#somehow a functioning team

[b1asho]

Wof ocs: land-dwelling seawing and grounded skywing (aka Kelp and Osprey). It’s not like they Can’t swim or fly, but it’s a lot harder for them than the average joe.

I don’t have a whole lot of plot for them; they mostly just travel together avoiding the active battlegrounds and maybe help escort an ailing Mudwing kid to her family at some point. Par for the course with my ocs, they’re both losers. They initially only really hang out together for the mutual benefits: Osprey is intimidating enough to ward off most bandits by looks alone and has a more realistic approach to setting goals and general direction (filling in a leadership role and balancing out Kelp’s lack of a backbone or stranger danger sense and curbing her absurd fantasies ) while Kelp knows a little more about *how* to actually get things done and has a better approximation of people skills (filling in Osprey’s considerable gaps in knowledge about anything that’s not farm animals or military tactics and balancing out his aggressively distrustful demeanor that prevents him from asking for help. She’s also the one who can talk their way into and out of situations) they eventually figure out they’re a good team and more or less hang around each other

Right now I think the two are somewhere on the coast near the Diamond spray delta????(google map of Pyrrhia idk)

Some general info related to what’s on the page:

Every tribe has a lot of regional variety in terms of physical appearance. For skywings, the northern ones are the most populous and have united the other major aeries under the goal of pushing for imperial expansion on the side of burn. Northern skywings have the most dimorphism between males and females as well as the brightest colors out of the skywing region types (females have a very distinct reddish orange coloring while males have duller browns and yellows, as opposed to ospreys group where it’s switched to darker brown f vs lighter brown m) This is because they have the most unbalanced parental care system, where the male raises the chicks alone while the female leaves. No matter the type of physical difference, the social separation is ever present and more or less as extreme (completely matriarchal). An aerie is a nesting area for a group of related individuals, where there is one dominant female, a pool of married-in males (one is chosen every season to be the matriarchs pair), some other female subordinates, and the matriarchs kids (including some adult males). Females are leaders, hunters, and providers while the males do menial labor or domestic, and craft tasks. Among all skywing ethnicities, there are cases of males being born with female coloring or vice versa. Males with female coloring do not have a place in society according to their rules, since they look like a female but can’t lay eggs (meaning they are ‘broken’ in the eyes of their peers. They can’t even participate in making eggs because that would look gay and I’m deciding that theyre homophobic for fun/because of the sanctity they put on the hetero-ness of their everything). They’d normally just be driven out in bigger northern aeries, but Osprey is an exception because of his slightly different culture and because his group needed every worker they could get to survive on their land (he was kinda just treated like a defective female that has to work with the males. Not fun). A female with male coloring is more tolerated ONLY if they stay celibate and out of the way of the “real” females (often, they are just put in all-female homes as an attendant). Ospreys aerie was a small and rural one that practiced subsistence herding/hunting, so it wasn’t hard for a northern recruiter to strong-arm them with a little military coercion and cash into giving up their eligible youths for the draft. He didn’t really feel a particularly strong bond with any of his family group due to their previously described sentiments towards his condition, but it’s still a blow to the ego to know that they sold him off to die for not even one iron ingot. He got lucky with the force he was taken into (they got bronze swords and leather armor, which is more than some other skywing soldiers) but not so lucky with the area he was sent to (Sandwing ambush). After being badly wounded and finding out he was the only survivor, he fled rather than going back to a northern base and has been evading capture (and execution) since. The lack of depth perception/decreased vision in general means he can seriously mess up landing and taking off in crowded areas like a forest, and can’t do a lot of complicated maneuvers anymore. Despite already being jaded and cynical at his big teen age, he’s not really equipped to be on his own at all and has been thrown off the deep end in terms of experiencing the world for the first time.

Seawings live in pods of family members and some outsiders. Unlike other dragons, they are actually led by a pair-bonded male and female rather than it being a female-led harem type thing. This pair are the bulls, and they’re bigger than everyone else because of hormones (they’re the only reproductive members. This is enforced to varying degrees between pods, some larger more organized ones even have legislation about it. Homosexual activity is encouraged to prevent threats to the bulls (aka new kids or a new mating pair). Through interacting with other tribes, some of the more powerful “superpods” made up of multiple family lines have adopted a more female-dominant system where there are still physically distinct bulls but only the female does any governing. For trade and other stuff, too, pods will normally only send their female members since no one else would respect a male. Kelps pod was a mid-sized one that was technically a part of another super pod’s domain, but they only really interacted through some resource taxes and occasional new laws being delivered. Kelp was on the bottom rung of the social ladder and chafed a lot with her pod because of her general weirdness and lack of strong allegiance to her bull (her mother). She still feels sentiment towards them because they raised her, but was never able to fit in. The superpod they were under was allied with blister, making their territory a target for mudwings and skywings. Eventually, Kelp’s pod was affected by this when an ongoing battle between the superpod’s troops and some mudwings spilled into their land. The superpod forces lost and Kelps home was looted, in the process she was burned and separated from the others. For about a week she hung around tending to her own wounds to see if her pod would regroup somewhere, but eventually left to find a real doctor (trying not to think about the implications of them not coming back) it’s been about a month since then, and she has somehow been stumbling by using her craft skills. Shes been robbed several times and has only gotten away with her life thanks to the good ol tail slap+ massive seal teeth jaw strength combo (other than that all her health problems are 100x worse because she’s on land most of the time to avoid Mudwing-patrolled rivers and the hostility of other pods.) She’s never been outside her pods range before and the world is not so great, but she has a positive outlook (some might even say a foolishly optimistic one).

[anonymocha]

Do NOT try this at home, you may not blink or sleep for the next 48 hours and found unconscious frothing in the mouth on a sidewalk after that

[cringefail-clown]

found more ttglstuck stuff in my files

[flystill]

[badley]

i recommend. Personally. watching international court cases and being in a removed part of your brain fucking terrified and horrified while you try and remain focused on the facts in the front of your mind so that you can know what the fuck is going on. and then letting that stew to make a list of things you find suspicious or dubious. also recommend then watching a bunch of philosophy all night and going hm fair point and well no i don't think that's true. and then doing the writing three pages thing your good friend suggested to you. and knowing your own naivete intimately. and then i recommend grabbing the a3 newsprint block so that you may make some inconsequential art. which inevitably will help you think. and then i recommend writing again to find out what you think. happy monday guys

[gottaarc]

I just spent the weekend doing my first ever 48 hour game jam and it was actually an alright experience :D

[enderlovez]

No Germs Found

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Content Warning: non-sexual nudity, strong language in reference to the temperature, blushy Spence, mentions of heat stroke, pain from the heat, mentions of murder, slightly NSFW at the end, Spencer likes boobs- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?

A/N This is kind of a continuation of another one of my works called Germs, but they don't necessarily need to be read side by side. There's only one mention of something that happened in the first part, and it's not really that important to the story, so...

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

None of you really anticipated being on another case so soon, at least not in the same place you'd just gotten home from a few days before, and the place you all seemed to... strongly dislike.

Maybe 'dislike' isn't the right word, but one thing is for sure — the moment you step foot off the jet, you feel like you're covered from head to toe in sweat, and your throat dried up like a fish in a desert.

Not to mention how you' were all stuck in a stuffy room all day, with crappy air conditioning that did absolutely nothing for anyone. So far you had practically nothing on the unsub, they were slippery as soap, and that stress — the stress of not knowing who they are, who they are going to kill next — has you in a very grumpy mood.

And despite the inconveniences, the day still somehow finds a way to get worse.

That much is clear as Hotch strolls up to our group of people with an annoyed look on his face — granted he almost always looks like that when we're having a hard time finding anything on the unsub.

"There was a malfunction in their system, and they overbooked their rooms," he says simply, only earning a choir of groans from us, "so we're going to have to double up tonight."

You throw your head back, a heavy sigh escaping your mouth. It's been a long day, and all you want is to lay around without your clothes on and go to sleep — but you can't exactly do that with someone else in there with you.

"You're free to pick your roommate yourself, but please, for the love of God, keep it professional," he finishes as he drops a small pile of numbered keys onto the little table in the reception.

Everyone immediately splits off into pairs, while you make no move to do anything, laying back on the armchair with your neck bent over the top, eyes closed against the white fluorescent lights.

"You know, frequent hyperextension of the neck can have negative effects on its structure and function," a familiar voice says from above you. "Around fifteen to twenty-five percent of North Americans experience lasting effects, such as chronic pain and nerve issues."

You peel your eyes open to find none other than the brilliant Spencer Reid standing over your head, dangling a key over your face, and just like that, all your apprehension melts away.

"Stop flirting with me, Spencer, it's incredibly unprofessional," you joke lightheartedly, a vibrant smile overtaking your face as you pluck the key from his fingers.

He doesn't seem to realize you're joking, though, because he immediately goes to defend himself, stuttering adorably and blushing firetruck red. "No, um, I wasn't — I would never flirt with you!" he tries to defend himself, only realizing a second later how it might've come off. "I-I mean I would, but that's not what I was trying to do."

You shake your head and laugh, standing from the armchair and threading your arm through his so you can lead him down the hallway towards the room you both would be staying in.

The room that was, technically, booked for only one person.

The room that only has one bed.

It's not like you don't want to share a bed with him, you're more worried that he might not want it, with his whole 'germ' thing. Not that he really seemed to care about that the other day, when he drank straight from your water bottle without a care in the world, then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd like," he offers quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

You immediately dismiss that idea, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spencer, that's not fair," you say quickly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "That is, as long as you're alright with me sleeping in my underwear, because I will be doing that."

Of course you're half-joking — if there's any indication that he's uncomfortable with that idea you'll just sleep in a t-shirt and shorts, it's just that you'd much rather not in this heat.

"N-no, no," he says, his voice pitched just a little too high. He's blushing from head to toe, you know that without even looking at him. "You can s-sleep in whatever you want to, I don't mind."

It's entirely unprofessional, you know that, but you really can't help it as you instantly begin tearing your sweat-drenched clothes from your body, tossing them around haphazardly until you're left in only your bra and underwear. You don't waste another second, flopping onto the bed, briefly stretching your limbs out, then rolling to one side.

It's a relief to be out of those clothes...

Only now do you realize that Spencer has not moved an inch from were he was standing when you initially asked the question, face bright red, breathing uneven as he tries desperately to keep his eyes from dipping from your face.

"Come on, I don't bite," you say quietly, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed, meanly deciding it would be funny to tease him, "not unless you ask very nicely."

Nervously, he drops his stuff beside the door and makes his way towards the bed, siting on the edge of his side. You're sure you can see him sneaking glances down at your chest every now and then, when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Who is he kidding? You're always paying attention to him, clinging onto every word he says like you'll die if you forget a single one.

"Come on, Spencer," you urge, "you've literally shared spit with me, don't get all shy now."

You're phrasing it that way as a joke, and you're sure he knows that.

But the next words that come out of his mouth leave you stunned, mouth dropped open and butterflies stampeding through your stomach, heart beating a million miles an hour.

You're not expecting something like this to come out of his mouth, really, but after his strange confidence the other day in drinking all your water and asking you out, you're not sure what to expect now.

"Can you please bite me, then?"

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore (Here) | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Posture (Inherited): You know that scene in every princess movie, where they're in training with books balanced atop their head? Walking in circles over and over to maintain perfect posture? Yeah. Just yeah. It's one of his more annoying habits, for sure.

"Any further and you will kiss the table. Right yourself this instant." <-If you so much as slouch like the gremlin he truly does love - he will straighten you himself.

Social Freedom (Inherited): You are....a wonderfully weird character. Even by Twisted Wonderland's standards. Vil loves bringing out the intricacies in people and blossoming them into perfection. His confidence oozes and bleeds. Which is why being near him makes doing the most spontaneous and crazy things easy. Especially when there's such fondness behind his 'scolding'. You won't be camera shy or just shy in general, that's for certain.

"I never thought fleeting liberty could be portrayed as elegant. Alas, I am still yet to be convinced otherwise - but it is a wonderful look on you. That was a compliment, my dear." <- Others look at Vil as someone without the ability to let loose. They're correct to an extent, yet it does come easier with you. The last person he expected such a thing from.

Healthy Eating (Inherited): Vil follows a strict dietary regimen - he won't subject you to it's itinerary to a T. However, he is going to give the snide eye if you don't get a side salad with that pizza. He'll often order on your behalf at eateries or when the team is taking meal orders on set. Never in an oppressive way, it's always things you like, but he is stubborn when it comes to nutritional gain. There lingers a deep rooted discomfort that you'll one day feel neglected in his absence. Even if Vil isn't home, expect those ready-made meal packages to be sent to the door. Vil is nothing if not attentive - that much is for certain.

Pagers and Beepers (Inherited): A bit old-school, but he carries one. Vil can't always drop everything to check on his phone. He also puts the addictive device away two hours before bed to ensure better sleep - what he does keep on at all times is a functioning pager. This is Vil's preferred communication device and he expects you to have it on your person at all times. Never miss a beep. Especially if he is out for long periods of time, or you're in a state he's fussing over (gods do NOT get sick. He will be an absolute mess).

*Bzz* 'Home Late. 10:00.' *Bzz* 'Come to studio. Wear Mask & Bring Downtime Material' *Bzz* 'Still Sick? Have You Eaten Yet?' *Bzz Bzz Bzz* 'Love you. Miss you.'

Skincare (Inherited): Vil's very pushy when it comes to personal care - Epel can 100% attest to this, and takes every chance to voice his grievances (when Vil is not near, of course. Somehow word always gets back though). While he runs a tight ship, he's very sweet and takes your preferences into consideration when making products.

"Come here. Ah...your cheeks are reddened. Sunburn is a very dangerous opponent this time of year. Tsk. I fault myself for not thinking ahead. You might survive the occasional visit in Scarabia, but the Shaftlands climate is unpredictable." <- Vil will gently graze your cheekbones, already thinking over what potency of sun cream he needs to make. Everyone is different, after all. He already makes your perfume, shampoo, lotions, and cosmetics all from scratch - although he does have a preference for when you wear notes of citrus. Bright scents and soft looks suit your character (and are reflective of the effect you have on him). Beauty is an art, and you are his most precious canvas.

Wet-Wipes (developed): Yes, he owns smudge-proof lipstick. Yes, he could choose to wear said lipstick...Vil does not, and thoroughly enjoys seeing whatever shade he picked out smeared on your cheeks or lips. It's a rare bit of selfishness to waste time re-applying it, but he gets a bit of pleasure watching you scrub frantically at it in the mirror. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

"Ahaha...oh? That look on your face is worth a bit of extra effort. I cannot expect to be rewarded without putting in the work, after all." <- It's a rare bit of unnecessary selfishness on his end. To waste his carefully crafted products, just to watch you scrub his mark off in the mirror. Not too frantic otherwise it'll earn a scolding...but he gets a brief twisted pleasure from it. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

Apologies(Developed): You...always have to initiate apologies. He's nothing sour or stubborn. Vil can admit his faults when exposed to constructive criticism, and he will work on them. Do not expect things like silent treatment to work, because he will not give in. He is stubbornly attentive, making sure your pettiness won't bleed into life. Makes sure you still share meals together, etc. He will NOT apologize first though.

Habits he steals:

Junk Food (Inherited): Just like he tries to heal your body, you'll try to heal his heart through soul food. It's a part of bonding, and contractual between partners. Is he really going to sit there empty handed while you gorge on candy hearts after a bad day? He better have at least one, or you won't tell him what's wrong. What about peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches?

"You truly are one stubborn creature. Is your stomach made of impenetrable steel?... *sigh* I will taste this concoction of yours, but never claim that I do not love you. If I break out in a rash then you will have far worse to fear beyond my potions" <- He'll be disgusted, but you insist he has to have at least one bite. Just for the cultural experience. If you drink his convoluted potions, then he needs to try your culinary concoctions. Secretly? It's a bit thrilling. You're so wonderfully novel that he can act out any role without thinking the character weird. He's got the biggest weirdo at home after all.

Paparazzi (Developed): Vil will take the blunt end of the media to keep you hidden. He has a private account for people close to him on all sites, and knows what tricks to use so images can't be reused. Like always wearing the same outfit when accompanying you to the gym. This way pictures can't be reused. As much as he encourages you to blossom from your shell, he's a cautious fellow. Not unfamiliar with how obsessive some fans can be. When you're alone, there's always a body guard. Yet unwilling to make you nervous, he arranges for a more...secretive approach.

" - and how was your outing today? Rook is exceedingly knowledgeable on the tourism in this town. I'm sorry we could not go shopping together, but you bought me a gift surely?...hah! I'm merely teasing. It's good to hear that you both had a fun time exploring" <- It's honestly just Rook. Always Rook until the end of time. He's the only one Vil would trust to either politely follow, or simply hang out with you. You're familiar with him, Vil knows there are no ulterior motives, and he's got a sharper eye than most.

Cuddling (Developed): It's scientifically proven that cuddling improves the quality of one's sleep, did ya know? Get in the bed. Now. Don't you want his affection? Hmph.

"Now, I know fully well that you have no intention to spend the night on the couch. I suggest you join me in the next five minutes, or I will take matters into my own hands."

Video Games (Inherited): Vil isn’t a stranger to them. Enjoys them from time to time but never too much because he’s so busy - but you introduced him to Dress to Impress and now he’s addicted. Not just that but he absolutely loves a good rpg. He does like to play with you - like in a co-op platformer, cozy game, or service - when able because it’s bonding time. Vil gets so invested in story lore and actively starts seeking roles in Live Action Adaptation films. Vil as Astarion when???

Thrifting (Inherited): There’s something magical about not knowing what you’re going to get. At first he was against it. You don't have to do that anymore, y'know. He can buy you new clothes if you need them. That is - until you take him through an upcycling market. Vil is used to his designer brands and high fashion - but when you’re able to see potential in something? Make it sparkle? He’s just a big slut for creativity, and I think he would love upcycling.

"My radiance touches all fronts - including my darling. How bold of you to insinuate anything but - No. How daring of you to suggest that adhering to anyone else's standards is worth my time." == Vil is happy to discuss your relationship if the topic is breeched politely during an interview. He isn't shy, neither does he approach anything with less than his best. That includes romance...but oh, hell hath no fury than a smitten Shoenheit scorned by an uncouth reporter. He can sense their attempts to doctor an interview for petty gossip a mile away. He is PROUD that you are learning from him, and views the changes you've brought to his life as improvements. Not lovelorn imperfections.

Habits You Steal

Locks (Developed): Rook is? Oh...okay, so your love's a bit of a prankster - or perhaps a thrill-seeker is more like it? He doesn't let life get too boring, that's for certain. Rook knows Ramshackle through and through. It's not uncommon to look out the window and see his feathered hat zip by in the woods, or through the garden. He does love playing his own version of 'where's waldo' - flickering about to and fro, weaving between the garden trellis and ducking behind trees. Just waiting for his amour to spot him from afar. He knows the layout too intimately - you fear. His habit of breaking and entering instills an anxiety over how unsecure Ramshackle truly is.

“BOO! Aha - desolé, mon coeur - I didn’t mean to startle you so. Consider this a lesson in spacial awareness! Mon dieu, there is a blatant gap in your dorm’s fencing just near the east! Wild beasts can break through and have you for supper. My poor heart will be shattered!” <- So yeah. He's all to happy to set up padlocks on the weak point windows, your fence, etc. He even encourages you to set up some traps yourself. It'll make those 'where's waldo' games more fun for him with new obstacles hehe.

The Nearest Exit (Inherited): Huntsman through and through - he's trained you well. You always sit by the nearest exit in class, closest to the door wherever you are.

Research (Inherited): While Rook is très passionné about fine arts, he's also fascinated with the unknowns in this world. What better club for the truly curious, than the science club? He adores bringing you in to join experiments, always questioning your perspective and letting you take the lead (when safe). It makes a routine procedure all the more interesting, watching what is familiar to him become novel through your eyes. It's like planting a rare seed for the first time, not knowing what will bloom. Akin to venturing within the barred sections of NRC's greenhouse, a thrilling adventure in the pursuit of knowledge. Alchemy becomes your best subject, you can recite the periodic table without need for mnemonics, and you breech the top five in your academic year. Crewel is thoroughly impressed. Good pup.

“Hm? Ah, how curious…there are 123 elements for study in this world, my dear assistant. Would you like to learn the song we teach young mages to memorize them? I will happily serenade you as we work. <- Yup. Twisted Wonderland has more elements than we do, since they’ve got magic resources. Sadly singing the Periodic Table Song won’t be useful. Well, it’s mostly useful still? Trey will actually kill you for teaching it to Rook though. Their mnemonic is much less fast paced and…less annoying. Yeah.

Fleurien (Inherited) : Is this truly shock to anyone? It's french in our world - so props if you already speak the language. Rook isn't fluent but he'd love to learn more. So ... either you use it more with him, or pick up a phrase or two here and there. It's scary as shit - by the way. Now Epel's got not one head popping up screeching "BONJOUR" but two. Don't get comfy because he's small - Rook might be quick enough to dodge a punch but you're one to many outbursts away from a broken nose.

Talking To Yourself (Developed) : Alright. Ace is officially convinced you're off your rocker and need to go visit the nurse. There's no way you know when Rook's skulking about - and if you did, why the heck are you talking to thin air? Just tell him to come out?...yeah, it's not uncommon to have a conversation with your 'boyfriend' when said man isn't visible to the naked eye. There are rumors you finally snapped, just so y'know. Rook physically had to go clear it up with Kalim before the sunshine child sent you on an all-paid tropical vacation to destress (Dammit Rook we were so close -)

“Mon cherie! You look positively radiant in the afternoon light! - ah. The answer is 27, adieu!” <- Call out any question on your Maths or Science homework to the barren sky, and an answer will sound from proximity unknown. The gods have answered your academic dilemma in the form of fleurian embellishments. No. Grim. You can’t just ask every problem - okay you might want to only do this when alone.

Compliments (Developed// Inherited) : Rook is a sweetheart. Maybe a bit of an acquired taste - but he always has something wonderful to say about everyone. No matter their faults...it's almost instinctual, the way you flip from boxed caution to returning his zeal with a genuine compliment. Each and every one. His reaction remains unique as well, he never grows accustomed to it. People groan at the 'shameless flirting' - only to blanch when Rook compliments them in turn, and you are so quick to back him up.

“Oh…mon amour, you never cease to surprise me.” <- Spoken with the most tender affection. Tips his hat to cover his blushing cheeks.

Habits he steals:

Surprises (Inherited): Rook often leaves little gifts and surprises for you to find - in a way he's testing himself, gauging your reactions and getting a spin of glee when you show him a new expression. A bouquet of fresh flowers (their meanings spelling a love letter), sweets from a far corner in the Shaftlands, poems hidden throughout your home in places he predicts you'll check, polaroids of sites across the Isle (urging you to find where for a surprise) etc. This actually started with you - knowing his love for the unknown, you wooed his heart by making little games for him. Not so much snooping into his affairs, but it was fun being under someone else's watchful eye. A bit clumsy but charming to have someone wanting to get the jump on him. Could he be considered prey, if he wanted to be caught?

Decor (Developed) : We've...we've all seen his bedroom, right? Now it isn't going to be the extent of Neige of Vil. Be this a concern or comfort to you? - it's subjective. He will preserve every little thing in regards to your relationship. That middle space above his bed? Cut a square right down the room's center, taking equal parts away from the Neige and Vil spitdown. Add some shelving, a few boxes under his bed and new linens...yup. Polaroids, mementos, paintings, love letters, mayhaps not a plush but if you consent to him having a tiny crochet doll or tsum of you then he will be thrilled. It's all there, right at the center of his organized chaos. He doesn't harbor the same feelings towards you as he does his idols, but that doesn't mean you're any less important.

Organization (Inherited): On that note, since Vil's your friend and the space can be a bit much? Rook will politely tone it down when you're over - flipping the posters and dolls if he's expecting a visit. It is wonderful that you accept his bonified fanboy behavior, but he concedes this much for your comfort.

“Ah…my limited edition Appleblossom-Vil sheets. I understand your discomfort my love, so I have graciously turned them into the perfect couch-cushion cover! Come and see how magnifique they match the drapes!” <-Again…compromise. You can’t even be put off with that level of creativity and excitement.

Freckles and Gloves (Developed): Stop. Covering. Your. Damn. Freckles !!!! This isn't about the hair. Believe it or not, his hair is cute and anyone who says otherwise can stfu because he likes it. If it's what he likes then it's what he likes. The freckles? You're slapping that damn bottle of concealer out of his hands. He'll wake up early to try and reapply it before you wake up. Nope. Nada. He cannot go preaching about the beauty of imperfections while still covering up what triggers the most extreme cute aggression known to man. You compliment every nick on his hands and forearms and wherever else, praise all the little freckles on his nose and cheeks until this man physically is sent to the moon and back from your passion.

“Aha! I am being assaulted by a ticklish foe! If my face is enough to elicit such sweetness from you, then I will certainly die the happiest man in this lifetime” <- He's never seen you so passionate about anything. it's enough to overwhelm him, in all honesty. Stops wearing the concealer most casual days, but won't concede his gloves. Might wear it on occasion to see if you notice (and get a bit of that fire in your eyes to come back).

Scrap Booking (Developed): Rook documents everything, why not keep a scrap book? You suggest the idea to him as a way to immortalize his findings without always needing some kind of trophy. Now he has a scrap book dedicated to literally everyone. Vil and Neige might have multiple…and at some point you have to wonder when it breeches scrap book criteria and just becomes a full detailing of his observations. It depends on how you feel about candid photos.

Newspaper Club (Inherited) : Oh yeah. Rook becomes an honorary member of the Newspaper club. He finds great thrill in trying to get those candid shots without being spotted by his targets <3. If he can help out his amour on his little escapades, then say no more. He's honored to be the only one allowed to use your ghost camera.

“Oh just look at that sunrise! It is the true embodiment of what our students stand for! To press through the darkness through tireless hours of study and labor - all to emerge in new dawn as promising mages! I must get the perfect shot for my darling’s club…non. A ground view will not do - to the skies!” <- He proceeds to break six rules, pilfer a broom from the Spelldrive team, get the photo and return to class without any evidence

-

“Oh mon dieu - how my heart soars! To be loved is to be seen, no? Ah, I could as for no greater compliment. Merci Beaucoup, mon amie!” == Others might make the comparison with scorn. Most find Rook’s mannerisms to be peculiar, some find him distasteful. He is merely an appreciator of beauty, and you are one of the most marvelous creatures he has ever set eyes on. In body and mind. It is an honor to be mimicked. To be loved is to be changed. If anyone holds a true appreciation for sharing habits, it is Rook Hunt. He detests others prying into his personal affairs…and yet, he finds himself willingly giving hints to you. Oho?

Habits you steal:

Dialect and Slang (Inherited) : The most obvious. You don’t spend hours upon hours with someone and not walk away without some of their lingo. Do you REALLY think he has the energy to maintain that primmed facade all the time? The moment it’s closed doors Epel lets loose like no one else on campus. The personality flip is insane. It’s like when you spend time in a foreign country and pick up a bit of their accent - but that southern drawl.

"I don' sound like that! Wait..." <- Slams his palm over Deuce's mouth when he and Ace were mimicking you who 'apparently' started to sound like a bumpkin. Doesn't help that Epel calls you a 'pumpkin' either....oh yeah, the teasing is relentless.

Survival (Inherited): Epel could get you off a stranded island with just a coconut, three sticks, and a rock. Not even exaggerating, he’s just that resourceful. Navigating through woodlands through any kind of weather, making deliveries across towns and encountering any spectacle the mind can trudge up? Yeah. Teaches a guy somethin’. He makes sure you don’t walk off the farm without a survival pack and even shows you how to tell time using the sky. If only he realized how attractive this sort of thing is.

Apples (Developed) : I sincerely hope you have a taste for apples and everything apple related. Epel will be carving away, picking the dud chunks with toothpicks and handing them off without a second thought. Who eats them? You. Also his family sends a care package at least once a month. Cider, pie, tarts, hell they somehow got apples in kugel? The others in your little possé help polish it off, but Epel’s family is so stoked that he has a partner. That Harveston event was a doozy, let me tell ya. A village full of elderly folks asking after you means you will never go hungry. Well…so long as you can survive on apples.

"You know...you kind of remind me of a McIntosh apple. Pretty sweet but also nice an' refreshing...a-ah? That was romantic? I was just thinking out loud but if you say so..."

Cold Tolerance (Developed) : Speaking of Harveston, did you know you got thirty-minutes? Oh yes, thirty minutes to run my friend. Just kidding. Don’t run. Not unless you want to see a sled coming at you in the distance at breakneck speed. Now that his family has a face to match their Epel’s sweetheart, you will always be expected to join him on trips home. They want pictures, updates, your measurements for new clothes and he better be sending notice so the guest room is made up. Epel will be sent right back to NRC if he ever comes back without you in tow. Congrats, you’ve been adopted. It’s chilly there but you get some hand-knitted mittens out of it. Epel is mortified but also so thankful he has someone to buffer the welcome-wagon with.

"Hey uhh...do you mind if we take a picture together? It's just for my mom's scrapbook. She's been asking for one 'a us together and I don' want to disappoint her....h-huh? What'ddya mean you already sent some?! When?!" <- You're writing to his family. Alright. He's totally not running through every embarrassing story his Meemaw or parents have in their arsenal...ah crap.

Cowboy Hat Rule (Developed) : One-hundred percent true across dimensions. You are NOT allowed to wear anyone else’s hat, ya got that? No one. Especially not no-one from the shaft-lands or the Savannah. Rook once offered you his brimmed-hat on a rainy day and Epel completely lost his mask for a moment. He quite literally yanked his jacket off and smothered your head with it, meeting Rook’s amused mirth with narrowed eyes. He didn’t care if Vil scolded him. That Hunt knew exactly what he was doing, ain’t Epel’s fault. Not this time, no way.

"A-a little water won't kill anyone! Let's just run for it!" <- Shoots a poorly-controlled glare as you both book-it to the nearest shelter. Rook's laughter was as boisterous as ever, always happy to push Epel's buttons.

Cat-Calls (Developed) : Assholes love to hit on Epel. The amount of times other students mistake him for a girl - man. Poor guy. It really peeves him off when it happens in front of you too. We’re talking veins popping out of his neck and red enough to rival Riddle on his worst days. What makes it worse is that you defend him. Ain’t it supposed to be the other way ‘round? On one hand he’s smug because you’re parading him like a prized trophy - hah! Look at that, ain’t he a catch? The high dies down a bit when the pursuer leaves. Then he gets sulky.

Heating Pack (Inherited) : Dear god farmlife is kicking your ass. Epel cackles and jokes at your suffering, but hauling those crates is no joke. Thank god he knows a remedy and lends you his heating pack every night. Some icy-hot on the joints, a foot bath for the ankles, and he might rub your shoulders if you ask nicely. He won’t admit to using the remedies himself, claiming they’re for his parents. He just wants to seem tough but you know better. Seven have mercy on your aching knees…there’s got to be a way to worm out of this.

There isn’t. You don’t work, you don’t eat. Haul ass dimension traveler.

"Howdy pumpkin, how're you holding up? Jeez, I warned you about lifting with your legs...nah, forget about it. Vil must be rubbing off on me with his scolding. Here's some hot chocolate to tide ya over until supper. Meemaw's got some herbal remedies lying around, want to give them a try?"

Habits he steals:

Thievery (Inherited): Goes in-hand with the care packages he's getting from home. Those are suppose to be FOR HIM, but you're sneaking all the good bits and leaving him with the barrels of apples. Get your own mail man...just kidding(-ish). He honestly is so glad to have some of the heat taken off his shoulders. Plus, you writing them means he gets a bit more freedom...but seriously. He has to keep stealing back the stuff you've pilfered. Sure he's getting an allowance, but c'mon. Half the stuff that gets sent are things from his room that he already owns, like clothes and his whittle knives...it was cool showing off his best stuff, until his parents sent over his baby album without saying nothing. He had to pry that out of your mitts and bury it under lock-and-key in his room.

"Son of a- Hey! The heck did I tell ya about stealin' my socks?! I know yous ain't that desperate! Go an' get et yer own already dammit!" <- Doesn't matter if he sends a letter back to his Meemaw, asking her to send some extra pairs of those fluffy slipper-socks. Maybe some stationary and a couple jars of jam that Grim'll just run through in a day. You're always fighting over stuff.

Delinquency (Inherited): You are literally Vil's worst enemy - undoing everything he's sought to instill. When Epel is with you, he reverts back to his most basic form. Aka. hunched over his carvings like a gremlin crescent, doing contortionist moves through the halls, sneaking cup-ramen at 2am just 'cause he's bored (Rook plays Hide 'n' Seek those nights, chasing ya through Pomefiore until you're back in Epel's room. Wanna eat? Gotta work for it) , and really the most unmannered bullshit possible. Spell Drive was his go-to outlet where he could get muddy and talk hot shit. Still is - what? You think the Savanaclaw students (70% of the team) are going to sit there and paint their nails? Nah, he's been initiated and all that. Had to show his muscle...but this is different. Vil's considered banning you from the dorm during important times like exams, parties, assemblies, etc. just to get some grounding. Doesn't work, since Epel will just sneak out. Riddle isn't the only one with crafty first-years looking to couch surf.

Malipulation (Inherited): Epel learns how you've managed to last this long in Twisted Wonderland with nothing but that pretty little brain under your belt. People are so quick to expect nothing from the Ramshackle prefect...and instead of proving them wrong, or getting heated? You let them think that way, because bad press was good press at NRC. Let them think you were a conniving, brown nosed kiss-ass who was getting it in with the dorm leaders. Let them think you were a walking sack of bad karma. Let them think whatever else - because those stereotypes are what's keeping you afloat.

"Ah - pardon me...I'll take that challenge on their behalf, if it's all right with you? Don't hold back on me now!.....ya pea-brained fucknugget." <- Epel twists this in his own way- aka. he starts using his pretty looks to his advantage. Let people think he's a weakling, so that when the time comes to prove himself he'll make a 180 change and give a big ol' can of whoopass. Your 'normie-ness' as Idia puts it, is your biggest weapon. Same for Epel's disarming visage.

Cologne (Developed): In an effort to be seen as more 'manly' in your eyes, Epel went down to the Isle shopping district and bought the most putrid smelling drugstore musk you can imagine. One whiff near-singed your nostril hairs off from how much he packed on...Vil did not approve, and gifted him a higher quality scent with notes of peppercorn and jasmine. You personally went and thanked Vil in secret - unable to tell Epel just how bad he smelled since he did it trying to impress you.

Lint Roller (Developed): Vil runs a tight ship - Epel's needs to get Grim's fur off of his uniform for every inspection or else he'll get his head chewed off. Especially if his dorm uniform gets dirtied.

Confidence (Developed): Stops masking his accent when with friends. Never had anyone cheering for him before. Like, really cheering for him. So you coming to his Spelldrive games is such a boost. Wears Ramshackle colors (bandanna and waist-flags) on his club uniform - Vil not mad bc Rook wouldn’t shut up about it being in the name of love -

"Woooo! Score! Blue must be my lucky color! Hahaha!" <- Epel always looks for you in the crowd. Luck isn't nothin' to do with it, but if wearing blue and white gets him playing better? The team isn't complaining.

Protective (Developed): Part insecurity, part him being a bit old-fashioned, part being sick of stereotypes against the underdog (aka. ya both), and part pure country-boy lovin'. He's not a raised gentleman like Riddle, doesn't know the ins and outs of 'romance' like Rook, honestly bro is fumbling half the time...but ain't no one seen Epel flair up like he does in your defense. No one can talk him down. On the protectiveness scale he would get 15/10, because there ain't many friends to make back at Harveston. Surely not anyone to love. He's got some good examples for how to treat a life-partner, and knows 13 different moves to dislocate different joints across the human body.

"Sure ya want ta go there, huh? Huh? Say that again to mah face. I'll put ya nose to the dirt so fast that filthy mouth'll o' yers will taste nothin' but soil fer weeks!" <- He'll do it too. His Meemaw trained him for more than just the Sledathon...nah, years of hauling crates built muscle. Back when he was still a first-year on the Spelldrive team, he'd get shit from his teammates while they 'tested' him. The worst mistake they made was coming for you though, even if it was a bit. Epel was full on ready to clobber a Cheetah-beastman twice his size, and if Jack hadn't stepped in...he probably would've, no mercy.

-

“That’s….that’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? Heh. Heheheh,” == Epel had to excuse himself to go giggle on his lonesome. Can’t have anyone see how happy that small comment just made him. You really love him that much? You respect him that much? He can’t begin to put two and two together - his heart was pounding like some lovesick ninny…oh. Oh hells. He is a lovesick ninny. Needless to say that Epel is absolutely riding a high for the rest of the day.

[chogiwow]

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

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

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k

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

a/n: dividing this into 2-3 parts bc tumblr fuck you and your 1000 blocks limit

one. 

you are not supposed to be here.

you have zero qualifications in astrophysics, no background in quantum mechanics, and absolutely no business being inside one of the country’s top space research facilities.

but you’re just a desperate graduate looking for a job.

when you applied for an assistant role at a science institute – thinking it would involve scheduling meetings, filing paperwork, maybe even making coffee – you did not expect to end up working under a literal genius.

seriously, you thought you’d be running small errands. and here’s the thing. you’re good at what you do, you’re good at the whole administerial part of the job. you’re needed to print copies of the meeting notes? done. you need to coordinate with the finance department because sunghoon somehow submitted last year’s budget instead of the current one? you already emailed them. jay forgot about an important board meeting? no, he didn’t. because you added three reminders to his calendar and physically dragged him out of the lab when he tried to pretend he had “urgent research” to finish.

you keep this place functioning, to whatever extent you can. you are efficient. you are essential. you are the one making sure the right documents reach the right people in the chaos that is everyday and the coffee machine’s up and functioning.

but the moment anyone in the lab starts talking about science stuff? you might as well be a hamster in a quantum mechanics lecture.

seriously. it’s like your brain just taps out.

you’ve been working here for months, and you still don’t know what these people actually do. you know it involves space and big words and a lot of coffee-fueled all-nighters. but the second someone starts explaining their research, it’s like you’re staring into the abyss.

you’re basically surrounded by insufferable nerds who talk about wormholes and black hole singularities like they’re discussing the weather. it’s like walking into a foreign country where the language is pure equations.

the worst part?

not all of them are entirely insufferable. some are just too passionate for their own good, their conversations looping endlessly in circles you can’t follow. if anything, you’re the fish out of water here.

take jay, for example. he’s not that bad. in fact, he’s one of those hot nerds who knows he’s hot – but doesn’t flaunt it. sure, he runs a hand through his hair a little too often when you’re around, throws you that lopsided smile when you hand out research papers you don’t understand, and occasionally offers you free coffee when you pass by his workstation.

but he’s also the guy with an endless arsenal of space puns and the world’s worst pick-up lines.

so yeah, not entirely insufferable.

sunghoon is more moody, more reserved, always hyper-focused on his work. he doesn’t bother with small talk, barely acknowledges your presence unless necessary, and when he does, it’s usually with a furrowed brow and a clipped “can you move?” when you accidentally block the whiteboard. he’s a bit of a jerk in your opinion, but jay seems to swear by him, assuring you that his friends have been literal losers since university, never even having dated anyone at all and that he just needs time to warm up to someone. you believe him because it's believable.

but leading this entire team of genius lunatics?

dr. jake sim.

jake sim is brilliant. annoyingly brilliant. the youngest astrophysicist to be leading major research on gravitational waves and exoplanets. the golden boy of the lab. the guy who talks about space-time distortions the way normal people talk about the weather.

jake sim is also hot – surprise (not really). he completes the trio of jay and sunghoon – the hot trio of the lab. everyone knows it. every assistant and secretary in the building has fun batting their eyes and twirling their hair at them. but while jay flirts back and sunghoon ignores it, jake… doesn’t even notice.

jake has a quiet, brooding edge to him. he always wears his glasses – except when he slides them off to rub a tired hand over his stupidly handsome face, his black hair somehow fluffy yet perfectly in place. you’ve often found yourself staring, wondering what kind of haircare routine produces that level of effortless perfection. (“papaya extract shampoo,” jay tells you later.)

even when he’s frowning, he looks like a lost puppy. he’s not intimidating per se, he’s just … not a very socially apt person you’ve met. and that’s saying something because the first month you joined, sunghoon avoided you like the plague. you thought you had done something to offend him but turns out, as jay informed you later, sunghoon’s just very awkward around new people.

jake sim is a genius. a literal, world-altering, lab-coated prodigy whose brain works at speeds the average person can’t even comprehend.

he is also, unfortunately, a menace to basic workplace efficiency. you’ve learned this the hard way.

because for all his brilliance, jake has zero awareness of his surroundings. he’ll abandon pens in entirely different departments, walk off mid-sentence because he’s already three equations ahead in his mind, and somehow exist in a state of constant near-calamity – like a human science experiment teetering on the edge of disaster.

which is where you come in.

you, the assistant who keeps his world running. the one who reminds him to eat. the one who nudges a coffee into his hands before he even realizes he needs it. the one who subtly rearranges his misplaced files, retrieves his lost stationery, and – on more than one occasion – has saved his life by yanking him out of the way of an incoming cart of hazardous materials.

you do all of this seamlessly. efficiently. and completely unnoticed.

because jake sim doesn’t know your name. not really.

you’re just the person who hands him reports and dodges his absentminded shoulder bumps in the hallway. the one he thanks without looking up, too engrossed in his work to register you as anything more than background noise.

which brings you to now.

standing outside his office, gripping a file filled with research you don’t understand, mentally preparing yourself to not make a fool of yourself this time.

you take a breath. knock. no answer.

you knock again. still nothing.

maybe he’s not here? maybe you can just leave the file on his desk and escape unnoticed—

the door suddenly swings open. and you immediately take a step back, startled.

jake blinks down at you, clearly pulled out of deep thought, his glasses slightly askew, lab coat unbuttoned.

he doesn’t say anything. just stares.

and for the first time, you’re really seeing him up close.

his sharp features. the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw from too many sleepless nights. the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.

yeah, this man has no business being this attractive.

you open your mouth, but words fail you.

jake glances at the file in your hands. then back at you.

“are you lost?”

what.

“no,” you say, straightening. “i—i work here.”

jake frowns, clearly trying to recall if he’s ever seen you before. he has not.

“…right.” his gaze flicks down to your name tag. “y/n.”

holy shit, it’s at this moment that you realise, this man has no idea who you are. he doesn’t know who his assistant is.

regardless, you nod, offering the file like it’s a peace offering. “dr. lee said to give this to you.”

jake takes the file from you, barely glancing at it before flipping through the pages. silence. you shift awkwardly, waiting for him to acknowledge your existence beyond just your name tag.

“this is wrong.”

…excuse me?

you blink. “what?”

jake flips the file around, showing you a page filled with numbers and diagrams that might as well be ancient hieroglyphics to you. “these calculations. they don’t match the expected parameters.”

your brain short-circuits. “uh… okay.”

jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “did dr. lee give this to you?”

“yes.”

“did you change anything?”

you gape at him. “do i look like i know how to change a single digit in that mess?”

jake finally looks at you properly, as if realizing you are, in fact, the last person who would alter high-level astrophysics data. then, to your absolute horror, he scoffs. somehow, that’s more insulting to you, the fact that he’s just now realising that you’re an assistant and not a fellow colleague or intern or junior. really, it was just a sign of realisation, but why did it piss you off?

“fair point.”

he steps back, gesturing for you to come in. “i need to cross-check this. you might as well wait.”

before you can protest, he’s already walked back to his desk, completely expecting you to follow.

here’s another thing about you. you’re efficient, yes. you keep the schedules running like a well-oiled machine. you manage people, deadlines, and occasional office chaos with ease. you have your occasional run-ins with the high tech coffee machine, but you compensate with the packets of instant mixes. you clock in and out of work on time, you don’t butt your nose where you’re not required. you sit quietly in those boring meetings, stifling your yawns but its not like many people notice you anyway. you are definitely efficient at what you do.

but you’re also... clumsy.

not in a way that actively disrupts work (you swear). just in a way that has you constantly bumping into desks, tripping over air, and somehow finding new, creative ways to spill coffee on yourself. you blame it on your flat feet – probably. but the truth is, you’ve simply made peace with your gravitational challenges.

it’s something that has plagued you since an early age where you’d be slipping off swing sets or bumping into tables or accidentally rubbing the eraser too hard across your notebook page, causing it to rip right through the middle. but it's alright, it’s not a life threatening… disorder, you’d suppose.

and for the most part, no one notices.

except that one time jay did when you tripped over a computer wire. he snickered so loud, half the office turned to stare at him. you ran away in a blushing mess before he could turn it into a full roast session.

you're standing in jake sim’s office with the hesitation of someone who just walked into an active minefield. but it’s always this way when you need to go into his office.

his office is… exactly the way you had seen it in your initial days of work.

not in the normal executive kind of way – no sleek, intimidating decor, no minimalist furniture that screams i’m too rich to function. no, jake’s office is chaos disguised as a workspace.

the walls are lined with whiteboards covered in scribbled equations – formulas, diagrams, and the kind of notes that make your brain hurt just looking at them. books are stacked in precarious towers, some open, some closed, all of them filled with words and symbols that might as well be hieroglyphics. a crumpled hoodie is draped over the back of his chair, and an abandoned coffee cup sits dangerously close to the edge of his desk, a faint ring staining the surface underneath.

there’s a rhythm to the disorder, though – like his mind works too fast for his space to keep up. you’ve known jake to be someone who knows exactly what he is doing and you have no doubt this is all just an organised mess to him. he’d probably be able to tell you in alphabetical order where all his things were. you knew the moment you saw him maneuvering himself through this trash pile of a room with the ease of a cat, that he knew exactly where everything was.

but you did your part as a good assistant and helped clean up his desk once in a while. nothing much, just stacking the reports in different piles, labelled ‘to be read’ or ‘needs review’ with coloured sticky notes for his sake, making sure his pen stand has a decent amount of working pens and sharpened pencils, bookmarking pages of books he left open on his table and stacking them in another corner of the desk, making sure the dust is cleaned off and no stains of coffee cups remain on his workspace.

it smells faintly of coffee, whiteboard markers, and something else – something subtly clean, like fresh laundry, though you doubt he even has time for things like that.

and in the middle of it all is jake sim himself, hunched over his desk, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he scans a file with sharp, calculating eyes. he absently pushes his glasses back up, muttering something under his breath.

you catch the words “data inconsistencies.”

you have no idea what’s wrong with the numbers on the page, but based on his frown, they seem to have personally offended him.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to focus on the dim office lighting casting soft shadows over his face.

which, objectively speaking, is unfairly attractive.

in that disheveled genius way – like he hasn’t slept in days but could still win a magazine cover shoot by accident.

not that you care. obviously. you’re just here to do your job. your very normal, very non-physics-related job.

and then, in true you fashion – disaster strikes.

it happens fast. one second, you’re standing still, being the picture of professionalism. the next, your foot catches on something – probably your own dignity – and suddenly, the ground is rushing up to meet you at an alarming speed.

you don’t even have time to process your impending doom before a firm hand catches your wrist, steadying you just before you faceplant into the floor.

for a brief, shocking moment, you’re pressed against jake sim’s side, gripping his arm as if your life depends on it.

because it does.

you look up – eyes wide, breath caught – and find him staring down at you, completely unfazed, those damn glasses of his slightly crooked over his nose bridge. his grip is steady, warm, but impersonal – like he just reacted on instinct before immediately moving on.

and then — "dark matter interactions shouldn’t be this inconsistent," he mutters, releasing you as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience.

you just nearly wiped out in his office, and he’s already back to contemplating the mysteries of the universe?!

you gape at him as he casually flips a page, frowning at the numbers again, like he hadn’t just saved you from a mild concussion.

"uh—thanks?" you manage, still trying to steady your heartbeat.

jake hums in response, not even looking up. "watch your step next time."

unbelievable. it’s official.

this man has zero self-awareness.

two.

jake swears on his life he had kept the papers on the ‘dark energy survey’ report on his desk last night before he left.

yet, as he stands in his office now, staring at the very-much-empty surface where they should be, his jaw tightens.

he exhales through his nose. okay. no need to panic. maybe they got buried under the mess.

he starts shifting through the stacks of books and scattered notes, moving one pile to another area of controlled chaos. but the more he looks, the more it becomes evident – those papers are gone.  

and he needs them. now.

biting his cheeks, he squats on the floor, peering under his desk but nothing. not the report he was looking for. maybe he kept it somewhere else, somewhere away from the mess on his desk just to be sure that they were in a more accessible place. but where? there’s not a single nook and cranny in his room that could possibly meet that standard, it’s all just piles of papers and charts and books.

his desk drawer?

a quick survey of that yields nothing but two dried up pens, some loose sheets he had scribbled rough calculations on and an empty paper cup.

fuck, where the hell did he put that report?

with a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his already-messy hair, striding across to the middle of his room and casting a wary glance all around. a muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares at the scattered disaster zone that is his office.

he has checked everywhere – under the desk, between stacks of papers, in his desk drawer (twice), even inside an old laptop case for some godforsaken reason.

nothing.

this doesn’t make sense. he left it right here – unless he didn’t.

he presses his palms against the desk, eyes squeezing shut for a second. he’s tired. maybe he just—

"are you okay, or are you plotting an intergalactic war?"

jake's head snaps up.

you stand at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows quirked in amusement. you’re holding a different set of documents, clearly in the middle of your usual rounds, but now you’re just watching him suffer.

"i’m fine," he says flatly.

"uh-huh. that’s why you look like you want to launch yourself into a black hole."

jake pinches the bridge of his nose. "i lost something." he’s seen you before, weren’t you the person from yesterday? the one who tripped over air?

you hum, stepping inside. "what?"

“the dark energy survey report.”

at that, you pause. a flicker of something crosses your face, like you’re remembering something.

jake notices. “what?”

“nothing,” you say automatically. then, a second later, “wait. you’re sure you left it on your desk?”

“yes.”

“you’re sure sure?”

jake glares. “i don’t say things i’m not sure about.”

you give him a look, like you find that highly debatable, but instead of arguing, you shift the documents in your hands and tilt your head in thought.

"because," you start, "i came in yesterday to drop off a memo from dr. lee, and i remember seeing your desk. it was already a disaster zone, but i don’t think that report was there."

jake frowns. "that’s impossible. i was working on it last night—"

and then it clicks.

his expression shifts, frustration turning into something more like realization.

“oh,” he says.

“oh?” you echo.

jake straightens, rubbing his jaw. he had been talking to jay and sunghoon about data discrepancies in the report yesterday. they had moved to the adjacent lab to compare notes on a new simulation model—

shit.

"i think i left it in lab c," jake sighs, already making a beeline for the door. "i took it with me while discussing—"

"—dark matter inconsistencies, right?" you finish dryly, following him out.

jake doesn’t acknowledge that. but you’re right.

as jake strides toward lab c with you trailing behind him, you take a moment to process the absurdity of this situation.

you are an administrative assistant. your job is to schedule meetings, file reports, and occasionally wrestle the coffee machine into submission.

yet, here you are, following the lab's star astrophysicist on a quest for lost paperwork like you’re in some sort of intergalactic treasure hunt.

lab c is as chaotic as you expect it to be. desks cluttered with scattered notes, half-drunk coffee cups balancing precariously on top of stacks of journals, whiteboards filled with scribbles that look more like encrypted messages from an alien race than anything remotely comprehensible.

jake wastes no time. he scans the room, eyes sharp, movements precise. you, on the other hand, stand uselessly by the door, because let’s be honest – you wouldn’t even know what the report looks like if it smacked you in the face.

he mutters under his breath as he sifts through a pile of books, pushing aside a crumpled hoodie and a few loose sheets. “it should be here…”

“you know, for a genius, you’re pretty bad at keeping track of your own stuff.”

jake shoots you a look. “i have a system.”

you snort. “a system of losing things?”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response. instead, he bends down, checking under a table. you take this as an opportunity to glance around the lab, pretending like you’re helping even though you don’t know what you’re looking for.

then you spot it. a thick, spiral-bound stack of papers shoved to the very edge of a side desk, partially covered by a takeout container.

“uh… dr. sim?”

“what?” he asks, voice distracted as he pulls open a drawer.

you point. “is that it?”

jake follows your gaze, and for a second, he just stares.

then, with a slow exhale, he walks over, picks up the report, and flips through the pages.

“…yeah.” he sighs, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “this is it.”

you cross your arms, grinning. “you’re welcome.”

he glances at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “you didn’t actually do anything.”

“excuse me? i found it.”

jake shakes his head, turning his attention back to the report. “if you weren’t distracting me, i would’ve found it faster.”

your mouth falls open. “oh, i’m sorry – who was about to tear his entire office apart thinking it had magically disappeared?”

jake ignores you, already skimming through the contents like the numbers and graphs hold the secrets of the universe.

you roll your eyes. this man is impossible.

and it's a fact you make known very clearly when you’re in the break room, muttering under your breath about how a simple thanks would have sufficed, but no, jake sim is a dumbass with his head up his–

“woah, woah y/n, you know you don’t really mean that,” jay interrupts your rant with a smile that shows that he’s clearly enjoying this, “what did the man ever do to you?”

what did he do to you?

“well for one, he didn’t even know i existed until yesterday–”

“give him a break, he’d probably forget his own name with all the things that go around in that brain of his.”

“–and then he scoffed at me when he realised i’m just an assistant–”

“i don’t think he meant any offense.”

“and then today, he didn’t remember me of course and when i helped him find that damn report he didn’t even thank me!”

jay lets out a small laugh. “he was probably just too relieved that he found it. he’s been stressing over that for a while.”

you squint at him. “what are you, his boyfriend?”

your pout is completely involuntary, but jay, the traitor, just smirks knowingly.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly holding back laughter. “not yet. but hey, if he keeps ignoring you like this, i might have a chance.”

you groan, dramatically flopping onto one of the break room chairs. “i swear i’m going to lose my mind!”

jay snickers, settling into the chair across from you. “you’re being a little dramatic.”

“oh, am i?” you lean forward, eyes narrowing. “because i don’t think i am. i think this is a completely rational response to being treated like a piece of office furniture.”

jay bites back a smile. “so you’re saying jake treats you like… a chair?”

“no! worse! at least a chair gets sat on – it has a purpose!” you throw your hands up. “i’m like… i’m like an extra paperclip. you know? just there, completely overlooked, until one day he might need me for something and then immediately forgets i exist again.”

jay blinks. “that is… oddly specific.”

“because it’s true!” you shoot up from your seat, now fully committed to the metaphor.

jay opens his mouth, but you’re already spiraling.

“three months – that’s how long i’ve been working here as his assistant, but he didn’t even know my name!” you don’t why it bothers you, you didn’t expect everyone to know your name here, but that damn jake sim just… got on your nerves for some reason.

“last week, when he bumped into me in the hallway. i swear, jay, i could have been a ghost. no ‘excuse me,’ no ‘oh, my bad,’ nothing! i could’ve been a gust of wind for all he cared.” you throw up air quotes. “just a mild inconvenience in his trajectory.”

jay hums. “maybe he just didn’t see you—”

“i was wearing a bright red sweater, jay.”

jay coughs to hide a laugh. “okay, fair.”

“oh, and this morning? i held the elevator door open for him. you know what he did? he walked in, pulled out his phone, and scrolled on it the entire time like i was the automatic door button.” you gasp. “oh my god, i’m not even a paperclip. i’m a goddamn elevator button – just pressed when needed and ignored otherwise.”

at this, jay actually doubles over laughing, wiping at his eyes. “y/n, i’m begging you, please breathe.”

you exhale sharply, arms crossed, foot tapping against the floor. “i refuse.”

jay grins. “so you’re telling me you’re this upset because he, what, didn’t grovel at your feet for holding a door open?”

you scoff. “i’m not asking for groveling! i’m asking for basic human decency! a thank you! a nod! a brief moment of eye contact! something to prove that i’m not just an inanimate object in his world! to at least memorize his own goddamn assistant’s name!”

jay leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “so basically… you want him to notice you.”

you freeze.

jay’s smirk deepens. “ohhh.”

“no.” you point a warning finger at him. “don’t even go there.”

“but we’re already here.” he has a shit eating grin on his face which you want to slap off, “why is this bothering you so much? i swear i can’t remember you being this antsy when sunghoon avoided you in your first month.”

you scoff at that, a dry laugh following.

why? because you’re his goddamn assistant, not sunghoon’s.

“okay, what about last month? he walked into the office looking like a lost child because he forgot his laptop charger. guess who lent him one?”

jay winces. “you?”

“yes! and do you know what he said to me? ‘oh, you have one? cool, thanks, man.’ ” you pause, scowling. “man, jay. man.”

jay laughs. “okay, that’s a little rough.”

“i’m not done.” you hold up a finger, eyes ablaze. “lunch break. he was on the phone, right? kept checking his watch like he was late for something, totally zoned out. he dropped his damn wallet right in front of my salad.”

jay whistles. “and let me guess…?”

“i picked it up, ran down four flights of stairs because the elevator was taking too long, found him outside, and handed it to him before he even realized it was gone.” you cross your arms. “do you think he looked at me? do you think he was even the slightest bit aware that he nearly walked into financial ruin?”

jay grins. “what did he say?”

you deepen your voice in the best jake impression you can manage. “‘oh, sick, thanks, dude.’ ” you slap your hands on the table. “dude.”

jay is fully laughing now, shaking his head. “wow. okay. that is… a lot.”

“right?” you throw yourself back into the chair, hands dramatically covering your face. “i’m literally the human equivalent of an undo button. always there, fixing things, never noticed. just a—”

“a paperclip?”

“exactly!”

jay smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “you could just stop helping him, you know.”

you scoff. “and let him walk around with a dead laptop, no lunch money, and a general lack of survival skills? please. he’d die within the week.”

jay snickers. “so you want to help him?”

“no, i just…” you hesitate, glaring at the table. “it’s not fair that he gets to be so careless and people like me have to pick up after him.”

jay tilts his head. “people like you?”

“people who actually pay attention,” you mutter, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “it’s so easy for him, you know? he gets to waltz through life, forgetting names, misplacing things, just… assuming everything will work out for him. and the worst part? he’s right. because someone like me is always there to make sure it does.”

jay watches you quietly for a second. “y/n…”

you shake your head, standing up and grabbing your coffee. “whatever. it’s fine. it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.” you glance at jay. “and no, before you say it, it’s not because i want him to notice me. it’s just…” you sigh. “it’d be nice to feel like i exist.”

jay gives you a knowing look but doesn’t push further. “well. if it makes you feel better, i notice you.”

you snort. “wow. how reassuring.”

but even as you joke, there’s a tiny, sinking feeling in your chest.

because deep down, you know – jake sim will never notice you the way you want him to.

okay, now that shouldn't be a problem. because the way you put it, anyone would conclude you have a thing for him, but that’s not it. because you don’t mention to jay how when you were just a week into the new job, you had spilled coffee all over yourself, and jake sim had been the one to hand you the spare hoodie in his arm.

it had smelled like laundry detergent and something vaguely citrusy. clean. warm.

you don’t tell jay how, back then, you had hesitated before taking it, surprised that the lab’s most brilliant astrophysicist had even noticed your minor catastrophe.

“here,” he had said, casual, like it was nothing. like it was just a reflex.

and maybe it had been.

because when you had stammered out a “thank you,” jake had already turned away, scrolling through his phone.

like you weren’t even there.

like handing a coffee-stained assistant his hoodie was just another thing on his long list of unconscious habits – like losing reports, misplacing wallets, or forgetting names.

just another thing he would never think about again.

and you? you had worn that hoodie for the rest of the day. then, after work, you had folded it neatly, walked up to him in the break room, and said, “hey, thanks again for this.”

and he had blinked at you. blinked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“oh,” he had said after a beat, glancing at the hoodie in your hands. “right. cool.”

that was the first time you had felt it – the quiet, sinking realization that in jake sim’s world, you were just… background noise.

that was three months ago.

now, you’re still here, still stuck in the same loop, orbiting his chaotic existence like some unnoticed planetary body, pulled in by the sheer force of his gravitational field but never quite seen.

and it’s exhausting.

you sigh, dragging a hand down your face. jay is still watching you, amused but not unkind. “are you done spiraling?”

you groan. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you glare. “no, but i might start.”

jay snickers, pushing his coffee toward you like some sort of peace offering. “here. take a sip before you actually implode.”

you roll your eyes but take it anyway, muttering under your breath.

jay grins. “so, what’s the plan?”

you blink. “plan?”

“yeah.” he leans back, crossing his arms. “clearly, you’re at your limit. are you going to keep playing office paperclip, or are you finally going to make jake sim realize you exist?”

you scoff, your eyes narrowing. “and why would i need to do that?”

jay hums, tilting his head like he’s studying you under a microscope. “y’know… i think this might be deeper than just wanting to be ‘noticed.’”

you narrow your eyes. “the hell does that mean?”

he taps his chin. “i mean, it’s kinda funny, isn’t it? how personally you take this?”

you scoff. “i do not take it personally.”

jay gives you a look. “right. which is why you’re two seconds away from stabbing a straw through that coffee cup.”

you immediately release your grip, only to cross your arms instead. “i just think it’s rude, that’s all. i do so much for him, and he doesn’t even know my name? it’s basic decency.”

jay nods, way too agreeable. “mhm. basic decency. has nothing to do with, say… i don’t know… a deep-seated need for validation?”

your jaw drops. “excuse me?”

“or,” he continues, as if he didn’t just hit you with psychological warfare over morning coffee, “maybe even something more?”

you blink. “more?”

jay grins like he’s just won the lottery. “yeah. like romantic feelings.”

you almost choke. “i—what—no—”

jay shrugs. “i mean, it would explain a lot.”

“oh, shut up.”

“i’m serious! if this were just about office politics, you’d be annoyed for, like, a day. maybe a week. but this?” he gestures vaguely at your entire existence. “this is an obsession.”

you point a finger at him. “i hate you.”

he smirks. “no, you don’t.”

you take a deep breath, trying not to lose your mind. “for the last time, jay, i do not like jake sim.”

jay leans forward, smirking. “then prove it.”

you blink. “what?”

“prove it,” he repeats. “if this really isn’t about your feelings, then let’s run an experiment. let’s make jake see you.”

of course the scientist proposes an experiment; you roll your eyes. “that doesn’t prove anything.”

“it proves everything,” he counters. “because if you really don’t care, then it shouldn’t matter how he reacts.” he tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “right?”

you hesitate.

jay takes that as his victory. “great! i’ll draft a game plan.”

“wait—”

too late. jay is already pulling out his phone, typing something with way too much enthusiasm.

you exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. this is a terrible idea.

but the thing is… you do want jake to see you. even if it’s just to prove – to yourself – that you don’t care.

right?

three.

you know, you don’t think you entirely mind that jake doesn’t know your name yet. you don’t think you would have cared so much. but then, once in a while, you’d catch him having lunch with jay and sunghoon and actually laughing – an act that makes him look younger than he is – a charming smile settling on his lips or chatting with a fellow colleague who he calls by their last name and it makes you realise that you’re probably not as important to him as these people are.

like, come on, he brushes shoulders with the top scientists of your country while you’re here, sitting behind a reception desk, manning phone calls and printing reports. of course he doesn’t care about you or your existence as a whole. but then it’s small things he does like thanking you absentmindedly when you hand him a report, not even sparing you a glance as he flips through the pages.

or humming under his breath when he passes by your desk, like he’s so comfortable in the space that he doesn’t even realize you’re there, like you’re just part of the background noise.

it’s never outright cruel. never intentional.

it’s just that jake sim, in all his effortless brilliance, has never had to make space for people like you.

and why would he? you’re not on his level. you never have been. you bet if you disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t even notice.

the world would keep spinning, jake sim would keep working, and someone else would take over the dull, insignificant tasks you do every day. your existence in his orbit is incidental – a means to an end, a faceless cog in the well-oiled machine of his career.

and yet, you notice him. even when you don’t mean to. even when you don’t want to.

you notice the way his sleeves are always rolled up to his elbows, his watch gleaming against his skin. the way his brows pinch together when he’s deep in thought, or how his hair falls into his eyes when he’s exhausted, too overworked to care.

you notice the way he speaks – smooth, confident, magnetic – and how everyone around him seems to hang onto every word like it’s gospel.

you notice the way he never fumbles. never hesitates. never second-guesses himself.

because that’s just the kind of person jake sim is.

and you – you are just the kind of person who will never be enough to matter to someone like him. but then he does things that make you doubt your reservations about him.

like, there was the elevator incident.

you were balancing a precarious stack of documents when you rushed to catch the closing doors, only to wince when they slid shut right before you got there. you sighed, shifting your grip on the papers, when you suddenly heard a soft ding – the doors sliding back open.

jake was inside, one hand on the door button, barely sparing you a glance as he scrolled through something on his phone.

you stepped in, mumbling a quiet, “thanks.”

he hummed in response. nothing more. no conversation. no recognition. just the soft whirring of the elevator and the occasional sound of him scrolling.

it was so small. so insignificant.

but you still felt yourself standing just a little straighter, just a little warmer, for the rest of the day.

and then, there was the pen.

you weren’t even sure when it started, but at some point, you began keeping track.

jake had this habit – whenever he borrowed a pen, he never returned it to the original spot. he didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it, always too focused on whatever was in front of him to realize he’d left the pen somewhere completely different.

so, naturally, you started leaving extras.

just subtle little things – placing an extra pen near his usual meeting spots, sliding one closer to him during group discussions when you were pretending to sort paperwork nearby. you never expected him to notice. you weren’t even sure why you did it.

until one afternoon, when you sat at your desk, rummaging through your drawers, only to realize you’d somehow misplaced your pen. you sighed, about to get up for a new one, when something was set down beside your elbow.

a pen.

you looked up, startled.

jake was already walking away. didn’t even spare you a glance, his attention on the tablet in his hands.

you stared after him, the pen warm from his hold, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.

it was probably nothing. probably just a reflex.

but you still use that pen for the next two weeks straight.

then there was the tripping incident.

now, it’s established that you can be clumsy, not dramatically so – no full-on disaster movie falls – but you do have a tendency to bump into things. desks, chairs, open cabinet doors that definitely weren’t open when you last checked.

and, of course, corners. corners were your worst enemy.

one day, you were hurrying through the hallway, files stacked high in your arms, when – bam. your hip slammed into the sharp edge of a desk, hard enough to make you wince. the papers wobbled dangerously in your grip, and you cursed under your breath, already anticipating the bruise that was definitely going to form.

you didn’t think anyone noticed.

but the next morning, when you walked into the office, there was a strip of foam padding stuck neatly along the desk corner.

your brows furrowed.

it was subtle – so subtle that if you weren’t you, if you weren’t someone with a running list of all the places in this office that had betrayed you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

but you did.

and later that day, when you caught jake in the break room, he was patting the foam as if ensuring it was stuck on there properly, absentmindedly nodding to himself as if he had confirmed what he was inspecting, then promptly left without sparing you a second glance.

you didn’t say anything.

didn’t bring it up.

but as you passed by the desk, running your fingers over the softened edge, something in your chest ached. just a little.

so jake sim did notice you – but not as an individual, just someone he thought might be having a hard time and because he is kind, he did what he could. it didn’t matter who the recipient of his good intentions was.

hence, you do what a good assistant does. because at the end of the day, you’ve seen jake work – you’ve seen the passion he pours into it.

so if he forgets to eat, you quietly step away from your desk, heat up the extra sandwich you packed for him from the cafeteria, and place it on his cluttered desk, clearing a small space first. a gentle knock on the wood to get his attention, a silent reminder to eat.

if he’s scribbling on the backs of old reports, running low on notebooks and clean sheets, you take a trip down to inventory, restocking his supplies, stacking them neatly within reach.

if his desk is drowning in coffee cups and crumpled post-its, you quietly dispose of the trash, leaving only the essentials behind – his laptop, his research papers, the single pen he never seems to lose (because you always make sure it’s there).

if he forgets where he placed his whiteboard markers, you don’t say anything – you just pull a fresh set from your drawer and slide them onto his desk before he even notices they were missing.

you’ve just been there, silently observing and noting things – like the way his brows knit together in deep concentration, or how he absently chews on the cap of his pen when he’s stuck on a problem. how he spaces out sometimes, staring at the whiteboard like it holds the answers to the universe itself, only to snap back to reality when you clear your throat to get his attention.

you know that he prefers black coffee in the morning but switches to tea in the late afternoon. that he always loses his glasses, only to find them perched on top of his head. that he hums under his breath when he’s deep in thought, a quiet melody that never quite forms into a song.

you notice everything, because that’s just what a good assistant does.

and that, apparently, is a problem. or so jay states. hence, the first step in jay’s ‘game plan’? make jake feel your absence.

“you’re too available,” jay had said, stirring his coffee with a smug little smirk. “jake doesn’t notice you because you make his life too easy. you’re like air – essential but invisible. so what happens when air gets sucked out of a room?”

“…people die?”

jay gave you a flat look. “no, they panic.”

and so, the plan began.

it’s such a tiny step, but it bothers you nonetheless because not only would this be disrupting jake’s routine, it’d be disrupting your perfect track record of a ‘good’ assistant.

but jay somehow manages to convince you. and you like the utter fool you are, give in, because hey… maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to disprove jay’s theory of your alleged feelings for jake. the need for validation? yeah, we’ll talk about that later.

today is the day you start, and you start small. it’s the little changes that usually go unnoticed.

you don’t remind jake about his 10 am meeting.

it’s a minor detail, barely even a test, because technically speaking, it’s not your job to remind him – it’s just something you’ve always done, anticipating his tendencies to get lost in his work. normally, you’d give him a heads-up around 9:50 am, watching as he’d nod absentmindedly, only to scramble up five minutes later when he finally processed your words.

today? radio silence.

at 10:07 am, sunghoon enters the meeting and frowns.

“where’s jake?” he turns to jay. his friend shrugs but hides the smile behind his cup of coffee.

meanwhile you’re glancing sneakily at jake’s door, slightly ajar and you can see him engrossed in something. your eyes glance at the time; 10:07 am. fuck, what if actually forgets he has a meeting? should you do something? is this going too far?

but you don’t have to worry because a few minutes later, there’s a thud, followed by a rushed shit, and then, a disheveled jake sim barrels past your desk, tablet clutched to his chest, hair a little messy from how he clearly just ran a hand through it in frustration.

his eyes flicker to you – just for a second. you’ve already gone back to pretending to be very busy typing nonsense into an email draft.

it works. he huffs under his breath and rushes to the meeting.

okay you should feel awful, but then you catch the tail end of jake’s coat disappearing behind the lift door and you can’t help the snicker that leaves your lips. surely, nothing could go wrong, right?

there’s one person who seems to be enjoying this more than you though: jay is having the time of his life.

like, actually. he hasn't had this much fun since the last office christmas party, when someone spiked the punch and sunghoon tried to fight the vending machine.

because watching jake sim fall apart over the smallest inconveniences? absolutely hilarious.

the moment you agreed to his plan, jay knew it would be gold. but even he underestimated just how much of jake’s daily functioning depended on you. it’s like watching a toddler suddenly realize their velcro shoes don’t tie themselves.

jake doesn’t realize something is wrong at first.

he barely makes it to his chair before the department head gives him a pointed look.

“you’re late.”

“i—uh—” jake swallows, trying to catch his breath. his tablet is still locked, his notes are disorganized, and when he flips open the file he brought, it’s yesterday’s report.

shit.

“right. sorry.” he forces a sheepish smile, scrambling to pull up the right document. across the table, jay lazily spins a pen between his fingers, watching with barely concealed amusement.

jake barely registers it – he’s too busy trying to recover. it’s fine. he’s got this.

except… something about this morning feels off.

and not in the way most of his chaotic mornings do. he just doesn’t know why. he just assumes his morning is…off. which, fine, it happens. he’s had late nights before, maybe he’s just tired.

jay had told you this would work.

in fact, he was so confident in his plan that he even grabbed a front-row seat to witness the destruction firsthand (he was already attending this meeting, but the man likes to gloat sometimes.)

and man – jake does not disappoint.

from the moment the meeting starts, jay knows this is going to be good.

jake looks off. nothing too obvious – just little things, things that someone like jay (who has spent years around him) can pick up on. the slight furrow of his brow. the way he keeps adjusting his notes, like something feels wrong but he can’t quite place why.

and then – the moment of realization.

jay almost chokes on his coffee when jake subtly pats his pockets, confusion flickering across his face.

oh, here we go.

he watches, barely holding in his laughter, as jake double checks – where, usually, there would be a pen. his pen. the one that miraculously appears every time he loses it, as if the universe itself conspires to keep him functional.

except today?

the universe (or rather, you) has left him to suffer.

jake blinks. blinks again. then, with the air of a man experiencing an existential crisis, slowly reaches for sunghoon’s pen instead.

sunghoon, understandably, looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

jay snickers and grabs his phone.

jay park [10:14 am]: what did u doooo jay park [10:14 am]: he looks like a lost puppy rn lmfao jay park [10:15 am]: deadass just patted his pockets like he was expecting something to magically appear there?? 

he glances up again, and – oh god, jake’s still buffering. he’s not even listening anymore, just staring at the table like it personally offended him.

all this over a pen? damn, maybe you were underestimating yourself, jay thinks, because there is no way you were just a paperclip, not if jake’s been this dependent on you.

jay is loving this.

four.

jake doesn’t notice things. not in the way people expect him to.

he notices equations. the subtle patterns in star systems. the way gravitational forces interact in ways most people don’t care to understand. his mind is built for that – patterns, logic, science.

but people? not so much.

back in university, he was dubbed a genius. a prodigy in astrophysics. someone who could map out entire celestial mechanics in his head but would somehow still forget his own birthday if no one reminded him.

the way jake relies on logic, structure, and predictability – because it’s safe. because he understands it. because people? people don’t make sense. they’re inconsistent. they leave. they change their minds. they say one thing and mean another.

but science? science is constant. a star will always burn out the same way under the same conditions. a planet will always follow its orbit. gravity will always exist.

as a kid, he preferred numbers over words, equations over feelings. when the other kids ran around the playground, playing tag or arguing over who was “it,” jake was perfectly content with his space books, tracing the orbits of planets with his fingers, memorizing the speed of light just because he could.

he learned early on that he wasn’t good at reading between the lines. that when someone said ‘i’m fine’, they didn’t always mean it. that people expected you to just know when they needed something, when they wanted comfort, when they wanted you.

jake never knew. so he stopped trying.

science was easier. there was no guesswork, no hidden meanings. an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. simple. predictable. the universe followed rules, and if jake studied hard enough, he could understand them. he could map them out, make sense of them, never be caught off guard.

but people? people made no sense at all.

and maybe that’s why, when he gets to work and sees that his desk is missing something so stupidly small – a cup of coffee, nothing more – he feels a flicker of something he doesn’t like.

a glitch in the system.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. it’s coffee. he can make it himself. he’s a grown adult with multiple degrees. a missing cup of caffeine should not throw him off.

and yet. jake stares at the empty space on his desk.

a week ago, he wouldn’t have noticed. wouldn’t have even thought about it. he never questioned why it was there in the first place, never thought twice about the sticky notes, the extra set of markers that magically appeared when he misplaced his own, the last-minute reminders that kept his schedule from turning into chaos.

he never questioned it. and that, apparently, was the problem.

because for the first time, he has to ask. and he really, really doesn’t want to.

jake debates it, which is insane. why is he overthinking this? it’s a simple request. a normal interaction. but something about it feels… weird. off-balance.

because asking means acknowledging. and acknowledging means admitting that he noticed.

his eye twitches. and after five full minutes of warring with himself, of sneaking glances at you like some kind of cornered animal, he finally forces himself to get up. jake clears his throat as he approaches your desk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he doesn’t understand why this feels so monumental – why his stomach is twisting over something as simple as coffee.

you’re typing away, entirely focused, but the moment he gets close, you pause, sensing his presence.

your head tilts up, meeting his gaze with that same neutral, professional expression. “need something?”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. shifts on his feet.

this should not be hard. he’s faced oral examinations with award-winning physicists grilling him on quantum mechanics. he’s derived entire theorems on celestial dynamics with nothing but a whiteboard and a bad marker.

"hey," he starts, voice coming out a little too stiff, a little too rehearsed.

you hum, still typing. "what’s up?"

jake exhales. this is ridiculous. just say it.

"i was wondering," he begins, slow and deliberate, "if you could maybe—"

he pauses. rethinks. he doesn’t need coffee. he’s perfectly capable of getting it himself. this is a completely unnecessary conversation. maybe he should just—

you finally glance up, raising a brow. "if i could maybe…?"

jake swallows. why is your stare so expectant? god, this is awful.

he squares his shoulders. "if you could maybe—uh—get me a coffee?"

and you? you don’t even react. no smirk. no teasing. no indication that you know this is sending his pride into a tailspin.

“oh,” you say simply. “sure.”

and then – you go right back to typing.

jake waits. waits.

…that’s it? no acknowledgment?

he stares, baffled, as you finish whatever you’re working on before standing, grabbing your phone like this is just another task.

“i’ll be back in a few minutes.”

jake watches you walk away, his brain short-circuiting. he stares.

something in his brain glitches. for a moment, he just stands there, stuck in some kind of existential paradox.

this isn’t how he thought this would go.

not that he’d planned it out – he’s not that irrational – but he was at least expecting… something. a pointed look. a smug remark. some kind of acknowledgement that this was a thing.

because it was, right?

but you just – left. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

jake blinks, still rooted to the spot. his fingers twitch at his sides, his mind racing through a series of half-formed thoughts, none of which are useful.

this should be a relief. no teasing. no drawn-out conversation. no questioning. just a simple "sure" and the problem is solved.

so why does he feel weirdly unsatisfied?

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before dragging himself back to his desk.

fine. whatever. he got what he wanted. he’ll just sit down, work, and forget this happened.

simple. logical – except it’s not.

because now – now he’s waiting.

not actively, of course. he’s working. or at least, he’s trying to work. but for some godforsaken reason, his mind keeps drifting to the sound of approaching footsteps, to the faintest movements in his periphery.

it’s ridiculous. he knows that. he’s not that dependent on routine. it’s just coffee.

when you finally return, setting the cup down on his desk with a quiet thud, he doesn’t mean to react.

but his head snaps up immediately, eyes locking onto the cup before flickering to you, his brain processing entirely too fast for his own good.

same lid. same brand. same order.

how the hell—

"you got the right one," he blurts before he can stop himself.

you blink at him, expression unreadable. "yeah. that’s the one you always drink."

jake stares.

you say it so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

like it’s just fact. like he’s the one being weird.

and maybe he is, because something about that – about the casual certainty in your voice – makes his chest feel tight in a way he doesn’t understand.

"right," he mutters, looking away. "of course."

you don’t say anything. just nod, turning back toward your desk.

jake watches you go, fingers wrapping around the cup, the warmth grounding him.

he doesn’t know why this feels significant. but somehow, it does.

you, on the other hand, mask your smile behind your hand, making sure you don’t spare him a glance as you take your seat again, eyes focusing on your screen, but you’re secretly enjoying your little victory.

and maybe your little win seemingly makes your happiness evident because jay seems to have caught on to your little smile and quiet humming as you load more paper into the printer later on.

“what’s got you humming?”

you blink at jay, feigning innocence. "huh?"

jay narrows his eyes like a detective who knows exactly when the suspect is lying. "you’re humming. and smiling. while printing documents. no one’s ever been this happy about office supplies."

you shrug, deliberately casual. "maybe i just like my job."

"oh, sure. and i’m the next ceo of nasa," jay scoffs, crossing his arms. "no, you’re definitely smiling about something else. spill."

you roll your eyes but can’t stop the small grin from creeping back onto your lips. "it’s nothing. just… a small win."

jay’s gaze sharpens with intrigue. "a small win? against who?"

you pause, realizing that if you say it out loud, it becomes real. but you can’t help it – you’re feeling a little smug. "jake."

jay’s eyebrows shoot up so fast you half expect them to launch into orbit. "oh? oh? do tell."

you bite your lip, pretending to be focused on aligning the printer paper. "i think he finally noticed."

jay leans in, practically vibrating with excitement. "noticed what? that you exist? that you’re cute? that you’re literally the only reason he functions? because if so, then this is big news—"

you wave a hand, shushing him. "not that dramatic. just… the coffee. he asked me for it today. like, actually asked."

jay goes still, then blinks. "no."

"yes."

"no." jay looks personally offended that he wasn’t there to witness it. "you’re telling me jake sim – the human calculator who forgets basic human needs – actually acknowledged the loss of his coffee?"

"and that i was the one providing it," you add, feeling very pleased with yourself.

jay lets out a low whistle. "damn. that’s practically a confession in jake language."

you chuckle. "i know, right? and the best part? he was so awkward about it. like, visibly struggling to form a coherent request. it was beautiful."

jay looks like a proud parent. "i knew my plan would work."

you snort. "you had a plan?"

"of course! i told you, jake needs to experience loss to appreciate things. he’s like a tragic space hero who doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone. but now? now he’s thinking about it. which means he’s thinking about you."

you roll your eyes. "don’t be ridiculous. it was just coffee."

jay gives you a look. "uh-huh. and yet, you’re humming like a disney princess who just got her magical moment."

you huff, turning back to the printer, but the warmth in your chest remains. you won’t admit it to jay, but it does feel like a small win. because for once, jake noticed something about you. and even if it was just coffee, it was your coffee. your absence. your presence. you.

the thought makes your stomach flutter a little, but before you can dwell on it, the door swings open.

and, of course, in perfect comedic timing, jake himself walks in.

you and jay freeze.

jake pauses mid-step, eyes flicking between the two of you, and immediately, you feel caught. not that you were doing anything wrong, but the way jay is grinning like a devil on your shoulder and the way you definitely look suspicious does not help your case.

jake frowns slightly. "am i interrupting something?"

"no," you and jay say in unison – too quickly, too forcefully.

jake’s frown deepens. "…right."

jay, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirks. "hey, jake, buddy, pal. how was the coffee this morning?"

your soul leaves your body.

jake blinks, caught off guard. "what?"

jay nods toward you. "the coffee. did it taste better? sweeter, maybe? like the hard-earned fruits of personal growth?"

you shoot jay a look that could incinerate a small planet, but he just grins wider.

jake, meanwhile, looks completely baffled. "it… tasted the same?"

jay sighs dramatically. "ugh, you’re hopeless."

jake looks at you now, confusion clear in his expression. "what’s going on?"

you scramble for an escape. "nothing. jay’s just being weird. as usual."

jake’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push further. instead, he just shakes his head, muttering something about how he "doesn’t have time for whatever this is." then, to your surprise, his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer before he turns and leaves.

as soon as the door clicks shut, jay explodes.

"did you see that? he lingered! that was a lingering glance!"

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "jay. stop."

"oh, no, no, no. this is happening. i can feel it. the great jake sim has been rattled."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "don’t you have that meeting with kang soon? are you sure you should be dawdling?"

jay waves a dismissive hand. “pfft. kang can wait. this is much more important.”

you roll your eyes, shoving a stack of papers into his hands. “go. before he chews you out again.”

jay huffs but takes the papers anyway. “fine. but mark my words – this is just the beginning.”

you snort. “of what?”

jay grins, backing toward the door. “of jake sim’s inevitable downfall.”

before you can throw something at him, he slips out of the room with a dramatic twirl, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

you exhale. jay is ridiculous. insufferable. an agent of chaos in the worst way.

but still… your fingers drum against your desk.

jake had lingered. just for a second. just long enough to make you wonder.

you shake your head, clearing the thought. it’s nothing. probably just your imagination.

probably.

five.

jake never really thought about his assistant.

sure, he knew you existed in the same way he knew his office had walls or that gravity kept him tethered to earth. a presence. a constant. background noise.

his research came first. always. anything outside of equations and astrophysics was just static.

which is why, when his inbox suddenly becomes a nightmare of unread emails, cluttered with everything from seminar invites to missed project deadlines, he stares at the screen in horror.

since when did his inbox look like this?

he scrolls. and scrolls. and scrolls.

the last time he checked, his emails were organized. neat little folders, color-coded labels – everything in its place. now, it’s chaos. absolute chaos.

his brows furrow in mild horror and yet again, he gets this feeling, like the earth’s off its axis, like his curated life is suddenly off kilter. 

he looks up, and across the room, eyes peeking through his door that is kept ajar. you sit there today, in a navy blue sweater, your hair pushed back neatly, your glasses reflecting the glare off your screen you’re currently frowning at.

was this also something you used to do for him? or did his inbox suddenly decide to get a mind of its own and go batshit crazy on him? no, that doesn’t make sense, unless he was hacked which would definitely be a cause of national concern to a certain extent—

he jolts in his seat, a gasp leaving his lips as you suddenly move away from your desk, standing up with a stack of papers. he positively feels his heart skipping a beat as he realises you’re walking to his door.

sure enough, there’s a knock a second later and if you notice the way his voice cracks when he tells you to come in, you don’t comment on it. instead, you look at him like you meant business.

oh god, you didn’t notice him looking at you, right? technically he wasn’t really staring more so than contemplating—

“dr. sim, the finance department dropped a reminder to submit your financial budget, here’s the budget form,” you hand him the stack of papers you had been carrying, “i’ve filled out the general stuff, you just need to put in the project details and all the technical stuff.”

he flips through the pages and sure enough, you’ve filled in the general details like you mentioned in your neat handwriting. the letters sit right on top of the blank lines and he recognises your penmanship right away. he’s never noticed before, but you do have a nice handwriting.

“oh and about your emails, there seems to be some sort of technical error. i noticed that some of your filters were disabled and the auto-sorting wasn’t functioning properly. it must’ve reset or something when the system updated last week.”

jake blinks at you. “wait. filters?”

you tilt your head. “yeah? you know, the ones that sort your emails automatically? important updates, admin notices, junk mail, things like that?”

jake stares. “i… had those?”

you pause, narrowing your eyes slightly. “yes. you did. i set them up for you.”

“oh.” a beat of silence. jake shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, exhale sharply, planting your hands on your hips. here he was, a grown ass man, unaware of his own email settings. but what’s more infuriating to you right now is the way he’s clearly looking at the mess of his inbox with the expression of a child faced with university level physics.

and it's really unfair because your brain actually has the audacity to chant a small ‘cute’ inside your head.

no. no. absolutely not.

you refuse to acknowledge whatever strange, fleeting thought just ran through your brain.

because jake sim is not cute. he’s frustrating. he’s a genius, sure, but in a hopelessly oblivious kind of way. the somehow-can-manage-quantum-equations-but-not-his-own-inbox kind of way. the so deep in his own head that he barely notices when you’re cleaning up the mess he leaves behind, kind of way.

except… he’s noticing now.

you clear your throat, shoving away any ridiculous thoughts. “right. anyway, i can help reset everything, but you’ll need to go through some of these emails yourself. some require your direct response.”

jake tears his eyes away from his screen, blinking at you. “wait, so my emails weren’t always like this?”

you give him a look. the kind that says, oh, you poor, oblivious man.

“no, dr. sim,” you say, tone patient but mildly exasperated. “i used to sort them out for you.”

jake stares. “you did?”

you nod. “yeah. you know, filtering out spam, organizing your schedule, responding to minor inquiries.” all the things that apparently, no one else on this team can do without suffering a minor breakdown.

jake opens his mouth, then closes it. then it opens again. his head tilts slightly. “wait. you did all of that?”

you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “dr. sim,” you say, very slowly, “what did you think i was doing all this time?”

jake, to his credit, looks vaguely sheepish. “i don’t know. admin stuff?”

you exhale, looking up at the ceiling like you’re asking the universe for patience.

“your inbox has over five hundred unread emails.”

he visibly recoils. “five hundred?”

“yes. and you have three missed deadlines.”

jake stares, running a hand down his face. “oh my god. i’m going to get fired.”

you shrug. “probably not, but kang will definitely strangle you.”

you take one look at the mild look of panic settling on his face, the ways his lips part open and his eyes fixate upon you like he’s constipated all of a sudden, and you realise that you’re going to have to save him again. so much for making yourself scarce.

“well,” you sigh, dropping your hands, “i can go through it and fix the filters again, but you should probably clear things out manually first. you have a lot of backlog.”

jake slumps back in his chair, groaning. “i don’t have time for this.”

“tough luck. you’re the one who ignored your emails for a week.”

jake groans again, scrubbing a hand over his face. his hair is slightly disheveled now, strands falling over his forehead. you refuse to acknowledge the way your fingers twitch with the urge to push them back. nope. absolutely not.

instead, you cross your arms and tilt your head. "look, dr. sim, i can reset everything, but you need to at least check the important ones. you know, like the ones from kang before he marches in here and reconsiders your employment."

jake peeks at you through his fingers, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like i should’ve never updated the system.

you sigh. "i'll go through them with you."

his hands drop, eyes snapping to yours. "you will?"

damn it. the hope in his voice makes something in your stomach twist. this isn’t supposed to happen. you’re supposed to be pulling away, making yourself scarce, not signing yourself up to hold his hand through his self-inflicted disaster.

but you sigh again, already regretting it. "yes, but only for today."

jake beams. actually beams. like you've just told him you're personally funding his next research project.

and oh, that is dangerous.

because the realization sneaks up on you, quiet but insidious: he looks really good when he smiles like that.

your brain promptly malfunctions.

jake, oblivious as always, is already turning his chair to face his computer. "okay, okay. what do we start with?"

you stare for a second too long before shaking yourself out of it.

get it together.

right. his emails. that's what you should be focusing on. not the fact that your stupid heart is doing something stupid again.

so you square your shoulders, push away the ridiculous heat rising to your cheeks, and step closer to his desk – because unfortunately, you are nothing if not professional.

even when your chest feels like it’s betraying you.

by the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow into the office, you realize with a dull sense of horror that you are still here.

still here. still working.

because, of course, jake spent the entire day buried in his research, completely unaware of the absolute mess waiting for him in his inbox. and now, after work hours, you’re forced to stay behind, sorting through the wreckage.

you shoot a glare at the oblivious man, who is hunched over his desk, frowning at his screen as if he’s personally uncovering the secrets of the universe. his sleeves are rolled up, glasses slightly askew, completely absorbed in his work.

annoying. but also, kind of impressive.

you clear your throat, rapping your knuckles on his door. “dr. sim, did you know that your inbox is starting to resemble a warzone?”

jake barely looks up. “mhm.”

“there are emails in here from last year.”

he finally blinks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “wait. what?”

you deadpan. “last. year.”

jake stares. “that’s not possible.”

“would you like to see the one from july 2024? it’s an invitation to a seminar. that already happened. that you missed.”

a horrified silence settles between you. jake leans forward, mouth slightly open, and for a second, you think he might actually pass out. “holy shit.”

you snort, shaking your head. then, sighing, you gesture toward his screen. “okay, come on, let’s start deleting the ones that don’t matter. at this rate, your inbox might actually implode.”

jake groans again but does as you say, clicking through emails with the enthusiasm of someone undergoing dental surgery.

an hour later, the two of you are still sitting in his office. you’re perched on the chair across from him, legs crossed as you scroll through his inbox, muttering complaints every now and then (why do you have thirty unread emails from the astronomy board? what is so ‘urgent’ about a faculty brunch?).

jake, on the other hand, is desperately trying to keep up, deleting and archiving whatever you tell him to. he’s drowning in emails and vaguely wondering if he should just… never check his inbox again.

the sky outside has darkened, streaks of orange and pink melting into deep blue. the office feels different at this hour – quieter, softer. there’s a warmth from the sunset filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.

you’ve never been alone with jake like this before.

not that it matters. because all you’re doing is working. but still.

you steal a quick glance at him.

he’s different when he’s not hyper-focused on research. a little less untouchable, a little more human. his brows are furrowed as he reads through an email, one hand resting on his chin. his glasses have slipped down again, and without thinking, he pushes them back up with his knuckle.

you look away.

get a grip.

meanwhile, jake is having a bit of a crisis.

because, apparently, you’ve always been this efficient.

like, okay, he knew you were capable. obviously. you’ve been his assistant for months. but watching you now, the way you go through emails like a machine, fingers flying across the keyboard, perfectly organized with your neat little color-coded tabs—

he’s a little bit in awe. and maybe a tiny bit alarmed.

because how the hell did he not realize before that you basically ran his life for him?

the sun is starting to dip, casting a golden hue through the blinds, stretching long shadows over his desk. jake leans back, rubbing his eyes, only to glance at you and—

he sees you. for the first time in three months, he’s actually looking at you.

your sweater hangs slightly off one shoulder, the shirt underneath only slightly wrinkled, your hair a little messier than it was earlier, strands falling out of place.

and you look… exhausted.

not in the dramatic, world-weary way that some of his colleagues do after pulling all-nighters, but in a quieter, more subtle way – like you’ve been running on autopilot for so long that you don’t even notice it anymore.

jake frowns. has it always been like this? have you always been like this?

his gaze flickers back to your screen, where you’re still typing away, making quick work of the disaster that is his inbox. there’s a slight crease between your brows, your lips pressed together in quiet concentration. you’re meticulous, efficient – almost too efficient, and that thought unsettles him in a way he can’t quite explain.

“you should go home,” he says before he even thinks about it.

you glance up, startled. “what?”

“you’ve been here all day,” he says, shifting in his seat. “it’s late.”

you blink at him, then glance at the clock on the corner of your screen. the numbers glow back at you – 7:47 pm.

“oh,” you murmur, tilting your head. “i guess it is.”

jake waits for you to start packing up, but instead, you just roll your shoulders back, crack your knuckles, and go right back to typing.

he stares. “did you – did you not hear me?”

you don’t even look up. “i heard you.”

“then why are you still working?”

you pause at that, finally looking at him. there’s something almost amused in your expression, like really? you’re questioning my work habits?

“i still have emails to sort through,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

jake presses his lips together. right. of course. because of course you wouldn’t just drop everything and leave, because if you did, then who would make sure his inbox didn’t look like a post-apocalyptic wasteland?

and that thought sits a little too heavily in his chest. it's just that, he doesn’t get it.

he clears his throat, looking away. “still. you don’t have to do it all tonight.”

you shrug. “it’s fine. i don’t mind.”

for some reason, that irritates him more than it should.

jake doesn’t understand why. it’s not like you’re doing anything out of the ordinary. from what he can deduce from your conversation earlier this morning, you’ve always been the one keeping things together, making sure nothing slips through the cracks. that’s your job.

you could probably come back tomorrow and sort through the remaining emails. it’s not like they’re going anywhere.

but for the first time, he wonders – do you ever get tired of it?

his fingers drum against his desk. the golden light from the window glows softer now, settling into deep orange hues. the air between you is quiet, save for the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant hum of the office beyond his door.

and then, without thinking, he says, “i didn’t realize you did all this.”

you pause mid-keystroke, glancing at him. “did all what?”

“this.” he gestures vaguely to his laptop, to the neatly categorized folders, to the once-chaotic inbox now halfway tamed under your careful hands. “you keep everything running. i didn’t realize how much you—” he stops himself, brows furrowing slightly. “—how much you do.”

you blink at him. and for the first time all day, you seem caught off guard.

then, a slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “oh, dr. sim,” you say lightly, tilting your head, “have you been taking me for granted all this time?”

jake bristles, straightening. “that’s not what i meant.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “relax, i’m kidding.”

but something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist.

because maybe you are joking. maybe you don’t actually care that he’s never paid much attention before.

but he cares. and that realization unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

you turn your attention towards the screen again, biting your lip as you skim through his emails, occasionally frowning like you’re personally offended by his disorganization.

jake watches you for another moment before looking away, tapping his fingers against the desk.

his chest feels… weird. like the earth’s still off its axis. like something’s shifted in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

and for the first time, jake wonders if maybe – just maybe – it has something to do with you.

six.

the only times jake has thanked you have been in passing. like when you hand him a report, his fingers brushing against yours but his gaze still focused on his screen. a clipped "thanks" thrown out as he scrolls through equations and research notes. thoughtless, automatic, routine.

so you don’t expect it this time around.

you don’t think much of it at first.

jake walks in, looking as harried as ever, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside, one hand holding his laptop, the other gripping his usual coffee. business as usual.

except — there’s a cup of coffee in his hand. no scratch that, there’s two cups of coffee in his hands. 

he stops in front of your desk, looking mildly uncomfortable, like he’s second-guessing his own existence. and then, without a word, he sets the second cup in front of you.

you blink. “uh. what’s this?”

jake clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “coffee.”

“no, i know it’s coffee, dr. sim.” you stare at the cup suspiciously. “why is it on my desk?”

he looks at you like you just asked him to solve a quantum mechanics equation without a calculator. “because… i got it for you?”

you squint. “why?”

jake pauses. his jaw tightens. then, with the energy of a man barely holding onto his dignity, he mutters, “because you – helped. with the emails.”

you swear to god, it physically pains him to say it. but holy shit, because not only did the jake sim get his own coffee today, he got one for you – his assistant, for the first time in three months.

you decide to let him off the hook. for now. “well. thanks,” you say, taking a sip, trying not to let the heat rising to your cheeks show.

jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like no worries, before retreating to his office.

you watch him go, mildly amused.

“oh-ho-ho, what do we have here?”

you don’t even flinch as jay suddenly appears beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s about to make an investigation.

you sip your coffee. “don’t start.”

jay ignores you. “jake sim. buying coffee. for someone else. this is history in the making.”

you sigh. “jay.”

he leans in dramatically. “do you know how many years i’ve known that man? years, y/n. and not once has he ever walked into a room and thought, ‘huh. let me get someone coffee.’”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not that deep.”

jay gasps. “oh, but it is.” he lowers his voice, like he’s about to tell you a government secret. “listen. the man barely remembers to eat unless someone reminds him. and suddenly he’s bringing you coffee?”

you pause. jay grins, catching the flicker of hesitation on your face. “see? see? something’s happening in that stiff little brain of his.”

you shake your head. “he’s just… acknowledging that i exist. that’s all.”

jay snorts. “oh, my sweet summer child.” he takes a slow sip of his own coffee, eyes twinkling. “first, it’s coffee. next thing you know, he’s showing up at your desk randomly with some dumb excuse just to talk to you.”

you raise a brow. “that’s oddly specific.”

jay grins. “call it experience.”

you roll your eyes, but as you glance toward jake’s office, where he’s staring at his screen, brow furrowed in concentration…and you wonder.

just a little. because hope would be something too dangerous in this situation. you’re still just his assistant, and this is a one time thing because you helped him last night. so you don’t hope. not yet.

and maybe it's a good thing too.

it starts with a joke.

well, technically, it starts with jay’s complete inability to keep his workspace from looking like an archaeological dig site.

you’re standing by his desk, watching as he fumbles through the mess that is his workspace. papers are stacked in precarious towers, there’s a half-eaten granola bar that has somehow been buried under a pile of sticky notes. a coffee cup with a lipstick stain, even though jay does not wear lipstick.

“you live like this?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you survey the mess.

jay, utterly unbothered, leans back in his chair. “organized chaos.” why does everybody around here insist on working in conditions not far from that of a pigsty?

you shake your head, crossing your arms. “you know nasa once had to recalibrate an entire spacecraft because someone forgot to convert metric to imperial?”

jay snorts. “imagine being that guy.”

“i’d simply launch myself into the sun,” you deadpan.

jay cackles. “real talk, though, you think the sun would just vaporize you instantly, or would you have, like, a second of awareness?”

you hum, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, but if i ever get fired, i might test it out.”

“technically—”

you blink as a third voice enters the conversation.

jake stands a few feet away, arms crossed, brow furrowed like you just presented an incorrect equation.

you were not expecting him to be here.

“uh—” you freeze, awkwardly shifting. jay’s eyes gleam with amusement.

jake clears his throat. “technically, you wouldn’t be able to launch yourself into the sun.”

silence.

“…what?” you blink, trying to process what is happening.

jake continues, oblivious to your slowly dawning horror. “you’d just end up orbiting around it. earth is already moving at about 30 kilometers per second, so unless you counteract that velocity exactly, you’d just—” he gestures vaguely. “miss.”

you stare. jay lets out a low, entertained whistle.

your face burns. “i—” you struggle to find words, feeling an overwhelming mix of why is he like this and oh my god he really just did that.

your fingers twitch against your arms. you open your mouth. then close it. then open it again—

nope. nothing. no words. just the slow, creeping realization that this guy has actually just fact-checked your joke.

it wasn’t even a good joke.

your face heats. “wow,” you mutter, focusing very hard on the floor. “thanks for the physics lesson.”

jake nods, completely oblivious to the fact that you are currently plotting your own orbital escape.

jay presses his lips together, struggling.

you let out a breath, shaking your head. “anyway. i have work to do.”

and then you walk out. not in a dramatic, stormy way – but in a stiff, awkward, nope, i’m out kind of way.

jake watches you go, confused. “what’s with her?”

jay grins, leaning back in his chair. “dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake doesn’t get the joke. nor does his oblivious ass understand why his assistant is suddenly treating him like an afterthought?

of course this buffoon doesn’t understand. all he’s thinking of is last night and the way you had tiredly bid him goodnight before parting ways in front of the building, your figure growing smaller by the second. his offer to drop you to the nearest bus stand dying on his lips the further you walked away.

and this was a pivotal moment for him because jake? he doesn’t offer rides to people.

in fact, he doesn’t even think to do things like that – until last night, when he’d spent an extra two seconds debating whether he should insist, before realizing that no, that would be weird.

so instead, he had done something else.

this morning, after getting his usual coffee, he’d bought yours too. granted, he didn’t know your order, but he’s sure he’s seen you around with a cup of your own around the office, still he doesn’t really know your order. so he gets you a sweeter variation, a stark contrast to his bitter drink, because in his mind, he’s thinking about this in a logical way.

and you had accepted it, for that matter, sipping on the drink like you actually enjoyed it. so he had been right, you did like sweet drinks. noted. noted?

regardless you had reacted, albeit subtly. a blink. a pause. a slightly surprised but polite, “thanks.”

jake had left it at that, feeling oddly accomplished.

and now? now you’re walking away from him like he’s some malfunctioning algorithm, and it’s annoying.

he frowns, turning to jay, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “seriously. did i do something?”

jay hums, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake stares. “you already said that.”

jay just snickers. “yeah. and i’ll keep saying it until you get the joke.”

jake does not, in fact, get the joke.

but for some reason, he wants to. and this realisation is soon going to turn into something that’s going to keep bothering him till he’s forced to actually take note of it.

it happens at precisely 12:48 pm.

jake glances up from his screen when you hover by his desk, clipboard in hand.

“i’m taking an extended lunch today.”

his fingers pause over his keyboard. “…extended?”

you nod. “yeah, probably won’t be back for another hour and a half.”

jake blinks. “that’s… longer than usual.”

“yeah,” you say easily. “something came up. but don’t worry, you don’t have anything scheduled and i’ve completed the reports on my end, so it’s not going to affect work.”

jake doesn’t know why that information bothers him, but it does. his brows furrow slightly. “okay.”

you nod once, then turn to leave.

jake stares at the empty space you just occupied, something tugging at his brain.

why did that exchange feel weird? no, not weird, just… different. off.

his fingers hover over his keyboard, but he doesn’t start typing.

jake doesn’t even realize something is wrong until his stomach twists uncomfortably.

he frowns, checking the time. 2:13 pm. lunch had passed. and he hadn’t eaten.

he blinks at his screen, but the numbers on it blur. his focus has shifted, derailed by something he never thought would be an issue. food.

it’s not like he forgot to eat. okay – maybe he technically did, but that’s beside the point. the real issue here is that he never needed to remember, because you always reminded him.

or, if you noticed he was too caught up in work, you’d just… bring something back for him. something simple, easy to eat at his desk – half the time, he didn’t even ask, and yet there it was. a sandwich. a salad. once, a soup that he never even mentioned liking, but somehow you had known he was in the mood for something warm.

it had become routine.

no, actually, it had become a given. and today? today, you walked in, set your bag down, checked your emails – like normal – but you didn’t say anything.

didn’t ask if he ate. didn’t bring anything back. didn’t even look at him properly before sitting down to do your own thing.

nothing.

jake’s fingers twitch over his desk. his jaw tightens slightly. something about this whole situation sits wrong.

because this isn’t normal.

this morning, he even bought you coffee. he didn’t know your exact order, but he had put in effort. that meant something, right? even if you didn’t react much when he placed it on your desk, he thought – hoped – it at least counted for something.

so why does it feel like it didn’t? and why does that bother him?

he does something drastic. he actually walks up to your desk – the second time already this week – and clears his throat.

“hey um…” a small glance at your id card dangling around your neck, and he feels insanely embarrassed because wow, how the hell does he not remember your name, “y/n?”

you’re not going to lie, you totally saw him stumble right now, and it doesn’t help that he’s looking at you with those big brown eyes again, his hand shoved inside his coat pocket, the other rubbing the back of his head. no! you should be upset at him right now, not fawn over his boyish charms!

you glance up, fingers pausing over your keyboard. “yeah?”

jake hesitates.

he doesn’t actually know what he wants to say. he just knows he wants you to look at him a little less indifferently.

“i…” his voice catches slightly. he clears his throat. “can you, um. get me something to eat?”

your expression flickers – just for a second. not enough for jake to read properly, but enough that it feels like you’re choosing your words before speaking.

then, finally, you ask, “what do you want?”

jake pauses.

because – what do you mean, what does he want?

you always just know. you’ve been working together long enough that you order for him without asking. that’s part of why he never bothers remembering himself – he doesn’t have to.

this is new. this is wrong.

“uh…” jake stalls, grip tightening slightly on his pen. “the usual?”

you blink at him, unimpressed. “what’s the usual?”

jake freezes.

oh. oh, no. what is the usual?

his mind scrambles for an answer, rifling through vague memories of you setting food on his desk, but the details blur together. sometimes it was a sandwich. sometimes something with rice. one time, there was pasta. but were those his actual usuals, or just random things you decided to get him?

did he even have a usual?

jake, for the first time today, has to confront a horrifying fact: he has never actually learned what he eats for lunch.

because you always handled it.

and now you’re sitting there, staring at him, waiting for an answer – an answer he doesn’t have – and suddenly, jake feels something unfamiliar coil in his chest: panic.

he’s never been in this situation before. he’s used to having control, to knowing exactly what he wants and when he wants it. yet, somehow, in this one specific instance – a completely mundane scenario involving food, of all things – he’s at a total loss.

how had he not noticed this before? how had he gone this long without realizing he didn’t actually know what he ate every day? how had he become so reliant on—

jake blinks. his own thoughts slam into him like a freight train. because that’s exactly what’s wrong, isn’t it?

he’s used to you. your reminders. your routines. the way you anticipated things before he even noticed them himself.

and for the first time, it feels like you’re deliberately withholding that from him.

why?

jake swallows, forcing himself to think logically. there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. maybe you were too busy to stop and get him something. maybe you had your own things to deal with today. maybe you just forgot.

but then again – you never forgot.

so what changed?

seven.

it was jay’s idea really.

the whole pulling away subtly but not-so-subtly thing. the make-him-notice-you’re-missing plan. and it was working.

you knew it was working because the moment you walked out of jake’s office after that awkward exchange, you felt his stare linger. the hesitation in his voice, the way his fingers twitched slightly when you asked what he wanted – like the concept of having to ask you for something was completely foreign to him.

that was a win, right? so why did it feel so…

you press your lips together, stirring your drink absently. across from you, jay chews on a fry, watching you with far too much amusement for someone who wasn’t the one actively carrying out this ridiculous scheme.

“you look like you’re thinking too hard,” he comments, popping another fry into his mouth. “which is kinda concerning, considering all you’re doing is eating a sandwich.”

you glare at him. “shut up.”

jay snorts, leaning back against the booth. “what’s got you so conflicted? it’s working, isn’t it?”

you don’t answer right away. because, yes – it is working. you can tell by the way jake hesitated before asking you to get him something to eat, by the way he actually looked at you instead of just expecting you to handle things like always. you made him notice the absence.

“…it feels kinda dumb,” you admit finally, picking at your sandwich. “i mean—think about it. it’s lunch. it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”

jay raises a brow. “you say that, but let me remind you of something. he didn’t know what his usual order was.”

you groan, rubbing a hand over your face. “don’t remind me.”

“no, no, let’s actually sit with that for a second,” jay continues, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “the guy has had you getting his meals for months and never thought to ask what he was eating. that’s not normal, dude.”

“i know,” you mutter.

“so what’s the problem?”

you sigh, rolling your cup between your palms.

“the problem is that it shouldn’t take something like this for him to notice me.” the words feel heavy in your mouth. “it’s stupid, isn’t it? i shouldn’t have to pull away for him to realize how much i do for him. like, why does it have to be some big, strategic thing? shouldn’t he just… care?”

jay quiets at that. for all his jokes and teasing, he’s not oblivious – not like jake.

after a moment, he leans forward, propping his arms on the table. “you’re right,” he says, voice softer than before. “he should care. he should’ve noticed a long time ago.”

your stomach twists.

“but,” jay continues, tapping a finger against his drink, “that doesn’t mean this isn’t necessary. i know it sucks, but think about it – would jake have ever thought about this on his own? would he have ever realized how much he relies on you if you hadn’t started stepping back?”

you hate that the answer is obvious.

“…no,” you mutter.

jay nods. “exactly. he’s used to things just… happening. you’ve made his life so easy that he doesn’t even have to think about it.” he smirks slightly. “and now? now he has to think about it. because it’s not just about lunch. it’s about you.”

you stare at him, fingers tightening around your drink.

you sigh, pressing the rim of your cup to your lips but not drinking. the ice clinks softly inside, melting into the coffee, much like your resolve seems to be melting into uncertainty.

“has he always been like this?” you ask quietly.

jay raises a brow. “like what?”

“with his assistants,” you clarify, glancing at him. “has he always been like… this?” you don’t say oblivious or careless, but jay understands anyway.

he studies you for a moment, his usually amused gaze flickering with something more serious. “i don’t know all the details, if i’m being honest. i never really paid attention to his working relationships.”

you press your lips together, turning your cup in your hands. “but you knew there were others before me.”

jay exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he admits. “there were others. none of them stuck around for too long, though.”

that makes your stomach twist.

“why not?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jay hesitates. not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because the answer isn’t his to give.

“jake’s not an easy person to work for,” he finally says, choosing his words carefully. “he’s particular about things, but not in a way that makes sense to most people. he’s not demanding in the usual way – he doesn’t expect people to read his mind, but at the same time… he does. he assumes things will get done. not because he asks, but because that’s how it’s always been for him. he doesn’t really think about the ‘who’ behind it all.”

you swallow hard.

“and the others?”

jay shakes his head. “they got frustrated. some quit because they felt unappreciated, others just decided it wasn’t worth it. no hard feelings, no big fights. just… people coming and going. but you?” he tilts his head at you. “you stuck around.”

you let out a small, humorless laugh. “it’s only been three months, maybe i’ll quit too.”

you won’t. for reasons more than one, the first being that you have student loans to pay. the second…maybe that’s a thought better left for later.

“maybe,” jay says, but his tone isn’t teasing. it’s contemplative. “or maybe you’re different.”

you look up at him then, brows furrowed. “different how?”

jay leans back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “you actually care about him.”

the words sit heavy between you.

of course you care. that was never the question. the question was whether or not he cared. whether he even saw you as a person rather than just another name in a long list of people who handled things for him.

you exhale slowly, staring down at the condensation forming on your cup. “that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

jay tilts his head. “what is?”

“that i care about someone who barely notices me.”

there’s no pity in jay’s gaze. no smugness, either. just quiet understanding.

“it’s not stupid,” he says. “but it is a little sad.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. “why do you think he’s like that?”

jay exhales through his nose. “i think jake has spent so long expecting people to leave that he doesn’t think much about why they stay. or if they do, it’s just a matter of when they’ll go. he doesn’t attach himself to people easily. i don’t know why, exactly, but i have my guesses.”

you nod, understanding that there’s a past here that isn’t yours to pry into. it doesn’t quench your curiosity though, because what really made jake into this oblivious, unintentionally selfish person? you haven’t known him long, but you’ve seen enough.

how he declines invitations to after work hangouts, how he’s never lurking at other people’s desks, cooping himself up in the confines of his own room, doing his own work. how he barely ever leaves that room unless absolutely necessary. it’s just work, work, work for him.

jay watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “let me ask you something now.”

you blink. “okay?”

he gestures toward you. “why do you look up to him so much?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out.

because the truth is, you do look up to jake. or at least, you used to. maybe, in some ways, you still do.

he’s brilliant, that much is undeniable. he makes decisions with sharp precision, moves through life with a confidence that is enviable. he commands a room without even realizing it, and people naturally gravitate toward him.

and maybe that was part of the reason why you held on for so long. because you wanted to believe that he was someone worth believing in. worth staying for.

but what happens when the person you admire the most doesn’t even see you?

you lower your gaze. “i don’t know.”

jay hums, as if he expected that answer.

“well, maybe it’s time he starts looking up to you,” he says.

the thought sends a strange feeling through your chest.

because what if, after all this time, it wasn’t about you chasing after jake’s attention? what if it was about him realizing that you were someone worth keeping up with?

you exhale, setting your cup down with a quiet clink. “so, what now?”

jay grins, the mischief returning to his eyes. “phase two, obviously.”

you shake your head, laughing under your breath. “you’re ridiculous.”

“trust me, jake’s already starting to notice you y/n,” jay says, taking a sip of his drink. “so? you in?”

you glance down at your phone, at the list of unread emails waiting for you. and you think about jake – his hesitation earlier, the way he had to actually ask you about lunch. how for the first time, he seemed to realize that you weren’t just an extension of his routine.

deep down, you hope he’s right.

and it’s already started – jake is thinking about it. about you.

you just don’t know it yet.

jake had been off all day, and he knew it.

it had started with lunch. or rather, the strange lack of it – the missing familiarity, the offhanded nature of it, the unsettling realization that it hadn’t been waiting for him like usual. and then when you did get him something, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right either. not that he could even say what ‘right’ was anymore. that part gnawed at him the most.

he had spent the better half of the afternoon distracted, shuffling between meetings and emails while the thought sat at the back of his head, growing heavier by the hour. it wasn’t about the food. it was never just about the food.

he leaned back in his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

why was this bothering him so much?

his usual? what even was his usual? how long had he stopped deciding that for himself? at what point had he gotten so used to you taking care of it that he didn’t even remember?

the realization was suffocating.

jake had never considered himself someone who relied on others – not in any way that mattered. he was independent, capable, and self-sufficient. at least, that’s what he had always told himself. but today proved otherwise.

somewhere along the way, he had gotten used to your quiet presence. the way you smoothed things over without him having to ask. the way you knew things before he did, handled them before they became problems, and – somewhere in the middle of all that – became something constant.

and now, the moment that balance wavered, he felt like he was losing his footing.

the evening dragged on, the weight of the day pressing against his temples as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen. he should go home. but even the idea of leaving felt exhausting.

then his phone rang.

jake glanced at the caller id. mom.

he hesitated for a second before answering. “hey.”

“jakey,” his mother’s voice was warm but laced with something tired. “i was just checking in. it’s been a while.”

he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah, sorry. work’s been crazy.”

there was a pause. a small one, but enough for jake to feel the unspoken words on the other end. he knew that pause.

“you’ve been eating, right?” she asked. “you sound off.”

jake nearly laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. his grip on the phone tightened.

“i’m fine.”

“jake.”

he clenched his jaw. the weight in his chest grew heavier.

how was it that this one conversation, this one question, managed to make everything worse? it wasn’t like he had told her anything. it wasn’t like she knew that something as stupid as lunch had been haunting him all day, or that he was suddenly questioning things he had never thought twice about before.

he exhaled sharply. “mom, i said i’m fine.”

another silence. then, softer, “you always say that.”

jake shut his eyes.

for a second, he was six years old again, sitting at the kitchen table, picking at his food while his mother sat across from him, pretending like everything was fine. like they weren’t waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

he barely remembered his father’s face, but he remembered the absence. the lingering silence. the way his mother never cried in front of him, but he knew she wanted to.

“people leave sometimes, jakey,” she had told him once. “even when they don’t mean to.”

jake had spent his whole life pretending that it didn't affect him. that it didn’t shape the way he saw the world, the way he kept people at arm’s length. that it didn’t make him hyper-aware of who stayed and who didn’t.

but now, sitting in his empty office, with the remnants of an unremarkable lunch sitting in the trash, he was starting to think it had affected him more than he ever wanted to admit.

“jake?” his mother’s voice pulled him back.

he swallowed. “yeah, i’m here.”

“i won’t push,” she said gently. “but you know you can talk to me, right?”

he let out a breath. “i know.”

a few more words were exchanged, mostly her telling him to take care of himself before she hung up. jake set his phone down on his desk and stared at it for a long moment.

he didn’t know what was worse – the fact that he felt like he was spiraling over something so insignificant, or the fact that it didn’t feel insignificant at all.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his hands.

what the hell is wrong with me?

eight.

jake is not in a good mood this morning.

it’s evident in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his morning greeting to you sounds even more clipped and indifferent than usual and it’s apparent in the way he slams his door shut behind him.

you’ve seen him like this before – just once – in an intense mood all day, brooding over a particularly complicated issue at work. so you ignore the slight pang in your chest when he barely looks at you before shutting himself off in his room.

you give him space.

you go about your work, responding to emails, organizing the files on his desk, and making sure everything is in order for the meetings he has later. but throughout the day, you can’t help but glance toward his closed office door. there’s a stiffness in your posture whenever you walk past it, an awareness that you’re treading around a storm, waiting for it to pass.

it doesn’t.

by lunchtime, you hesitate before grabbing your own food. jake still hasn’t come out of his office, and you know him well enough to know he probably hasn’t eaten. the memory of the previous day – his offhanded question about lunch, the way he seemed oddly thrown off by you not bringing it – lingers in your mind. maybe that’s all it is, you reason. he just needs to eat.

so you order his usual, the one you’ve memorized without thinking. but when you place it on his desk, he barely glances at it.

“not hungry,” he mutters.

that’s it. no thank you, no acknowledgement. just a dismissal.

it stings more than it should. you don’t push him, simply nodding before stepping back. but something about the way his shoulders are tense, his fingers gripping a pen too tightly, makes you hesitate.

“are you okay?”

it’s a simple question, but it’s a mistake.

jake looks up at you then, and for the first time all day, he really looks at you. his expression is unreadable, his gaze sharp in a way that feels like a blade pressing into something delicate.

and then he scoffs.

“you don’t have to do that.”

your fingers curl around the tray you had got his food in. they clutch at the edges of the plastic, digging into your skin, imprinting a mark physically much like the way jake’s next words do in your chest.

you blink. “do what?”

“act like you care.”

the words hit like a slap. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jake doesn’t stop there. “i don’t need you to hover. i don’t need your pity. i don’t need—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “just stop.”

you freeze. there’s something deeply frustrating about this moment – because you don’t understand, because you don’t know what’s going on in his head, because you’re just trying to help. but jake is looking at you like your presence alone is suffocating him, like you’re an inconvenience, like he wants to push you as far away as possible.

pity? he thinks you’re pitying him? is your gaze so misconstrued that he’s actually letting himself believe that someone like you could pity him?

but whatever it is that jake wants, it works.

you don’t say anything. you don’t argue, don’t snap back, don’t ask why he’s being an asshole for no reason. because really, what would be the point? you can’t help him, not with whatever impossible problem he’s been staring at all day. you’re not a genius like him, not someone who understands physics or engineering or whatever the hell he’s stressing over.

you’re just his assistant.

you nod once and leave the room, ignoring the way your stomach twists uncomfortably.

the afternoon drags on. you’re quieter than usual, working diligently and keeping to yourself. jake doesn’t seem to notice. or if he does, he doesn’t care.

jay drops by at some point, leaning against your desk with a knowing look. “he’s in a mood today.”

you exhale through your nose. “i noticed.”

jay tilts his head. “you good?”

“i’m fine.” it’s the easy answer, the one that doesn’t require unpacking anything. you don’t want to talk about how frustrating it is, how useless you feel, how much it actually bothers you when you know it shouldn’t.

jay doesn’t press, but he gives you a small nod of understanding before heading to jake’s office. you hear them talking – jay’s voice lighthearted, trying to ease whatever storm jake is caught in. but jake’s replies are short, clipped, his irritation barely restrained. eventually, jay gives up.

by the time evening rolls around, the tension hasn’t lifted.

you’re finishing up paperwork when you hear jake’s office chair scrape against the floor. a moment later, he steps out, his phone pressed to his ear. you don’t look up, but you can hear the strain in his voice, the way it’s unusually tense.

“no, mom, i told you—” a pause. “i don’t know. i haven’t thought about it.”

your pen stills against the paper.

jake exhales sharply. “because i don’t have time for this.” his voice drops lower, something more raw seeping into the cracks. “it doesn’t matter. he made his choice.”

silence.

and then, a barely audible, “i don’t care.”

your chest tightens.

you glance up, just for a second, but the look on jake’s face is unreadable. he’s standing rigid, shoulders tense, his grip on his phone almost painful. whatever his mother is saying, it’s digging under his skin, unearthing something you can’t begin to understand.

you don’t look away fast enough.

jake notices. his eyes flick to yours, and for a split second, something flickers there – something vulnerable, something tired. but then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

he turns on his heel and walks out.

you don’t follow.

jake is still in a bad mood when jay finds him.

he doesn’t know why he agreed to go out for drinks. maybe it was the way jay had looked at him after stopping by the office earlier, or maybe it was the unbearable silence of his apartment that he didn’t want to sit in alone. either way, now he’s here, sitting across from jay and sunghoon at some bar downtown, nursing a whiskey he’s barely taken a sip from.

he’s been fidgeting with his glass for the past fifteen minutes, watching the condensation trail down the sides, listening to jay and sunghoon talk about something he’s barely paying attention to. their voices sound distant, like they’re underwater, and everything around him feels just slightly off-kilter, like he’s caught in a strange in-between where he can’t fully ground himself. he feels like an outsider looking in on his own life, watching himself sit here, going through the motions.

jay nudges him. “you good?”

jake blinks. “yeah.”

sunghoon snorts. “you look like you’re about to throw yourself off a bridge.”

he rolls his eyes, but it’s weak. he takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the burn. “just tired.”

jay doesn’t buy it. “it’s work, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose. that’s the thing—it’s not just work.

it’s the way his day has felt completely off-kilter since this morning. no scratch that, it's been this way this entire week.

it’s the way he couldn’t focus, no matter how hard he tried, the way his own office felt too cold, too empty. it’s the way his lunch tasted like cardboard, even though you had gotten it for him like you always did. the way you had placed it on his desk so carefully, so deliberately, and yet it had felt… wrong. bland. like something was missing, and he couldn’t figure out what.

it’s the way he had snapped at you.

his grip tightens around his glass. he hadn’t meant to. he had been frustrated, overwhelmed, his thoughts eating him alive, and you had just – been there. and he had let his irritation get the best of him. he doesn’t even remember what he said exactly, just the way your face had shifted, the way something in your expression had dimmed before you had looked away and left him alone.

had he hurt you? the thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“i don’t know, man.” he leans back, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “people are so fucking unpredictable.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “where’s this coming from?”

jake shakes his head. “just—” he exhales. “you think you know someone, you think they’re a certain way, and then suddenly… they’re not. and you don’t know when it happened, or why, or if it was always going to happen and you were just too blind to see it coming.”

there’s a brief pause. then sunghoon says, “sounds like someone’s got abandonment issues.”

jake scoffs. “that’s not what i—” he stops himself. clenches his jaw. takes another sip of his drink. it burns down his throat, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts spiraling in his head.

jay is watching him carefully. “you want to talk about it?”

jake doesn’t answer immediately. he should say no. he should shut it down, brush it off, make some joke and move on. but something about tonight, about the weight pressing down on his chest, makes him want to keep talking. so he does.

“my dad left when i was six.”

it’s abrupt. unprompted. but neither jay nor sunghoon say anything, just let him speak.

“one day he was there, the next he wasn’t. no warning. no explanation.” he exhales, shaking his head. “i remember my mom sat me down and told me he wasn’t coming back, and i didn’t get it at first. i thought—maybe he was just on a long trip. maybe he’d call. maybe—”

he swallows hard. “but he never did.”

the words hang heavy in the air. he doesn’t know why he’s saying this. he doesn’t talk about his dad, ever. but something about tonight makes it easier. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the lingering feeling of wrongness from earlier today. maybe it’s the way your face had fallen when he snapped at you. maybe it’s the way his chest has felt empty since then.

jay sighs. “that’s rough, man.”

and jay means it. because in all the years that he’s known jake, he’s never told them up front of his issues. sure, they’ve picked up some hints of it, how he barely talks about his family, how there used to be a picture frame in their old dorm room with only him and his mom, how he sparingly mentioned his family and even then, not a word about his father.

they had wondered, but never pried. some things are better left alone unless ready to be tackled.

sunghoon, uncharacteristically serious, says, “that’s why you’re like this, huh?”

jake frowns. “like what?”

sunghoon shrugs. “like you don’t trust people to stay.”

jake doesn’t respond. because what is there to say? he’s not wrong.

he glances down at his phone, at the unopened messages from his mom. she had called earlier, left a voicemail. he knows what she wants. it’s the anniversary of the day his dad left. she always calls on this day. but he hasn’t called back yet. he doesn’t know if he wants to.

his mind flickers back to you. the way you had looked at him after he snapped. the way you hadn’t said anything, hadn’t fought back, just accepted it and left.

had you expected it from him? had you seen it coming? had he proved you right?

jay’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “you ever think that maybe you push people away before they can leave?”

jake stills. something inside him twists. because – he doesn’t. does he?

he thinks about the way you had stayed, despite everything. how you had shown up, day after day, putting up with his moods, his silence, his sharp edges. how you had gotten his lunch, even when he had barely acknowledged you all morning. how you had tried, always tried.

and how he had snapped at you anyway.

he rubs a hand down his face. he suddenly feels exhausted. the weight on his chest has only gotten heavier.

“maybe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “maybe i do.”

neither jay nor sunghoon push further. they just let him sit with it, let him stew in his own thoughts.

jake exhales slowly, the realization sinking in like a stone in his stomach.

he doesn’t know why he feels like he’s already losing something he didn’t even know he wanted to keep.

[megumimania]

saw this thread of people showing off their engagement rings and thought this is so s6-7!spencer x fiancée!reader coded.

“good morning, everybody!” you chirped, rolling in with pastries and some fresh coffee for the team.

your unusual enthusiasm on a monday morning was met with looks of suspicion from the team. the unexpected coffee run that you were known to hate did nothing but further their suspicions.

“so i’m guessing valentines went really well for you, huh?” derek teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you. the implication making your skin run hot.

“if i have to sit through another hr seminar on appropriate discussions in the workplace, it’s all your fault.” you swatted his shoulder playfully (purposefully), laughing as he jerked back and soothed his achy shoulder. “this is your first strike morgan.”

“ouch! did pretty boy get you brass knuckles for valentines or something?” he momentarily frowned rubbing his now sore arm. his eyes lit up as he realised the rock that was sitting on your finger.

“well i’ll be damned, that is a rock.” he whistled lowly, taking your hand as he moved it closer to the light, to inspect it even more closely. emily, jj and penelope walked over to you and derek, intrigued by the shiny new thing on your finger.

“what are you guys doing—ooh!” penelope marvelled at the ring much to a disgruntled derek, who couldn’t believe spencer was going to get married before he did.

“oh it’s even more gorgeous in person, damn those crappy pixels.” she grumbled, as she moved your hand so the diamonds would glitter under the desk lights. It was an intricate design that had your birthstone adorned on it.

the girls shared the same level of enthusiasm and excitement as you did. with jj and emily asking for a play by play of how the proposal went down, from the restaurant to the date and finally to when spencer finally proposed.

“it looks like spencer is quite the romantic.” emily commented, seemingly surprised and happy for you both.

love wasn’t something all agents could afford to have—especially in their line of work. so the fact the two of her favourite people were getting married in spite of the odds made her happy.

“okay proposal talk aside, who is gonna be the maid of honor? who’s gonna be your bridesmaids? are you planning to hyphenate or are you gonna take the plunge and go all the way?” penelope asked, already thinking about the logistics of it all that made you chuckle.

the thought of it all was overwhelming, all of the eventual planning and budgeting you were going to have to do was threatening to crash the excitement of your wedding. it was jj’s calming voice that calmed the barrage of thoughts that were running through your head.

“pen, she just said yes to the man like four days ago.”jj giggled at her friends eagerness. “i’m sure they’ll iron out the details later.” she replied, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder which you were thankful for.

in the midst of the congratulations you were receiving from your fellow colleagues and associates alongside the pre wedding buzz, everyone failed to noticed to spencer walk in.

it wasn’t until morgan caught the familiar mop of brown hair was when he called out to him. “hey, pretty boy! why didn’t you say that you and bau barbie over here got engaged?”

you rolled your eyes at his nickname for you. it was born from your affinity to wear an assortment of stylishly impractical outfits that always made it past fbi standards because you always somehow made it functional for use. like the time you chased an unsub down in a park wearing designer jeans.

spencer sheepishly rubbed his neck that flushed a shade of light pink as the attention was now on him. “i thought the picture on her instagram story was already a dead giveaway.” he shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets.

the post couldn’t have been more obvious if you had tried. the shot of you posed up on the couch with your hand resting on your head as if you were nursing a mean headache, with the ring almost demanding to be the centre of attention. you and spencer agreed it was a pretty funny take on the traditional engagement announcements.

“oh, so you were letting the ring do all the talking. smart.” morgan nudged you playfully, before he turned to join the others who were busy fawning over pictures of henry that jj was showing them all.

spencer thought this would be the right time to steal a quick kiss from you. he wasn’t a fan of pda and preferred his quite intimate moments with you away from prying eyes.

he barely managed to press a swift kiss before morgan teased him, “hey loverboy! you better save that for the wedding night.” he said a bit too loudly as half of the office turned to the source of the noise. if there was anything spencer hated being the topic of bureau gossip, but that was less than his hatred for meaningless small talk.

he sighed knowing that he’d be subjected to hearing ‘congratulations’ or knowing glances all day or maybe week—depending if anything else more interesting happened like the one time there was a interdepartmental affair between the cybercrime and the counterterrorism unit.

morgan chuckled watching spencer’s face flush a light pink in response to getting caught. yeah it looked like the prank war treaty and truce that garcia made them both sign and agree to in her signature glittery pen, after she accidentally got flour-bombed in the midst of their prank war was about to be over with.

you just hoped that you’d be kept out of the crossfire this time and that they’d manage to pack it in before your upcoming wedding.

[prettygirl-gabi]

One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[chimielie]

hockey player!iwaizumi x f!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, like sweeter than cotton candy, slight injury

When Hajime lost his tooth, he hated it.

He’d always privately had a little bit of a complex about his looks. Growing up best friends with Oikawa made it hard not to compare their looks and come up lacking. He tried not to let it get to him, never verbalized it to anyone, knew that he was still fine. Just nothing special.

They both grow up playing hockey—at least he can beat up Oikawa on the ice (and they always laugh about it off of it). Oikawa goes pro, right out of high school, and Hajime spends a little time dicking around playing college hockey in America before he gets drafted.

He had met you at the bars after a game; his first win after being traded to the team Oikawa’s played for for a couple years now.

The memory is clear: It’s great to be back together, but he feels some trepidation in the car the guys rented, some childish part of him reticent about the idea of going out and watching chicks swarm his best friend, just like their teen years.

He doesn’t even really have time to think about that once they’re in, though, because he, the newbie, gets sent up to order. While he’s waiting for the bartender to pour them the first round of shots, you tap him on the shoulder, touch so soft he barely feels it after getting pummeled on the ice. His right shoulder is tender because he’d slammed hard into the railing right after stealing the puck from Ushijima, sending to Tooru, who had pushed it neatly into the net. An assist on the first goal of the night, and he’d gotten a goal in himself by the third period too.

It twinges as he turns to face you, a clear question written all over his face. It’s not like he’s totally oblivious, like he’s never been flirted with. It just somehow always surprises him still.

“You’re fine,” you declare, already a little tipsy, your cheeks warming as he observes you in your night out outfit. He doesn’t notice a single other girl, talking to Oikawa or not, the whole night.

The next morning, you repeat it to him, curled up against his naked chest, eyes unclouded by drink but your words just as genuine.

It was the first time he’d ever thought of being fine as a good thing.

So when the tooth, his right front one, comes out, cracked by a hard high stick to the face, he almost doesn’t want to come home after the game. It probably doesn’t make sense to get it replaced completely—injuries like this are common in his line of work, and it’ll be a hell of a lot more trouble to keep replacing fakes. He opts for a partial denture, something he can take out during games, but the mold takes twenty-four hours to cure.

You attend as many of his games as you can, but he’d insisted that you head home on your own while the doctors checked him out. You’d ceded only on the condition that you’d have dinner waiting when he got back, something soft and good at room temperature so he wouldn’t aggravate the nerves.

He frowns when you see him, crossing the room and hovering your hands over his swollen cheeks and telling him how worried you’d been, how happy you are he’s okay.

“When’s it gonna be technically healed?” You ask, and his heart clenches.

“It’ll probably be sensitive for a few more days, but they’ll have a coverup ready by tomorrow,” he says. Before he can crack a joke like so you don’t have to look at this ugly mug too long, you’re looking at him with a contemplative expression, one he doesn’t know how to read.

“So… will it hurt if I kiss you?” You want to know. “I feel so bad, ‘cause it must have sucked, but you look so cute like this.”

His heart drops straight through the pit of his stomach in relief.

“Yeah, baby, it’ll be fine… Ow! Ow! Okay, little gentler.”

Still, he wears the flipper as often as he can once he gets it. He doesn’t like the way it looks, the gap, he reasons. Just because you say you do doesn’t mean he’s okay with showing up to functions looking even more like a scrub to your perfect ten. And yeah, he’d think you were beautiful with a paper sack over your head, but it’s just different.

He can hear you whispering before he even walks into the kitchen. You beam up at him, as beautiful as that night in the bar, and his face breaks out into a smile before he even registers it.

“Do you wanna…” you nudge your daughter, and she turns to him, smile just as bright as yours. His heart stops.

There’s a big gap in that smile, the right front tooth missing.

“Look, Daddy!” He catches her up in a big hug, hefting her up so he can inspect her face closely. “Now we match!”

It’s all crashing down on him. He’s bubbling up with it, the fizzy feeling you’d given him in the bar, the tears as he vowed until death do us part, the softness as he’d cradled her in his arms for the first time. You stand, leaning your head on his shoulder as your daughter tells him all about the loss of her first tooth, about the importance of being the first in her class to lose one.

“You’re so brave, kiddo.” He kisses her head. “Makes you even cuter. Want some yogurt?”

[5sospenguinqueen]

Please, Please, Please | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary:  What do you do when your ex-girlfriend moves on with another guy? Become needy and pathetic. But, when the guy brings you to tears, Max knows it's his time to save you from further heartbreak.

Warnings: barry keogan (i couldn't find any other men with her that worked), swearing, toxic relationships, pathetic max 

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part 

Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

part 4 will be the last part so it may seem a bit rushed but i didn’t plan anything else. sorry! these just seem to be getting worse as well, so i’m also sorry about that 

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by danielricciardo, liamlawson30 and others

maxverstappen1 a good effort from the team to start on the front row tomorrow 💪 let’s keep pushing tomorrow 🇺🇸

6,633 comments 

user1 twitter is claiming that max and kelly broke up

user2 okay but i actually can’t function until i know if max is free from kelly once more

user3 max please tell us if you and kelly have broken up

user4 i need max and kelly to be done forever this time 

user5 is it true that you broke up with kelly?

→ maxverstappen1 yes. now can we focus on the race

→ user6 @/yn_ln this means you can give him another chance 

→ user7 why would she want to after he ran back to kelly

(comments have been limited) 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, actorbf and others

yn_ln surprise! if you have any questions, you can refer to my new single please, please, please 💋

13,850 comments 

user8 the two of them are so cute 

jennaortega i’ll give you all the kisses 

→ user9 i wouldn’t. not with all the men she goes through

→ oscarpiastri whoa now, there’s no need for that 

user10 don’t get me wrong. i’m loving all the new music. but my heart can’t handle all the new layers to this drama 

landonorris okay, little miss hollywood. that music video just proved you’d never do well in a film 

→ yn_ln oi, i act better than you do, mr hilton 

→ hilton we’d be happy to have you both

user11 ew, so she went from a hot motorsport driver to a subpar actor?

user12 wait, what? this wasn’t supposed to happen. she’s gone off script. max is single now, they were meant to be getting back together 

→ user13 she’s not his back-up plan. plus she’s way out of his league 

user14 don’t you think you might be putting strain on her new relationship? i doubt her new guy likes to see everyone preferring the old guy 

→ user15 hopefully that means he’ll leave and we can get her and max back

user16 has anyone checked on max?

(comments have been turned off)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, verstappencom and others

yn_ln how to lose a cake in 10 minutes 

16,334 comments 

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful birthday girl 

→ francisca.cgomes this dress is going to live rent free in my head 

→ yn_ln thank you for letting me show you both twenty different dresses

→ alexandrasaintmleux just wish you were taller so we could steal some of them 

→ yn_ln can’t believe you’d do this to me on the day of my birth 

→ oscarpiastri technically your birthday is tomorrow. this was just your birthday party

→ yn_ln thin fucking ice, piastri

user1 guys guys guys. verstappencom liked this. i repeat verstappencom liked this

→ user2 okay but that’s not max

→ user1 but it’s an advocate for max so 

landonorris dicaprio wouldn’t want you anyway. you’re too short

→ yn_ln i’ll make my boyfriend fight you 

→ landonorris i’m not scared of your polly pocket boyfriend

→ mclaren you can’t say stuff like this publicly, lan

→ user3 i swear none of them actually like her boyfriend 

→ user4 showing their support for max. he’s the only person who matches her beauty 

user5 no but the hand in the dress is somehow cute and hot 

→ user6 not with that guy. it should be max 

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite popstar

replies

user7 what do you mean she had to pay for her own birthday meal on her birthday because her boyfriend wouldn’t

→ user8 not even wouldn’t but flat out refused 

→ user9 streets are saying it’s because he’s broke. not exactly like he’s raking in the job offers 

user10 so this man is lucky enough to get a chance with THE y/n l/n, then he refuses to pay for her dinner, and then he yells at her?? all on her birthday???

→ user11 he’s punching above his weight and clearly that angers him

→ user12 especially with the way she looked in that yellow sparkly dress today 

user13 someone clearly isn’t very smart. she writes a song for him - the first one she’s written recently that isn’t about max - and he does exactly what the song asks him not to do 

→ user14 how dare he try to embarrass our queen by yelling at her in front of so many people

→ user15 i’m starting to question if our girl does have good judgement. how could two men do this to her? 

→ user16 definitely doesn’t have good taste

user17 the audacity to yell at her in a restaurant of people, and then continue to do so after you were asked to leave because you were yelling at her

user18 and if i said i saw max verstappen pass them in the street, stop and turn, and start defending her, then what?

→ user18 he was literally yelling at this man whilst holding a crying y/n behind him, and rubbing her arm soothingly 

→ user19 we’d say you’re full of shit and have no tangible proof 

→ user20 this could be true because he was hanging out with charles and some of the drivers. and i just know alex sm got on the phone to her boyf and begged him to send the love of y/n’s life to save her

→ user19 pics or it didn’t happen

maxverstappen1 posted a new story yn_ln posted a new story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1 i recognise the birthday girl's dress

landonorris replied to yn_ln who’s the 3rd person 👀 → wait why wasn’t I invited

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requests open

tag list

@omgsuperstarg @seonghwaexile @evie-119 @alejandrablacklupin @nina-or-anna-or-nora @shelbyteller @raynetargaryan2 @astroniii @raizelchrysanderoctavius @azuramicah @seasonswinter @chaoswithus @casey1-2007 @chemiru @strengthandstay @ivanag1rl@anayaverse @formulaal @ellelabelle @yara011 @callsignwidow @freyathehuntress @floweringlee @isagrace22 @sunny44 @lottalove4evelyn @danielshoe @paucubarsisimp @monacosprince @stereading @hoeforsirius @anilovessadbooks @armystay89 @cassofheartsss

sorry if i missed anyone. it wouldn't let me tag some of y'all

[nylqnder]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED SIDNEY CROSBY

pairing: younger!gf x sidney crosby

summary: after a night of celebrating, one photo changes everything. a private moment goes public, sparking rumors, opinions, and a whole lot of judgment. suddenly, it feels like the world is closing in, and you and sidney have to figure out how to deal with the chaos.

warnings: age gap (12 years, reader is 25), appearances from natemac + charlotte, steph marner and lauren kyle, people online sucking and being rude, angst

wc: 6.32k

notes: based on dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift. obsessed how everyone's collectively agreed that sidcros canonically has a younger gf lmao

Sidney wasn’t the type to bring people along — no charity events, no team functions, nothing that risked exposing too much. Privacy was his shield, one he’d spent years perfecting, carefully keeping his private and professional lives independent of each other. And, in the several months you’d been together, that instinct had only sharpened. No one knew about you, not really. Not the media, not the fans, not even some of his teammates.

But when he asked, voice soft and edged with something unspoken, you couldn’t say no.

He would never admit it. He would never outright say that he wanted you there, that he needed you there. 

But you could hear it anyway — in the way his voice hesitated just a fraction too long before he asked, in the way he didn’t meet your eyes at first, like giving you the choice to say no made it easier for him to ask at all. Sidney wasn’t one to lean on others, not openly, not in ways that could be perceived as weakness. But this? Inviting you to Four Nations, to a tournament where every move was scrutinized, where the weight of expectation that comes with representing your country pressed down like a vice?

It wasn’t just about wanting you there. It was about needing something steady, something certain, in the chaos of it all. You weren’t just a spectator to him. You were an anchor. And even if he’d never say it, this was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay. 

So here you were, in Montreal, tucked into the quiet luxury of Sidney’s hotel room, the hum of the city just beyond the window. His duffel bag sat half-zipped on the floor, his team-issued gear folded neatly beside it. Across the room, Sidney leaned against the dresser, still in his sweats, still fresh from practice, watching you as you stood in the middle of the room with your coat draped over your arm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told Sidney who was watching you with that quiet patience, waiting for you to tell him how your afternoon went.

The invitation had caught you off guard. Sidney wasn’t the kind of guy who asked for favours, who made a fuss over things most people took for granted. But somehow, between morning skate and team meetings, he and Nate had quietly set this up.

No one here really knew about you. Sidney had made sure of that — not out of shame or secrecy, but because privacy was the only way he knew how to protect something that mattered. And because of that, you didn’t have the built-in connections the other WAGs had. You weren’t part of the tight-knit circle that formed around a team, the kind of bond that came from years of shared seasons and shared memories from teams such as these.

But then Nate’s fiancée, Charlotte, had texted — a casual, no-pressure invitation to lunch with her, along with Mitch and Connor’s wives, Steph and Lauren. It had been arranged so seamlessly that you knew it had come from someone other than them — Sidney or Nate, most likely, making sure you weren’t alone in a city full of people who knew each other.

He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant. “I didn’t do anything.”

You gave him a look, dropping your coat and pulling off your heeled boots before sitting on the foot of the bed. “Nate, then.”

Sidney huffed out a laugh, gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “Maybe.”

It was so like him — so like them — to do something thoughtful and then pretend like it hadn’t taken effort at all. You should’ve expected it.

Still, it had felt strange walking into that restaurant, into a lunch with women who had a history with each other, a rhythm you hadn’t yet learned. The gap between you and them was obvious in some ways — you were newer, younger, and the age difference between you and Sidney wasn’t exactly subtle.

But they hadn’t pried. They hadn’t judged.

They’d just… welcomed you.

“You were right about them,” you said finally, drawing your legs up beneath you on the bed. “They were really nice. They didn’t ask a bunch of questions or make it weird.”

Sidney’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you fill in the silence at your own pace.

“I mean, I know the age difference is… noticeable,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “I figured there’d be some curiosity, maybe even skepticism. But they didn’t make me feel out of place. It was just… easy.”

Sidney let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping absently against the dresser. “Good,” he said simply, but there was something heavier beneath it.

You tilted your head. “You were worried?”

His lips pressed together in a way that meant he was choosing his words carefully. “Not worried,” he admitted. “Just… I didn’t want you to feel like an outsider.”

Something in your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at the quiet sincerity in his voice. He hadn’t asked you to come here lightly. He hadn’t arranged this lunch on a whim.

“I didn’t,” you reassured him. “It was nice to feel included.”

Sidney nodded, a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture that told you he was relieved. He glanced down at the floor, then back up at you, his mouth quirking into something almost shy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

Your breath caught for half a second, but you smiled. “Me too.”

The days began to blur together as the tournament came into full swing. You’d only just begun to experience the ebb and flow of regular hockey seasons, but with the Penguins missing playoffs last year, you hadn’t experienced the business of meaningful hockey. One moment, you were in Montreal, adjusting to the rhythm of Sidney’s world, and the next, you were on a plane to Boston, the city humming with anticipation for the final game.

It was in those moments, where Sidney was being whisked away to the arena for practice and media, that you were glad to know the other girls now. Mornings you likely would’ve spent alone were now spent getting brunch with the girls or checking out local boutiques together. 

The final game felt different. The energy in the arena, the weight of expectation in the air — it was tangible, pressing down on everyone in attendance. You could feel it in the way the fans leaned forward in their seats, in the nervous tension woven between every play. The stakes were everything. Canada versus the U.S. A rivalry as old as the game itself, culminating in one night, one moment.

You sat beside Lauren in the stands, your fingers curled around the armrests of your seat as the game unfolded at a breakneck pace. Every shift was a battle, every second a test of endurance and will. Sidney was relentless, his presence a steady force on the ice, his every move calculated and precise. And yet, it wasn’t just him — it was the whole team, a collection of the best, playing as one.

The game stretched into overtime, the tension nearly unbearable. You barely breathed as Canada took a faceoff and gained possession in the offensive zone. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as Mitch passed the puck to a wide-open Connor right in front of the net before he wired a wrister past the goaltender. The building erupted, the horn blared, and suddenly, everything was chaos.

You screamed before you even realized it, jumping to your feet, arms wrapping around Lauren as you both nearly lost your balance in your excitement. The ice was a blur of movement — sticks and gloves flying, players leaping over the boards, crashing into each other with unrestrained joy. The Canadian bench emptied in an instant, the celebration spilling across the ice in waves.

You finally see the 87 on a red jersey joining the throng of players. He wasn’t the first into the pile, likely wasn’t the loudest in his celebration, but the second he reached his teammates, the weight he carried seemed to lift. His grin was wide, eyes crinkling at the corners, his arms tight around Nate as they half-collapsed into the growing huddle. It was rare to see Sidney lose himself in a moment, to let his guard down completely. But here, now, you could see it. The pure, unfiltered joy of winning, of achieving something monumental on the international stage once again.

Your throat tightened, emotion catching you off guard. It was one thing to know how much this meant to him, but another to see it written across his face so clearly. Sidney wasn’t one to need validation, but this — this was different. Winning for his country, leading on the biggest stage — it was everything.

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to miss a second. Lauren squeezed your arm, her own excitement mirrored in her bright smile. “They did it!”

You nodded, laughing breathlessly. “I can’t believe it.”

The medal ceremony was a blur of red and gold, of cheers and anthems and beaming faces. When Sidney stepped forward to receive his medal, you swore your heart clenched in your chest. He looked up into the crowd, and for a fleeting second, his gaze found yours. He didn’t wave, didn’t do anything that might draw attention to the connection, but the warmth in his expression was unmistakable. And that was enough.

The bar was packed by the time you arrived, a haze of celebration thick in the air. Team Canada had all but taken over, their roped-off section teeming with players, coaches, and close friends, the space a sea of red and white. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the room, voices raised over the pulse of music and the distant roar of fans still celebrating in the streets.

You had barely stepped inside when you felt a presence at your side, warm and familiar.

“You made it.”

Sidney’s voice was quieter than the surrounding noise, but you’d have heard him anywhere.

You turned, and there he was — still in the team-issued hoodie he must have thrown on post-shower, hair damp at the edges, eyes alight with something soft and tired and incredibly alive. The gold medal was slung around his neck, a casual afterthought despite the magnitude of what it meant.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Of course I did.”

His hand found yours instinctively, fingers warm against your wrist, brushing against your pulse. He didn’t pull you in right away, but there was something unmistakable in the way he looked at you. A silent acknowledgment. A quiet gratitude.

And then, just like that, the space between you was gone. His arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you close, the solid warmth of him pressing into you. He smelled purely of champagne and beer that had been poured on him post-win. His lips found your temple first, then your cheek, slow and deliberate. He hadn’t had a second to himself since the final horn, but here, now, with you, he let himself pause.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. “For what?”

“For being here.”

It was a simple thing, and yet it held so much. For seeing him at his most intense and still choosing to stay. For understanding the gravity of nights like these and letting him exist within them without expectation. For knowing when to stay in the background and when to step into his orbit.

You smiled, fingers grazing the medal at his chest before gripping the front of his hoodie, tugging him down just enough for your lips to brush his. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

His breath hitched slightly, just for a second, before he kissed you properly, with the kind of certainty that came with knowing, without a doubt, that this was right.

The moment was brief, fleeting — Sidney wasn’t one for public displays — but when he pulled away, his fingers still rested against your hip, grounding you to him.

“C’mon,” he said, voice lighter now, that rare post-win ease still settling into his frame. “Let’s get a drink.”

You let him lead you deeper into the celebration, past teammates who clapped him on the back and playfully nudged him at the sight of you together. He took it all in stride, offering nothing more than a smirk before ordering two drinks, his hand never once leaving yours.

The morning after the celebration felt slow, almost suspended in the quiet hum of a city still revelling in victory. Sunlight streamed through the hotel curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the unmade bed where Sidney lay beside you, his breathing steady, the weight of exhaustion still heavy in his limbs.

His back rose and fell with each slow breath, the muscles shifting beneath skin mapped with faint freckles and the ghost of old bruises. The warm glow of morning light traced the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, pooling in the dip of his spine, highlighting the way his skin gleamed with the remnants of last night’s sweat. A few stray curls clung to the nape of his neck, dark against the pale sheets. 

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him just yet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The moment the screen lit up, your stomach twisted. Missed calls. Unread messages. Group chats that had been dormant now lit up with notifications.

Your pulse quickened. Something had happened.

You shot upright, legs swinging over the side of the bed as you scrolled through the never-ending stream of notifications. Sidney stirred beside you, a low hum escaping his throat as he blinked against the light. “Morning, hon.”

You didn’t reply, rather scrolling through messages and posts to find the root of the uproar. “Babe?” he asked. When met with more silence, he sat up, placing a calloused hand softly on your shoulder. “Y/n? You okay?”

You hesitated for half a second before exhaling sharply, tilting the screen toward him. It didn’t take long for Sidney to make out what he was seeing on your screen. A single image had spread like wildfire across social media overnight — a photo taken at the bar, capturing the two of you in the kind of intimacy that left nothing to interpretation.

The photo on your screen was bathed in the warm, low-lit ambiance of the bar, a moment frozen in time. Sidney stood before you, his smile soft yet intense as he gazed down at you. Your arms were wrapped around each other, bodies pressed close, foreheads nearly touching, lost in a private world amid the dimly lit crowd. The golden glow of the room kissed your skin, the soft waves of your hair cascading down your back as your fingers rested lightly on his bicep.

The comments were filled with vitriol.

Since when is Crosby into arm candy?

She looks way younger than him…

Is this a mid-life crisis thing or…?

Damn, never thought I’d see Sid with a gold digger.

The words made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just gossip; it was venom. Assumptions turned into insults, speculation sharpened into accusations. People who didn’t know you — who had never even seen you before this moment — had already decided exactly who you were.

Sidney pulled back, retreating to his side of the bed. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, grabbed his phone and scrolled through his equally endless notifications. They all contained the same things; questions about who this mystery girl was, asking since when was he into younger girls. The queries about who you were rivalled the amount of congratulatory text he had received about winning gold. 

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the way his shoulders were tensed up as he hunched over his phone. “Sid,” you started, voice careful, but he shook his head.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I should’ve known someone would take a picture.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, but that doesn’t make it easier.”

Sidney had spent his entire career guarding his privacy, crafting an existence where the only thing the world saw was the player, never the man. And now, in a single night, that careful boundary had been breached.

You crawled across the expanse of the king bed, the sheets rustling softly beneath you as you moved closer. Your fingers found his shoulder first, hesitant yet deliberate, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your palm flattened over the tense muscle. He exhaled at the touch, a barely-there sigh, but he didn’t lean into you. 

“What do we do?”

He exhaled sharply. “We don’t do anything.”

You blinked. “Sid—”

He stood up, your hand falling from his unclothed shoulder as he turned to face you. “People are going to say what they want, no matter what we do. If we respond, it adds fuel to the fire. If we stay quiet, it dies down eventually.”

You knew he was right, but it didn’t make it easier. Your fingers curled against the sheets, frustration simmering beneath your skin. “It’s just… ugly. They’re making it seem like you’re some predator and I’m some money-hungry girl taking advantage of you. And they don’t even know us.”

Sidney’s expression softened. “I know.” His hand found your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. “But I do. And that’s what matters.”

You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of doubt, but there was none. Just the unwavering steadiness that defined him, the quiet certainty that had always drawn you to him in the first place.

He let his hand fall, exhaling slowly before running his fingers through his still-damp hair. The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and heavy, but Sidney didn’t flinch under it. He just stood there, watching you, waiting.

Then, his phone buzzed again. A call. He glanced at the screen, lips pressing into a thin line before silencing it.

“Who is it?” you asked quietly.

“Geno,” he muttered. After a beat, his phone buzzed again. “Tanger too. Probably checking in.”

Of course. The photo was everywhere. His teammates weren’t oblivious. They knew what this meant — what it meant for him.

Sidney sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We should pack. Our flight’s in a few hours.”

You nodded, though the tension still sat heavy in your chest. This wasn’t something you could outrun, not even by getting on a plane and heading back to Pittsburgh. But if Sidney wasn’t going to let it dictate his next move, you wouldn’t either.

The hotel lobby was eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the night before. A few lingering fans still loitered outside, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the players before they departed for their respective cities. The gold medal around Sidney’s neck had been tucked away into his carry-on, but there was no mistaking who he was — who both of you were, now, in the wake of the photo.

You spotted them before they spotted you.

The girls stood near the hotel entrance, their voices hushed but animated. You could tell they had been talking about it — about you. The moment they noticed you approaching, their expressions shifted, morphing into something softer. Understanding.

“Hey hon,” Charlotte murmured, stepping forward first, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I saw everything online. Are you okay?”

You hesitated. There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

“I…” you exhaled, forcing a small smile. “It’s a lot.”

Lauren scoffed, arms crossing. “People are awful. Like, seriously, do they not have anything better to do than rip apart someone they don’t even know?”

Steph nodded, her brows furrowed in frustration. “I don’t get it. As if Sidney would ever be the type to entertain a ‘gold digger’ — like, come on.”

Their voices overlapped, indignation building on your behalf, and the warmth in your chest surprised you. You hadn’t expected this. Not really. You’d half expected them to finally let their fronts up and admit that they thought the age gap was weird, that they agreed with the strangers online who called you an opportunist, who speculated about your intentions, who dissected every interaction like it was proof of some ulterior motive. You’d half expected them to nod along with the cruellest comments, to tell you, gently but firmly, that they understood why people were saying those things.

But they didn’t.

Instead, their outrage was genuine, layered with protectiveness you hadn’t dared to hope for. Their voices rose over one another, dismissing the gossip with a ferocity that made your throat tighten. Something was reassuring about their presence, about the way they made it clear you weren’t alone in this. You hadn’t been part of this world long, but in the span of a few days, they had made space for you in it.

Sidney stepped up next to you, his hand brushing against yours. “We should get going, the cars waiting out front.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging quick hugs before stepping aside, letting you both pass. As you exited the hotel, the cool Boston air hit your skin, crisp and awakening. Sidney’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you toward the car waiting to take you to the airport.

The chartered flight back to Pittsburgh was quiet. Sidney had never been a man of many words, but this silence was different — it was thicker and heavier. The silence threatened to suffocate the two of you.

You sat beside him, your fingers twisting idly in your lap, the occasional hum of the airplane engines the only sound between you. Every now and then, your phone would vibrate with another notification, but you had stopped checking them hours ago. You knew what they would say.

Sidney, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped scrolling. His jaw was set, shoulders tight, his focus glued to the screen as he combed through the online storm that had erupted overnight. The same cycle of cruel comments, the same intrusive headlines. Sidney didn’t even use social media, at least not publicly. He only had it to keep up with his closest friends and family. 

But that didn’t stop him from looking. From searching his own name. From refreshing the threads and articles that dissected the photo. It was a compulsion, a need to know — even if knowing only made it worse. His grip on his phone tightened with every cruel joke, every twisted narrative about the two of you. You could see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something raw in his expression, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Eventually, you reached over, your fingertips grazing the back of his hand, urging him to stop. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.

“Sid,” you murmured.

A long exhale. He finally locked his phone and set it face-down on the table in front of him. He rubbed his hands over his face before turning his gaze toward the window, watching the clouds roll by.

“I didn’t want this for you,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

He turned then, looking at you for the first time in what felt like hours. “It’s not fair,” he said, the words sharp with frustration. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I should’ve—”

“Sid.” You cut him off before he could start blaming himself again. “This isn’t just about you. We knew this could happen. We just didn’t know when.”

His lips pressed together, unhappy but unwilling to argue. He reached for your hand then, lacing his fingers with yours, grounding himself in the simple connection.

But even as he held you close, you could feel the shift between you.

The weight of it all didn’t lessen when you returned to Pittsburgh. If anything, it only grew heavier.

Sidney was different. Not distant, exactly, but careful in a way he hadn’t been before. The easy rhythm you had fallen into over the months — the stolen moments, the quiet evenings spent in the comfort of each other — had been disrupted.

Now, everything felt… tense.

You noticed it in the way he checked over his shoulder for any signs of intruding cameras before reaching for you, in the way he kept a careful distance between you in crowded spaces, his hand hovering near yours but never quite closing the gap. He still looked at you the same way in private, still touched you with the same quiet reverence. But beyond closed doors, it was as if he had retreated behind an invisible wall.

It wasn’t intentional. You knew that. This was how he had survived in the public eye for so long — by being careful, by maintaining control.

But this time, it wasn’t just him anymore. It was you, too.

And you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend it didn’t hurt.

The first fight — the first big fight — came late one evening, when the weight of everything became too much to ignore.

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the television, its blue light flickering against the walls. Sidney sat beside you on the couch, one arm draped along the backrest, his other hand absently tapping against his thigh. He looked tired — more tired than he had in a long time. The kind of tiredness that went deeper than physical exhaustion.

TNT was on, background noise to the silence neither of you seemed eager to break. Then, Paul Bissonnette’s voice cut through the quiet, casual but laced with something more. Something biting.

“Look at our boy Sid, huh? Maybe all he needed was a new young toy to bring some life back into him.”

The words landed like a slap.

Sidney stiffened, every muscle in his body coiling tight. Without hesitation, he grabbed the remote and shut the TV off in an instant, the screen snapping to black.

You sat in the newfound silence and the air between you suddenly charged.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Sidney exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know how we can keep doing this,” he muttered, voice strained. “Not if this is what people think.”

Your brows knitted together, confusion laced with hurt. You uncurled yourself from Sidney’s side, turning to look at him. “Since when do you care what people think?”

“I don’t,” he snapped, then sighed, shaking his head as if trying to correct himself. “It’s not about me.” He turned to you, his expression raw in a way that made your stomach twist. “It’s about you. The way they talk about you. The things they’re saying.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Sid, they don’t know me. They don’t know us.”

“They don’t have to,” he said, voice edged with frustration. “They’ve already decided. And now every time someone looks at you, that’s what they’ll think.”

Anger flickered in your chest, an ember catching fire. “So what? That’s their problem, not ours.”

Sidney pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling hard as he stood up and paced a couple of steps in front of the still-warm television. “You don’t get it. It’s not just a few comments. It’s not just gossip. It’s relentless. It follows you. No matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, they’ll keep talking. They’ll keep judging.”

You scoffed, the weight of his words sinking in, settling like a stone in your stomach. “So what, then? What are you saying, Sid?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation — more than anything else — made your chest tighten.

“I love you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I can’t subject you to the kind of judgment that us being together will bring you.”

Your breath hitched. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close. “Are you—” Your voice broke slightly. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Are you ending this?”

Sidney didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The answer was written all over his face.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze was cast downward, jaw tight, hands shoved deep into his sweatshirt pocket like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reluctant. “I just… I don’t want this life to hurt you.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s bullshit, Sidney.”

His head snapped up, eyes darkening. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you shot back, anger rising in your throat. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for you. Because it’s easier to let go than to fight for something that actually matters.”

Sidney’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” You let out a humourless laugh, standing up and getting in his space, forcing him to look at you. “What’s not fair is you making this decision for me. You think I don’t know what I signed up for? You think I don’t know what comes with being with you?”

He stepped back, needing to put a few feet of distance between the two of you to remove the temptation of reaching for you. Frustration was etched into every line of his face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“But I chose to!” you said, your voice coming out slightly more raised than you intended. Your voice cracked, hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Sid. I’m not a fucking child, Sidney! God. You of all people should know that.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Sidney’s chest rose and fell with a slow, measured breath, his jaw locked so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them open again.

“I know that,” he said finally, voice rough. “I know you’re not a child.”

“Then why are you treating me like one?” Your words came sharp, slicing through the tension between you.

He faltered. His lips parted as if he had an answer ready, but nothing came. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, gaze flickering toward the ground. When he didn’t speak, you felt something crack inside you, something that had already been splintering under the weight of this conversation.

Your laugh was bitter, humourless. “You don’t even know, do you?”

Sidney’s head snapped up, a flash of something — guilt, maybe, or shame — crossing his features. “That’s not—”

“No,” you cut him off, stepping closer, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “You’re scared.”

His brows knit together, but he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

“You’re scared of what they say. Scared of what it means to have something real and complicated and worth fighting for,” you pressed, voice shaking with something between heartbreak and fury. “You’re a coward, Sidney.”

He flinched. The word hit its mark, a direct shot to his pride. For a second, you thought he might lash out, might argue, might fight for himself — for you — for this. But instead, his face softened, the anger slipping away like a tide receding. He exhaled a slow, unsteady breath, and dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a defence. It wasn’t an argument. Just those two words, heavy with meaning, with regret, with something that almost sounded like surrender.

But you weren’t sure you could accept them.

Your arms wrapped around yourself instinctively, like you were trying to hold yourself together, keep your heart from shattering entirely. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you’re willing to let them dictate this.”

Sidney stepped forward, just slightly, like he wanted to close the space between you. “I don’t want to let them dictate anything. I just— I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the fight draining out of you all at once. Because that was the part that made this hurt the most. He wasn’t lying. He truly believed he was doing the right thing. That protecting you meant walking away from you.

But that wasn’t protection. That was fear.

You exhaled sharply, opening your eyes to meet his. “You already hurt me, Sid.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything to fix it. But there was nothing he could say. Not now.

The air between you was thick with everything unsaid, the silence pressing in on all sides. Sidney’s face was tense, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes — God, his eyes — were the only part of him that betrayed how much this was killing him.

Your heart clenched, an ache settling deep in your chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment you walked away. You took a step back.

But then—

“I don’t want this to end.”

The words came out hoarse, almost broken, and the moment they did, it was like something inside of him finally cracked wide open.

Sidney exhaled shakily, hands raking through his hair like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, voice thick. “But I’m scared, okay?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m scared of what it means to bring you into this. Scared of how they’ll tear you apart. Scared that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you don’t want this life anymore, and I’ll lose you anyway.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the wind from your lungs.

That was it. That was the truth of it — not just fear of what people said, but fear of losing you.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Sid,” you whispered, heart hammering. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared.”

His gaze flickered to yours, conflicted and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“You think you’re protecting me, but you’re not. You’re just making the decision for me,” you said, voice steady despite the way your emotions threatened to break free. “If you want this to work, you need to be more like the Sidney that doesn’t give a damn what the media says. The one who only cares about what happens on the ice and in his own life. You’ve spent your whole career tuning out the noise — why can’t you do that for this?”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Because this is different.”

“It’s not.” You reached for his hand, gripping it tight. “It only feels different because you’re letting them make it different. If you want this — if you want me — you need to stop letting them dictate what you do. What we are.”

Sidney stared at you, his fingers tightening around yours like he was anchoring himself to you. And for the first time since this fight started, you saw it. The fight in him.

He wasn’t letting go. He couldn’t.

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he exhaled, like he was finally letting himself breathe again. “I want you,” he said, the words low and certain. “I want this.” His voice dropped even lower, almost like a confession. “I love you too much to let you walk away.”

“Then stop being scared,” you murmured.

You squeezed his hand one last time before pulling your hand gently from his. As much as you believed Sidney when he said he wanted this to work — wanted you to work — the fear was still rooted in him. It lingered in the way his fingers twitched as you let go, in the way his breath caught like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You had spent so much time trying to prove to him that love didn’t have to be terrifying, that not every open door led to something painful. But fear like his wasn’t something you could love away. It had to be faced. By him.

So you stepped back.

His eyes flickered with something — panic, maybe, or understanding. Maybe both.

“I—” he started, but the words never fully formed.

You gave him a small, sad smile. “You have to figure this out, Sid. I can’t do it for you.”

The night air wrapped around you as you left his home and for the first time in a long time, Sidney let you go.

The door shut softly behind you, the quiet sound somehow louder than all the shouting, all the arguing, all the things left unsaid between you.

Sidney stood there, staring at the empty space where you had just been, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His hands clenched at his sides, then loosened, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that you were gone.

The house felt impossibly empty.

He turned toward the window, catching a glimpse of your silhouette as you walked down the driveway, your shoulders squared, your pace steady. But then, just before you reached your car, you hesitated.

Sidney held his breath.

For a second — just a second — he thought you might turn back. That you might give him another chance to fix this before it was truly broken.

But then you inhaled sharply, set your jaw, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.

And then you were gone.

Sidney exhaled shakily, dragging a hand over his face as he turned away from the window. His heart pounded, a dull, aching rhythm that matched the pulsing regret settling deep in his chest.

He had been so afraid of losing you.

And now, because of that fear — because of his own cowardice — he might have lost you anyway.

[etherealrin]

✧₊⁺ thinking about nerd!karasu...

nerd!karasu who wears heavy rimmed glasses whenever he's in class or studying. though he wears contacts most of the time and whilst playing football, he houses a firm belief that wearing his glasses make him a better student.

nerd!karasu who accidentally becomes your academic rival after placing above you one too many times in the test rankings. it pisses you off how he's so good at analyzing your facials, knowing exactly how to press your buttons. and he wasn't even a psychology major!

nerd!karasu who's in love with anthropology and can occasionally be found on weekends sitting in random cafes near campus. according to him, he's "people watching."

nerd!karasu who needs a matcha latte every morning or else he cannot function at the 9 AM lectures he foolishly thought he could wake up for when he was doing course registration.

nerd!karasu who despite being known as "studious" somehow has time to be the star player of your university's football team, and a full time gym rat. does this man even sleep?

nerd!karasu who is often caught at the convenience store at stupidly late hours. one time you witnessed him microwaving a buldak carbonara inside of 7-11 at 3 am. why were you there? to get a red bull (so you could continue your all nighter.)

nerd!karasu who's keenly perceptive; he knows when you're feeling down. if he's feeling generous that day, he'll ask if you want to grab pastries together (when you're in a bad mood he almost always pays.)

nerd!karasu who during midterm and finals season is too tired and locked in to gel up his hair so you're blessed with the rare sighting of his raven colored locks falling naturally down his face. his bangs get into his eyes and he has to shake his head to clear them.

nerd!karasu who has this infuriating (hot) habit of lifting his shirt up to wipe his sweat in the too-warm lecture halls, giving everyone a glimpse of impeccable washboard abs. he winks when he catches girls staring.

nerd!karasu who's favorite subject is chemistry, which you happen to share with him. your professor had just assigned a month-long lab report that would total 20% of your semester grade, so you were really praying that your partner wouldn't be a complete bum. when karasu’s name and yours are called together, you're not sure whether to be relieved or distressed. on one hand, karasu was insanely smart. on the other, he was annoying, your number one competitor, and kind of beautiful. scratch that, he was majestic.

karasu wastes no time tracking you down after the professor is done, his smirk making you self-conscious.

"would ya look at that, sweetie. it's us two, again."

"yeah well, don't drag us down," you shoot back, rolling your eyes. you pretend he has no effect on you, that his deep eyes don't draw you in with a magnetic pull.

and maybe nerd!karasu had pure, academic intentions when he invited you to his room to work on the report. maybe he didn't mean to lean in too close, to flirtingly tease with you.

you're trying to type and he's making it impossible because he insists on "making sure you didn't mess up his pc settings." what that really entails is his hot breath on your neck as you attempt to finish up the document. karasu is staring shamelessly; you're trying not to think about any of it. you're in his room, sitting in his chair, with his things surrounding you—worst of all, he's way too close. every little spike of his purplish hair, you feel against your skin.

"you're turning red," he notes, peering at you through his black rimmed frames.

"maybe if you got off m- huh?"

karasu's pulling you in by the waist, expression unreadable and eyes shining with anything but the intent to do schoolwork.

"we're practically done now. i think that we should stop studying the reactivity of elements and start looking at attractivity instead."

a/n: karasu and his cheesy chem pickup lines…we've seen nerd!gojo but wb karasu!! even better bc imo this is so canon.

masterlist!!

[lecl1ercswif7ie]

I Care Buck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ! The New Avengers x Reader

Summary: After your first mission you tell Bucky to blowout his hair with your Dyson - The rest of The Avengers are shocked he doesn't oppose.

Author's Note: This is my first fic, i'm sorry if it's a bit weird, english is not my first languange and i'm kind of nervous of writing here 🙈 Enjoy the fic!!

-

Mission complete.

If you could call “barely surviving a shootout, a crumbling building, and Walker setting off the wrong grenade” a mission success. Still, somehow, no one was dead. That was a win for the New Avengers.

Back at HQ, the vibe was what you’d expect from a barely-functional team of chaos gremlins.

Ava and John were already at it again, arguing over tactical choices like they hadn’t just spent the last six hours screaming into comms.

“I’m telling you,” John said, arms waving, “you rushed the flank too early!”

Ava raised her eyebrows and bit out, “I rushed the flank because you set off the charge early, you toddler in a bulletproof vest!”

“Idiots,” Yelena muttered, flopping on the worn-out couch and covering her eyes with her arm, “please shut up. Some of us are trying to disassociate in peace.”

Bob sat nearby, legs crossed, calmly reading a thick novel. He was somehow the calmest man in the building — maybe in the world. “Let them bicker,” he murmured, not looking up. “It’s almost rhythmic now. Like jazz.”

You snorted from your corner. Bucky was standing silently nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall like he didn’t want to admit he was tired. His dark hair was tousled, sticking out from where it had been flattened by his mask and ruffled by wind and debris. He looked… adorable.

But he also looked like he’d walked through a wind tunnel.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling and walked over, Dyson Supersonic in hand.

“Okay, soldier,” you said, pointing to the stool near the table. “Sit.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Your hair,” you said. “It looks like a bird tried to nest in it. I’m fixing it.”

“You’re gonna use… that thing?” he said warily, eyeing the Dyson like it might explode.

You grinned. “Relax. You’ve fought alien warlords. You can survive a blow dryer.”

A snort escaped him. And then — miraculously — he sat. You plugged the Dyson in, brushed your fingers through his damp hair, and got to work.

—

About five minutes in, Bob looked up from his book and said, “He’s letting her do his hair. It’s happening.”

Yelena didn’t even open her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“The slow-burn,” Bob replied, turning the page. “They’re finally getting there.”

Alexei popped his head in from the kitchen. “What are we betting? I say they kiss before next mission.”

“No way,” Ava said, arms crossed. “Barnes is emotionally repressed and Y/N’s too polite.”

John laughed. “$10 says it happens by the end of the week.”

“$20,” Bob added, “if they don’t even notice they’re basically dating already.”

You ignored them all. Mostly. Your fingers were threading through Bucky’s hair, drying and smoothing it as you guided the Dyson gently. He looked… relaxed. Kind of. Except when his metal hand kept twitching every time you got a little too close to his ear.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He grunted, “Yeah. Just… not used to people touching me like this.”

“Like how?”

“Like they care.”

You looked at him, your hand still in his hair. “I care, Buck.”

His eyes met yours then — and you swore your heart skipped.

From the couch, Yelena groaned loudly. “Oh my god, would you two just kiss already?!”

You flushed. Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I feel like a stray puppy right now.”

“Yeah, well,” you smirked, “you’re a cute one.”

—

Later that night, the HQ was quieter. Ava and John had gone off somewhere to probably yell at each other in private. Yelena was asleep on the couch, Bob was still reading, and Alexei was snoring in the recliner.

You were in the bathroom with Bucky, showing him how to use the Dyson properly. He watched you with that same intense stare he always had — like he was memorizing everything.

“Okay, see the cool shot button?” you explained. “Locks the style in place.”

He pressed it. A little too hard. The blast of cold air surprised him and he jumped slightly.

You giggled. “Scary, huh?”

“Not scared,” he grumbled. “Just… surprised.”

“Mmhm.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Thanks for doing this.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Anytime.”

His hand caught yours as you went to pull away — metal fingers warm from the dryer, his grip gentle but steady.

“You know,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “I don’t let just anyone near my hair.”

Your breath hitched. “Good thing I’m not just anyone, then.”

There was a beat.

You both leaned in slightly—

And from the hallway: “If you’re not kissing, then at least make popcorn!” Alexei yelled. “Some of us are invested in the subplot!”

You and Bucky broke apart, laughing quietly.

“Stray puppy, huh?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“Only if you’re the one taking me home.”

-

kinda nervous to post this haha, i tried my best okay? but i think i made justice to the whole new team with unstable people trying to live togethere