your face with his large hand, his eyes darker than usual.

"I do own you," he answered and you laughed sarcastically. Disbelief evident on your face.

That's why you found yourself with your head pushed against the mattress on all fours as Billy pounded you from behind.

He had eaten you out before like it was the only meal he had that day. Billy bit and sucked on your thighs before practically making out with your pussy, alternating between both actions until you came and had 2 mini orgasms right after as he over stimulated you.

After that he forcefully turned you around and sunk his thick cock inside you, pinning you down.

Billy pulled your hair occasionally and made you look forward before pushing your head against the pillow once again.

"This is what you get after being a slut this week," he exaggerated, his tone aggressive and assertive. It drove you crazy and you hated that you loved it.

All you could do was grab the pillow and whimper pathetically.

That's until you turned you guys around and rode him. You pulled Billy's hair and scratched his chest which made him groan in pleasure.

He occasionally spanked you and other times grabbed your face harshly, making you look right into his dark eyes which were filled with rage. Jealousy.

Billy thrust up into you and hit the most sensitive spot inside you which made you scream and moan pathetically.

"Shut the fuck up," he said harshly before pushing 2 fingers inside your mouth, reaching your throat which made you gag just a little.

You were in pure bliss as Billy fucked the soul out of you.

After a few more thrusts and humiliating words you came all over his cock followed by him filling you up with his seed.

Billy pulled out and moved you to the side, standing up and locking himself in the bathroom, slamming the door loudly. He was still angry and you were left on the bed, leaking between your legs and panting. You knew damn well he wasn't done with you.

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #billy loomis x you #scream (1996)#stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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fandomtrumpshate · 6 months ago

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Our Stance On Gen-AI

This year, for the first time, we've had a couple of reports from bidders that the FTH fanworks they received were produced using generative AI. For that reason, we've decided that it's important that we lay out a specific, concrete policy going forward.

Generative AI tools are not welcome here.

Non-exhaustive list of examples:

image generators like Imagen, Midjourney, and similar

video generators like Sora, Runway, and similar

LLMs like ChatGPT and similar

audio generators like ElevenLabs, MusicLM, and similar

Participants found to have used generative AI to produce a fanwork, in part or in whole, for their bidder(s) will be permanently banned from participating in future iterations of Fandom Trumps Hate.

Why?

We understand that there can be contentious debate around the use of generative AI, we know individual people have their own reasons for being in favor of it, and we recognize that many people may simply be unaware that these tools come with any negative impacts at all. Regardless, we are firm in our stance on this for the following (non-exhaustive) list of key reasons in no particular order:

negative, unregulated environmental impact

Over the years, you may have noticed that we’ve supported multiple environmental organizations doing important work to combat climate change, preserve wildlife, and advocate for renewable and sustainable energy policy changes. Generative AI tools produce a startling amount of e-waste, can require massive amounts of storage space and computational power, and are a (currently unregulated) drain on natural resources. Using these tools to produce a fanwork flies in the face of every environmental organization we have supported to date.

plagiarism and lack of artistic integrity

Most if not all generative AI models are trained on some amount of stolen work (across various mediums). As a result, any output generated by these models is at worst plagiarized and at best extremely derivative and unoriginal. In our opinion, using generative AI tools to produce a fanwork demonstrates a lack of care for your own craft, a lack of respect for the work of other creators, and a lack of respect for your bidder and your commitment to them.

undermining our community building impact

One of the best things to come out of the auction every year—we can't even call it a side benefit, because it's so central to us—is that bidders and creators form collaborative relationships which sometimes even turn into friendship. Using generative AI undermines that trust and collaboration.

undermining the value of participating as a creator

Bidders participate in Fandom Trumps Hate for the opportunity to prompt YOU to create a fanwork for them, in YOUR style with YOUR specific skill set. Any potential bidder is perfectly capable of dropping a prompt into a generative AI tool on their own time, if they wish. We hope all creators sign up with the aim to play a role more significant than “unnecessary middleman.”

In general, we try to be as flexible as we can in our policies to allow for the best experience possible for all Fandom Trumps Hate participants. This, however, is something we are not willing to be flexible on. We realize this may seem unusually rigid, but we ask that you trust we have given this serious consideration and respect that while we are willing to answer clarifying questions, we are not open to debate on this topic.

#fandom trumps hate #fth #mod post #fth 2025

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 7 months ago

Text

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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