#but this was fun practice for writing things out

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

the art & science of parenting 101 | jay park

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

✰ pairing: jay park x y/n [ft. enha members!]

✰ genre: fluff, comedy | e2l!au, college!au, (fake)parenting!au, he fell first, she fell harder type beat

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

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

It's 8:30AM.  

You're the only one in the room.  

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

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

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

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

Try-hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A loud, messy, procrastinating curse…

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

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

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

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

Jay's desk is completely...empty. 

No laptop. No notebook. Not even a measly little pencil. Did he bring an empty backpack? Or did he just walk in here like he's casually waiting for someone to present him his grade on a silver platter? He's just sitting there like this is a casual hangout—probably expecting his robot baby to parent itself while he simply supervises (oh, how you pity the poor soul who ends up as his partner).  

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

"Y/N and Jay." 

Wait. What?

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

You blink. You must have misheard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Relationship?" You scoff loud enough to make the people sitting three rows behind you to glance in your direction. You bring your voice down to a whisper, leaning towards him. "The only thing we have in common is a shared oxygen supply." 

"See, that’s the spirit," he says, turning back to face the front like he didn't just ruin your life. And somehow, that pisses you off even more. Is it his voice? His stupidly perfect hair? The fact that he has the audacity to breathe in your general direction? At this point, he could literally sneeze, and it would still feel like a personal attack.

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

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

While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.  

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

You're screwed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

Jay's screwed.  

Like, completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed. 

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

It's 12:17PM.  

He's late.  

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

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

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

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

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

And there you are. Exactly how he imagined.  

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

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

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

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

Jay flashes his usual, unbothered smile as he pulls out the chair across from you. "Oh, c'mon, Y/N. Seventeen minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of life."  

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

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

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

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

Without missing a beat, you slap a packet of papers down on the table. "Here's the breakdown. Feeding schedules, emotional development tracker, diaper changes, mood swings—the whole shebang. We're going to have to approach this strategically."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," you say, clicking your pen, picking a bright blue that basically stabs Jay's eyes by simply existing, but whatever makes you happy, I guess. You write 'Jay's Schedule' at the top, neatly highlighting it with a pink highlighter that somehow hurts even more. Jay wonders if this is a secret ploy to blind him into submission. He wouldn't put it past you.  

"What's your typical weekly schedule like?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay's brain immediately short-circuits. Forget charming. You’re downright crazy. 

"6? As in AM? On purpose?"  

You blink back at him, as if he's the one saying something ridiculous. "Yes, Jay. On purpose."  

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

When he doesn't respond—still in pure shock—you keep going, undeterred by his obvious existential crisis. "I usually have class at 8AM until 1PM, then I try to pick up a shift here," you gesture around the very café you two are in, "and then—"  

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

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

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

He likes the coffee fumes theory better.  

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

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

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

He leans in over the table, all faux-innocence—eyebrows raises, large puppy eyes and all. "Does this mean you can get me a free coffee?"  

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

"Yeah...no. Nice try."  

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

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

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

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

You give him a look that almost convinces Jay himself that he's the crazy one here. "Yes, Jay. I am."  

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

You narrow your eyes, and he swears you're about to launch into some motivational TedTalk. "It's called efficiency, Jay. Also, I like to challenge myself. That's what parenthood is about, after all."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, just maybe, he could get you to soften up more if he tried hard enough. And yeah, he’s definitely going to try. 

But before he can try to tease you more, you snap back into business mode, instantly scribbling down more notes. "Alright, so let’s just split the baby's care based on my work schedule and your...nap schedule, apparently."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want a free coffee or not?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay snorts. "Not even 'kind of.' A lot." He leans in to inspect it, his brows furrowed, "So, does it just…sit there?”  

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

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

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

"What the—" Jay instinctively jumps back like Jisoo is a grenade on her last few seconds. "Why's it doing that? What did you do?"  

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Jay! It's a baby!" You're sure you're borderline going insane from the combination of the screeching baby and Jay's apparent lack of brain cells.  

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

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

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

The baby, predictably, continues screeching. 

You both just stand there, staring at the baby, then at each other, the panic palpable in the room. Jay continues bouncing it lightly, as if this will magically solve everything. “Does it have an off switch?” he asks, glancing at you like you've parented a robot baby before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay's eyes light up at your response. "A smile? The Y/N gave me a smile? Admit it, we make a great team, huh?"  

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

Maybe, just maybe, he has a point.  

You'd never admit it to him, though. 

Not yet.  

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

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

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

Today, though. Today is a different beast entirely.  

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

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

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

Teamwork, she called it.  

You like to call it pure suffering.  

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

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

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

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

It's 6PM.  

You stare at him, deadpan. "You look like you've been hit by a truck."  

Jay snorts as he raises an eyebrow. "You should see the truck."  

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

Well this can't be right.  

You were expecting a disaster. Maybe a few pizza boxes, a stray sock on the floor, some suspicious stains on the couch. But no. Instead...it's clean. Like, really clean.  

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

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

You snap your mouth shut, as you spot a vacuum neatly tucked in the corner of the living room. "I...I'm just surprised you even know what a vacuum is." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay freezes, his head snapping toward you with a look of disbelief. He stares at you, eyes narrowing like you’ve just broken some unspoken rule. "It's been ten seconds...you just gave me an actual compliment without a sarcastic follow-up."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you juggle Jisoo with one hand and dig through the baby bag for her fake bottle of milk with the other, Jay watches you from his spot on the couch, a curious look in his eyes. “While you feed her, I’ll take care of the pizza. I’m guessing you’re more of a plain cheese type, huh?” 

You freeze for a second, then whip your head around to give him a mock-offended look. “First, you think I’m a soulless witch, and now boring? I at least add pepperoni and sausage. Give me some credit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Jay’s expression shifts as he listens, a more thoughtful look settling on his face. “You're a strong believer of that, aren't you? Structure and schedules and all that?"  

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

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

Jay raises an eyebrow, leaning forward a little in his seat. “But didn’t that feel, I don’t know... suffocating? Like, what if things don’t go according to plan? You can’t control everything.” 

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

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

Jay is quiet, studying you with an intensity that feels new. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced with something more serious. “Yeah, I get that. I didn’t have a lot of structure growing up. Parents were kinda… there, but not really. I think that’s why I don’t plan much. Life happens whether you’re ready or not.” 

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

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

Jay laughs softly, shaking his head as he looks at Jisoo in your arms. “It’s just a robot baby, Y/N. No big deal if I mess up.” 

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

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

Then, with a suddenness that almost makes you jump, he leans over and nudges your arm lightly. “Okay, Dr. Phil. Don't go getting all soft on me now."  

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jisoo.  

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

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

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

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

Jay jolts, sitting up with a sleepy yelp, blinking in confusion. "Huh? What happened? Is Cedric okay?" His panicked gaze darts around the room wildly before they finally settle on you, across the couch. 

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot him a glare as you get up from the couch and start looking for the baby bag. "We're changing her, Jay."  

"We?" Jay winces, inching towards Jisoo with all the enthusiasm one has when approaching a radioactive waste barrel. He slowly reaches down to take Jisoo out from the carrier and he starts muttering to himself. "Great. Fine, this is fine. Just another bonding moment with our adorable robo-daughter."  

He finally picks her up, reluctantly holding her at arm's length like she's a ticking time bomb. It's so ridiculous that, despite the war-crime-level smell permeating the room, you can't help the small laugh that you let out.  

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

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

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

You shake your head, still giggling as you shuffle the carrier off the couch and lay out a blanket, turning Jay's couch surface into a makeshift changing station. "Alright, c'mon. Lay her down and hold her legs up. I'll handle clean-up duty. And maybe...brace yourself."  

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

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

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

“Oh god.” 

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

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

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

Jay starts pacing the room, spiraling into an existential crisis. “No, no, no, this isn’t normal. This is—this is a crime scene! This can’t be right.” 

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

Jay looks at you from across the living room, wide-eyed and pale, like a deer caught in headlights. “You expect me to—in this economy—” 

“Grab. The. Wipes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exactly. Parenting at its finest."  

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

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

You plop yourself on the couch and cradle Jisoo like she's a tiny, innocent angel instead of the cause of your collective suffering. “I’m genuinely afraid to know what they put in her system for this to happen.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Jay raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay would like to make a few things clear. 

First of all, none of this is his fault. 

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

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

He stares at his phone, waiting for your response like you hold the key to his survival. Because, in a way, you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that makes his heart do a weird flip.  

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

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

He’s 99% sure he audibly gulps. 

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

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

He curses himself. Busy? Really? 

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

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

And it’s a little infuriating. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not attraction, he reminds himself. Totally not attraction.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fine, it’s jealousy.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make a sound that's half out-of-tune trumpet, half hiccup, before breaking into a laugh to cover your sudden panic. "No, I don't!" You clear your throat, trying to stay cool.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s adorable,” Jay replies, blushing faintly as he shifts the puppy around. “So, uh, everything okay over there?” he asks, totally not imagining a deep, romantic conversation to explain your laughter. 

You’re caught off-guard, blinking, wondering if Jay somehow became psychic and caught onto your previous train of thoughts about him, until you realize what he meant. “Oh! Yeah, they just… needed help with paperwork.” 

Jay’s expression hardens ever so slightly as he tries to imagine a world where paperwork could possibly be that funny. “Cool, cool,” he nods stiffly, side-eyeing Heeseung in the distance who’s still chatting with Esther. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he think your puppy eyes are somehow cuter than all the puppies combined? Annoyingly, also yes.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Bad idea.  

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

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

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

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

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

Great. Now you have a new problem.  

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

You've officially lost it.  

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

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

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

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

"Hello?"  

Your train of thought screeches to a halt.  

"Y/N? Are you there?"  

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

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

You falter for a moment, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. "No! Nothing's wrong! I just—uh–" Quick, think of something normal!

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

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

The campus gallery. His photography.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, I'm just being a good host."  

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

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

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

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

It's just photography.

It's just Jay.

Nothing to overthink here.  

✭・.・✫

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

Jisoo stares back at you, wide-eyed and unhelpfully silent, which you take as strong moral support. "Thanks, Jisoo," you mutter, like a lunatic seeking validation from a robot.  

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: that outfit does not exist.  

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

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

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

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

And there he is.  

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

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

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

It's just a thought.

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

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

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

Abort mission. This was a terrible idea.  

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

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

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

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

Fantastic. Just fantastic.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay gestures toward the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets like he's trying not to fidget. "I wasn't sure if this was your kind of thing, thought you'd be busy and stuff, but I'm glad you came. I, uh..," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was kind of hoping you would."  

Oh.  

Oh?  

OH.  

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

You clear your throat and try to channel every ounce of chill you simply do not possess. "Well," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady and failing miserably, "I'm here."  

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

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

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

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

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

"Anyway!" You blurt out, desperate to break the tension. "Which one's your favorite?" You gesture to the photos, your eyes darting anywhere but his own. 

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

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

So much for in and out.  

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

It's not.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find yourself shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. "No! Not at all, really," you blurt out, the words stumbling over themselves in their rush to escape. You feel the heat creeping up your neck, mortified at your sudden intensity.  

Jay raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn't say anything, so you clear your throat and try again, softer this time. "I mean it. You have a good eye, Jay." You mean it more than you've meant anything in a while, and you hope he knows that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to scream into the void.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay laughs, a sound that seems to echo in the quiet environment. "Wow, Y/N. I thought we were bonding."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay!"  

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

You step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you, suddenly hyper-aware of how your voice wavers. "Um, I was wrong. You're...not all that bad." Why am I doing this? "I'm sorry if I've been...you know, intense. These past few years."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're in so much trouble.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

Jay scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s fighting some kind of internal battle. “Uh, you were also a really good partner. You know, with Jisoo. I mean, you were kinda terrifying at first with all your color-coded schedules and spreadsheets, but…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” 

He chuckles again, shaking his head before finally stepping back, breaking the invisible bubble that’s been holding you both in place. “Alright. I’ll see you, Y/N.” 

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

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

“Y/N.” 

You glance back, your heart skipping a beat. 

Jay looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile. “Text me when you get home later tonight, okay? After your day is done.”  

You blink, caught off guard. “What?” 

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

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

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

Jay nods, his smile widening just a little. “Good.” 

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

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

Y/N [8:52PM]: home safe 👍 

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

But, of course, your phone buzzes almost instantly. 

Jay [8:53PM]: good 👍 sleep well. 

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

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

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

Clearly.  

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

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

Professor Kim: Final grades are posted! 

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

Semester Project Grade: 100% 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knock.  

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

It’s you. 

At his doorstep. 

Unannounced. 

In his jacket. 

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

You tilt your head, studying his expression. “Jay? Are you…okay?” 

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

“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Uh—what’s up?” 

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

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

“…I thought you were a robber.” 

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

“I don’t know, maybe a polite one!” 

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

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

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

Jay stares at you for a second before the words sink in. “Wait—what? We got a hundred?” 

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

He laughs and steps forward, grabbing your shoulders in his hands. “No way. We actually did it?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay blinks. His brain is once again malfunctioning.  

“Oh.”  

Oh? 

OH.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s all the encouragement Jay needs.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay blinks, momentarily stunned, before letting out a breathless laugh, his arms instinctively circling your waist again, pulling you just a little closer. “Noted. Say less. I’ll shut up forever. You’re stuck with me now.” 

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

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

You don’t mind that idea one bit. 

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

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[writerfromshikahr]

I want to state this is not a "hate Neve" piece. I wrote this originally as a bit of a tongue in cheek nod to players (perceived) frustrations about the flirting between Neve and Lucanis if you're romancing him. It was a one off piece originally and then a friend of mine encouraged me to write the whole damn thing. It's silly and probably not the best writing I have ever done, but it's a fun read (oh and long)!

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First Cut - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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It had been a mistake to stay in the room earlier, to stand there and watch Lucanis and Neve exchange flirtatious banter.

Neve had laughed, bright and melodious, and Lucanis had responded with a smile that seemed to light up the whole damn Lighthouse. Right in front of her. In front of her. The pang in her chest had been immediate and deep, leaving her breathless and struggling to maintain her composure.

Now, as she stood in the quietest corner she could find, away from everyone else, the hurt replayed itself over and over, accompanied by the cruel voice of self-doubt that she couldn’t quiet. What did you think would happen, Rook?…she chided herself. That he’d notice you when someone like Neve exists?

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the familiar burn of embarrassment. Of course, Lucanis liked her. Why wouldn’t he? Neve was stunning, with her sleek, sophisticated appearance and the grace of a refined Minrathous mage. She always had the perfect thing to say, remaining calm under pressure and exuding an effortless charm that captivated everyone. Neve was flawless. Neve was everything a woman should be.

Rook, on the other hand, was… well, she let out a humourless laugh. She was “pleasantly plump,” as one Crow had called her, with thick thighs and a belly she had long since stopped trying to hide. Her Crow leathers had to be adjusted to fit her more comfortably around her hips and legs. Where Neve embodied elegance, Rook was simply Rook. Awkward, self-conscious, and hopelessly bad at saying anything clever, she always seemed to trip over her words or, worse, blurt out something completely foolish at the worst possible moments.

You thought he felt the same way about you, didn’t you? Her heart twisted painfully at the realization. What a cruel joke. The way he had looked at Neve today was proof enough, wasn’t it? She wasn’t his type. The message was received—loud and clear.

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Rook had become a master at avoidance over the past few days, though it was starting to wear her thin. Every time she caught a glimpse of Lucanis, her heart clenched painfully, so she did what she could to keep her distance. She slipped out of rooms when he walked in, buried herself in tasks that required her full attention, and, when it came to conversation, she only offered clipped, polite responses to Neve, refusing to engage in anything more. It hurt to keep her walls up, but it was the only way she could cope.

Instead, she found herself spending more time with Davrin and Assan, grateful for the easy friendship they shared. Davrin, with all his swagger and occasional theatrics, had a way of making her smile even when her heart felt heavy. He was like the big brother she never had, someone who made her feel safe and seen without any of the complications that seemed to swirl around Lucanis. And with the added charm of Assan, Davrin’s adorable toddler griffon companion, there was always something to laugh about.

Today, they’d ventured out to the Arlathan Forest, a welcome reprieve from the Lighthouse and all the tangled emotions that currently lived there. The forest was peaceful, a canopy of golden leaves rustling overhead, and Rook felt some of her tension ease. She and Davrin found a small clearing atop a rocky outcrop, perfect for Assan to practice his flying. The young griffon flapped his wings with eager determination, making little leaps and swoops that brought a genuine smile to Rook’s face.

They settled on the smooth granite, sharing a simple lunch of bread and cheese, and conversation flowed easily between them. Davrin regaled her with tales of growing up in Arlathan, his voice full of life and humour, and she listened, fascinated by his stories. In turn, he asked her questions about the Crows, and she answered as best she could, occasionally making light of some of the darker aspects of her life. They even exchanged stories about their respective fights—the Grey Wardens and their eternal struggle against Archdemons, and the Crows with their endless contracts and rivalries. Despite Davrin’s opinions about her line of work, he respected her. They had built a solid friendship, and she had come to value it deeply.

He could tell she needed this time away, and so he did what he did best: kept her entertained and laughing. Still, even with all the humour and warmth between them, Davrin wasn’t blind. He’d noticed that something seemed off, that Rook was more distracted than usual. And, more curiously, he’d noticed the absence of Lucanis. Usually, the two were practically joined at the hip, their bond undeniable. But now… there was a definite shift, and he wasn’t sure how—or if—he should bring it up. As he watched her thoughtfully, he finally spoke up, trying to sound casual.

“So… you gonna tell me what’s got you all twisted up, or are we just gonna pretend you haven’t been acting like your mind’s somewhere else entirely?”

Rook looked at him, startled by the question, but then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. She had hoped that spending time with Davrin and Assan would make her forget the pain, but there was no escaping how deeply it cut her. “It’s nothing,” she said softly, but even she could hear the lie in her voice.

Davrin didn’t push. He knew her well enough to know when to leave things be. Still, he reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze, his usual cheeky grin softening. “Well, whatever it is, you know I’ve got your back, right?” Assan warbled in agreement, flapping his wings like he was seconding the sentiment.

Rook’s lips twitched into a small smile. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough to have someone who cared, someone who could make the world feel a little bit brighter. Even if she couldn’t outrun her feelings, at least she had friends who made the burden easier to carry.

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

Lucanis’s gaze lingered on Rook, his expression dark with confusion and frustration. She had gone out of her way to placing as much distance between them as possible, choosing the spot farthest from him at the table, right between Davrin and Taash. She occasionally spoke, and her lips curved into a soft smile when Davrin leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh. The sound, bright and genuine, only twisted the knife deeper into Lucanis’s chest. She hadn’t even spared him a single glance.

He took a sip of his soup, the taste barely registering, and let out a sigh that was loud enough to draw Lace’s attention as she grabbed seconds and plopped down beside him. “This is one of the best meals you’ve cooked, Lucanis,” she said with a grin. “Seriously, it’s delicious.”

He mustered a small smile at the compliment, but his eyes drifted back to Rook. He missed her terribly—her company, their conversations, and, most of all, the way her laughter used to be directed at him. Now, it was as if he had become invisible. What did I do? he thought, trying to piece together where he’d gone wrong.

Neve, who had also taken a seat nearby, picked up on his brooding mood. She arched an eyebrow and gave him a teasing smile. “Don’t tell me my assassin is feeling broody this evening?” she asked, her tone playful.

Lucanis’s eyes flicked over to her, unfocused. “What?”

Neve rolled her eyes, grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it into her soup. “I said, you seem broody tonight,” she repeated, though she didn’t seem all that concerned about it.

He nodded, distracted, and looked back at Rook, who was still doing her best to ignore him. “Perhaps I am, Neve,” he replied, the words tasting bitter. It was infuriating how Rook refused to acknowledge him as if he’d become a ghost. He had replayed every conversation and every moment from the past few days, trying to figure out when he might have crossed a line, said something careless, or given any reason for her to pull away. Yet he kept coming up empty.

Spite, normally full of commentary and sass, had fallen unusually silent. Then again, Spite tended to grow quieter whenever Neve was around.

Neve leaned closer, trying to pull his attention back to her. “Do you want to catch up this evening?” she asked, eyes sparkling with interest. “I found a book I think will be right up your alley.”

Lucanis had barely registered her words, his mind too full of the ache that was Rook. He blinked at Neve, his expression blank. “A book?” he echoed, his voice distant.

Neve, clearly unimpressed, shook her head. “Yes, Lucanis. I have one for you,” she repeated, with a touch of exasperation.

“Oh,” he said, realizing he’d made her repeat herself. “Sure, I’ll swing by later and get it from you.” His reply sounded mechanical like he was going through the motions. But then, out of nowhere, Rook’s laughter cut through the air, loud and free, a burst of joy that caught everyone’s attention. Even Taash choked on her drink, snorting with amusement.

Lucanis felt his heart sink further. Yeah, he thought miserably. I hate it here. Watching Rook smile at Davrin felt like punishment, and not knowing how to fix things between them was driving him mad. He had no idea how to bridge the growing distance or why he had ended up here in the first place, and that, more than anything, was the most frustrating part.

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

Rook’s heart hammered in her chest as she froze in the hallway, seeing Lucanis waiting for her. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around and walk the other way, to avoid whatever painful conversation was about to unfold, but she knew she couldn’t keep running. You can do this, she told herself, her throat tightening. She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and forced herself to speak.

“Lucanis,” she greeted, her voice carefully cool. “Is there something I can do for you?”

His brow furrowed, confusion and frustration warring on his face. “What is happening, Rook?” he asked, a hint of exasperation leaking through. “Why are you avoiding me?”

She looked away from his gaze, her eyes fixing firmly on the stone floor. If she looked at him—into those deep, dark eyes that always managed to see straight through her—she knew she’d cave. She wasn’t ready for that. For once, she was determined not to fold, to hang onto her anger, even if it pained her. “I’m not avoiding you,” she replied, her tone clipped. “I’ve been busy, you know, saving the world, fighting ancient gods… that kind of thing.”

Lucanis regarded her quietly, the weight of his gaze like a physical thing pressing down on her. “I see, have I said something or done something?”

Rook forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, I’m fine,” she said, her voice flat and devoid of the warmth she usually reserved for him. The fine was a lie, but she clung to it desperately. It felt safer than admitting how badly he’d wounded her. And it gave her a semblance of control over her heart, a way to shield herself from the crushing weight of feeling like she wasn’t enough.

Lucanis tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Fine?” he repeated, scepticism heavy in his voice. “Hmm. It doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

He took a step closer, and Rook instinctively backed up, keeping the same distance between them. She wouldn’t let him close, not when her heart was so fragile. “Perhaps you should go pick up that book from Neve,” she shot back, “I’m sure she’ll have your favourite coffee brewed and waiting.”

Lucanis’s eyes widened a fraction, the hurt flashing across his features unmistakable. Before he could respond, she brushed past him, retreating into her room and closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, breathing hard, fighting the urge to cry.

In the hallway, Lucanis stood in stunned silence, the shadows around him deepening as he tried to piece together what had just happened. His head tilted slightly, confusion etched on his face. Was this about Neve? The question churned in his mind, sending him spiralling back through every conversation, every interaction with Neve, searching for any clue. Why would Rook mention her?

It was then that Spite finally spoke up, his voice echoing in the corners of Lucanis’s mind. “Tastes like… envy,” the demon mused, each word slow and almost thoughtful. “Yes. Bitter. Sharp.”

Lucanis’s eyes widened in sudden realization. Envy. Rook was jealous? His heart lurched at the thought, a mix of confusion, guilt, and something else he couldn’t quite name. Jealous of what? That was the bigger question, but he had a place to start, which was more than he had moments before.

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

Lucanis listened to Neve, his gaze thoughtful as he leaned back into the couch, sipping his coffee. The cozy yet refined atmosphere of her room couldn’t fully soothe his restless mind. "Jealous? Of me? Odd," Neve mused, sounding genuinely perplexed. "We aren't exactly bosom buddies, but we've always had a good working relationship. She's a capable mage, highly recommended if you listen to House de Riva. And she’s... well, sweet. Maybe a little too sweet at times. The world can be harsh, and people like Rook don't always make it out in one piece."

Lucanis tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Sweet? Yes, she is,” he agreed, but there was more to it. “there’s strength in her, too. The kind that can get us through this, no matter how bad things get.” He paused, searching Neve’s eyes. “You know why Viago sent her out of Antiva, right?”

Neve nodded, her brow knitting together slightly. “I got the gist from him. He seemed… displeased.”

Lucanis’s smile widened a fraction. “Viago is always displeased,” he said with a hint of humour, “but he does have a soft spot for Rook, even if he won’t admit it. She climbed the ranks fast. Full membership with the Crows at a young age. Orphaned and taken in by House de Riva when she was around eight. But what got her exiled was taking initiative where she shouldn’t have.” He swirled his coffee, his eyes reflecting a complicated mix of pride and sadness. “She has heart—a soft one, maybe—but she freed a group of prisoners and slaves one night, prisoners the Antaam would’ve had executed. Varric was among them. You know that part.”

Neve leaned forward, her interest piqued. “Yes, but?”

“But,” Lucanis continued, “her actions derailed a much larger operation. She saved lives, but it cost the Crows.. That’s what led to her downfall.” He stared into his coffee, the steam curling up like ghostly whispers. “She’s got a good heart.”

Neve considered his words, sitting beside him and absorbing the weight of what he’d said. “A good heart that ultimately got her kicked out of her city,” she pointed out, “But that doesn’t explain why she’s jealous of me.”

Lucanis gave her a wry smile, one brow lifting slightly. “I figured the renowned Minrathous detective might have some insight to bestow upon me.”

Neve laughed, the sound warm and clear. “Oh, sure. Because I’m great with people, right?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Tell you what: maybe I’ll have a word with Davrin. They’re close. Leave it with me, and I’ll get back to you.”

Lucanis's smile softened, but his heart felt heavy with uncertainty. "I appreciate it," he said, though the thought of Rook feeling hurt, even if it was out of jealousy, left an ache in his chest that he couldn't quite shake.

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

“Jealous?” Davrin echoed, his eyebrows rising with genuine surprise. “Of you? Hmm... nope. She hasn’t said anything to me, but she has been distracted. Yeah, that’s the right word.” He set down his latest whittling project, a small wooden figure of what looked like a griffon, and studied Neve with his usual thoughtful expression. “But she hasn’t said anything to you?”

Neve shook her head. “Nothing, I’m afraid.”

Davrin let out a sigh, leaning back. “Look, Rook is a good person, but even I know some people need space from time to time. I’m not going to pressure her into telling me anything she doesn’t want to share. But...” he trailed off, tapping his chin, “she and Lucanis used to be practically joined at the hip. Wherever he was, she’d be right there. If you ask me, she’s sweet on him, and it’s not just that whole Crow loyalty thing.”

Neve’s eyes widened slightly. “She has a crush?”

Davrin shook his head with a small smile. “No, not a crush. She likes him. I can see it in the way she is around him, and I know her pretty well.”

Neve frowned, her mind racing. “So... what do I have to do with all of this? Seems a little strange that I’d be involved.”

Davrin tilted his head, smirking a little. “Well, who told you she was jealous?”

“Lucanis,” Neve replied, sounding almost exasperated.

“But who told him?” Davrin shot back, a knowing grin on his face.

Neve paused, then rolled her eyes. “Spite told him,” she admitted with a touch of reluctance.

Davrin’s laughter burst out, loud and unapologetic. “Oh, so we’re taking the word of a demon now?” He shook his head, clearly entertained. “This is hilarious.”

Neve threw her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, Lucanis takes him seriously! And to be fair, that demon has never led us astray.” Her lips twitched with a hint of amusement despite herself.

Davrin exhaled, the humour fading to something more contemplative. “All right, leave it with me. Rook and I are heading out to Lavendel together soon. I’ll have a chat with her, and see if I can make sense of this mess.”

Neve nodded, a small smile of relief crossing her face. “Thanks, Davrin. Just... tread carefully, okay? Whatever’s going on, it matters a lot to her.”

Davrin gave her a mock salute. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” But as he picked up his whittling project again, he couldn’t help but wonder if his friend was ready to admit the truth to herself.

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

"What the fuck, Davrin? Who told you that?!"

Davrin blinked in surprise at Rook's outburst. "Who told you I was jealous of Neve?!"

"Hey, I’m just asking for interested parties. They figured I’d know what’s up with my friend," he replied, holding his hands up defensively.

Rook turned away from him, her fists clenched at her sides. She was too angry to speak—not at Davrin, no. Davrin could annoy her, sure, but Lucanis? He could make her seethe. And knowing that this line of questioning was coming from Neve of all people made her want to throw herself straight into the Fade, never to return.

"Rook," Davrin said quietly, his tone unusually gentle, "I promise, I won’t breathe a word if you tell me what’s bothering you. Warden’s honor."

Rook glanced at him, catching the earnestness in his expression. For once, he wasn’t cracking a joke to lighten the mood. She let out a sharp exhale and looked away again, debating whether to open up. Finally, she gave in.

“I swear to the Maker, if you report back to them, I’ll take out a contract on you,” she grumbled before the words burst out of her. “It’s the fucking flirting! Neve and Lucanis flirt all the fucking time, and I’M RIGHT FUCKING THERE! They just flirt like I’m invisible. I—well…” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I like him, and he never flirts with me. Never mentions anything about buying me something at the markets, or, ‘Hey, Rook, here’s a flower I picked for you,’ or anything like that. Nothing! I get nothing. It’s infuriating. What is wrong with me? Well, I know what’s wrong with me. Look at me. Look at this!”

She grabbed her thigh angrily, gesturing in frustration.

Davrin didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his expression calm and steady, letting her vent it all out.

“She’s perfect,” Rook continued, her voice shaking with anger. “Perfect hair, perfect outfits, perfect everything. And then there’s me—always saying the wrong thing, always crumpled. And he’s all, ‘Wow, Neve, great shot,’ while I’ve just literally slaughtered ten thousand darkspawn and not once does that man say anything.”

Davrin waited a beat to make sure she was finished before speaking. “I see. Well, thank you for finally telling me. I feel like we’re making progress here.”

Rook shot him a sharp look, her frustration now turning toward him.

“So, you like Lucanis,” Davrin said with a knowing smile. “I thought as much. I mean, it was obvious to me—everyone else seems to be walking around with blinders on.”

Rook groaned, dramatically flopping her head into her hands. “Don’t tell me that, Dav. It’s not making me feel any better. I already feel like the biggest idiot alive. I guess Viago was right.”

Davrin slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in, his tone soft but firm. “That’s my friend you’re talking about, and I don’t take kindly to people putting her down. Question is, where do you go from here?”

Rook let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m so angry at him right now. And unfairly pissed off at Neve. But I can’t forgive him yet. I’m far too in my ‘petty era’ right now.”

“I can tell, Rook,” Davrin began, his voice steady but not unkind. “Thing is, he doesn’t know what he’s done. Not sure how the man is supposed to make amends if he isn’t told.”

Rook stared off into the small village that Davrin and her had spent the last two days protecting from the Blight, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. “How does he not know? The man is a walking romance novel with her! Why doesn’t he do that with me?” She paused, her voice dropping into something quieter. “I know I’m not like her… I get that…”

Davrin cut her off before she could spiral any further. “For the love of the Maker, Rook, you’re gorgeous. Why do you keep comparing yourself to her? Sure, you’re nothing like Neve, but you’re you, and that ain’t bad.”

Rook gave him a deadpan stare, one eyebrow arching. “Really? Now you’re hitting on me?”

“Fuck no,” Davrin shot back with mock indignation. “I know who your boyfriend is... and he terrifies me.”

Rook snorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “He’s not my boyfriend. I have no idea what we are. At the moment, he just annoys me.” She let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I’m going to have to talk to him, aren’t I?”

There was a note of defeat in her voice, like she was resigning herself to some inevitable punishment.

“Fuck… why do I have to be the one to do it? I want him to apologize. I want him to beg for forgiveness.” She groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “Wow, I really am being petty.”

Davrin grinned, his expression both amused and supportive. “Yes, but it suits you.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you want me to say something to him? Informing him of his gross oversight of sneaking around trying to find out what’s wrong with you and then maybe steer him toward an ‘ah-ha’ moment?”

“You’d do that for me?” she asked quietly, her voice softer now, vulnerable.

“Of course,” Davrin said with a mock-serious nod. “Killing darkspawn, being a baby daddy to Assan, and sorting out budding romances at the Lighthouse? Those are my specialties.”

Rook rolled her eyes and playfully swatted his arm. “Dumbass.”

Davrin grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “Maybe so,” he said, leaning back with exaggerated confidence, “but I’m your dumbass. And where would you be without me?”

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

Lucanis had been quiet all day. Davrin knew he was a man of few words, but today’s outing with him and Lace had been decidedly less chatty than normal. Now, they sat around a tavern table, finally letting some warmth soak into their bones. The Lighthouse’s perpetual twilight made it easy to forget the biting cold of Thedas, but the roaring fire beside them was a rare luxury this evening.

Davrin watched Lucanis as he stared into his coffee mug, the steam curling up like ghosts between his hands. Lace was busy chatting with the patrons at a nearby table, her laughter carrying faintly over the hum of conversation.

“So, Lucanis,” Davrin said casually, breaking the silence. “You’ve been a little quiet today. Anything amiss?”

Lucanis looked up, his dark eyes sharp as they met Warden's. “I’m not in the mood.” His tone was flat, cold.

For a moment, silence hung between them, but Davrin wasn’t one to back down so easily. He leaned back in his chair, watching Lucanis carefully. “I see that,” he said finally. “Wondering if I can help you out with that?”

Lucanis sipped his coffee, his gaze distant, and he could tell he was mulling something over. “You know Rook well,” the assassin said after a long pause. “Probably better than I.”

Davrin shifted in his chair, not entirely sure where this was going. He prayed to the Maker it didn’t involve knives. “Ahhh, yes,” he replied cautiously. “Though I’d say you know our fearless leader pretty well too.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Lucanis’s words were quiet but firm, his eyes flicking back to him for a moment before returning to his coffee cup.

Davrin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m guessing you’re looking for answers,” he said lightly, nodding toward the mug. “Doubtful you’ll find them in there, my friend.”

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugged at Lucanis’s lips. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But coffee is good for reflection.” He paused, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him visibly. “I’ve done something. I know I have. But she won’t tell me what it is, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well, I know what you’ve done.”

Davrin smiled slyly, taking a sip of his beer like he wasn’t about to drop a bombshell. “It’s your lucky day, Crow.”

Lucanis stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. “You know?”

The Warden nodded, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Sure do. And I can’t say it’s an easy fix—for you, at least. But,” he added, setting his mug down with a heavy clink, “if you applied as much effort into correcting your mistake as you do into flirting with a certain detective, you might just win her heart back.”

Davrin punctuated his sentence with a deep, exaggerated gulp of his drink, clearly pleased with himself.

Lucanis just looked at him, his face blank, and said nothing for the longest while. The lively chatter and laughter of the tavern seemed to fill the silence as Davrin waited, unsure if he had heard him.

“Flirting?” Lucanis repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and offense. “With Neve? Flirting, as in me being suggestive with Neve?”

Davrin smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need to say it a third time, Crow? Whatever way you cut it, it still sounds a bit... shit.”

Lucanis blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to argue, but Davrin pressed on, clearly enjoying himself.

“I guess Rook just got fed up with hearing about you wanting to buy Neve fresh fish and flowers at the market.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Oh, and I think she said—” Davrin cleared his throat for dramatic effect—“and I quote: ‘And he’s all, “Wow, Neve, great shot,” while I’ve just literally slaughtered ten thousand darkspawn, and not once does that man say anything.’”

He leaned back with a satisfied grin, taking another sip of his beer. “Yeah, I think that about covers the gist of what she vented to me for a solid 45 minutes.”

“Mierda,” Lucanis muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Davrin waved at the serving girl over with a grin. “Yes, you’re screwed, Lucanis,” he said cheerfully. “But, as I mentioned, you can make this better… I think.” He ordered another beer for himself and a fresh coffee for his brooding friend.

Lucanis’s brow furrowed, his voice low and resigned. “What else did she say? I need to know just how much of a gilipollas I’ve been.”

Davrin laughed, the sound loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. “I’m assuming that’s something bad—and if it is, you deserve it.” He leaned back, his grin widening. “Let’s see… what else did she say? Oh, right!”

Davrin sat forward, lowering his voice to mimic Rook’s, exaggerating her frustration: ‘Nothing! I get nothing. It’s infuriating. What is wrong with me? Neve and Lucanis flirt all the fucking time, and I’M RIGHT FUCKING THERE! They just flirt like I’m invisible.’ He leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “And, of course, more liberal usage of the word ‘fuck.’”

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucanis muttered, his voice low. He slumped back in his chair, looking more defeated than Davrin had ever seen him. “I’m not sure what I’m meant to say. I don’t mean anything by it—the flirting. I never thought…”

“No, you didn’t,” Davrin cut in sharply, holding up a hand to stop him. “Why would you? You ask her for advice on gifts for Neve, buy her nothing, and expect everything to be fine?” He shook his head, leaning forward. “Shit, Lucanis, you could pick Rook a flower off a random bush in Arlathan, and she’d be insufferably happy for days. I do it all the time for her, and I don’t even want to fuck her.”

Lucanis’s brow furrowed deeper, but he didn’t interrupt.

Davrin leaned back with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bare minimum, my friend. Bare. Minimum. And you’ve somehow managed to fall below that. Impressive, really.”

He punctuated his words with a long swig of his beer, shaking his head as he set the mug down.

“So, this is how you’re going to fix this,” Davrin began, pointing a finger at Lucanis for emphasis. “After we’re done at this outpost, we’re heading home, and you are going to beg for some kind of forgiveness. Kneel if you have to. Hell, throw in a prayer to the Maker while you’re at it and hope that gorgeous woman decides to give you another chance.”

Lucanis stared at him, his mouth opening slightly, but Davrin didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And keep your damn mouth shut around Neve,” Davrin continued, leaning forward for extra emphasis. “I get it—Neve is damn fine to look at. But those thoughts? Inside thoughts, not outside thoughts, Lucanis. And for the love of everything holy, make sure your demon is on board with this too.”

Lucanis fiddle with the handle on his cup, guilt practically radiating off him, but Davrin wasn’t done.

“She likes you, I know she does. But she’s hurt, and a woman scorned is a terrifying force of nature.”

Davrin sat back, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “So what’s the plan, Crow?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Lucanis muttered, running a hand down his face. “I’ll think of something. I’ll fix this.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Davrin.

“It better be good,” Davrin said pointedly, leaning back in his chair. “Because she is pissed, and I don’t blame her. And for the love of the Maker, can you tell her that you like her? It’s clear as day to me, but she has no idea. She thinks you don’t even see her.”

Lucanis opened his mouth to retort, but Davrin barreled on.

“This whole ‘I’m possessed by a demon and I can’t love anyone’ trope is old, Lucanis. If you can charm Neve halfway around Minrathous, you can bloody well lavish some of that charm on Rook.”

“I’ll fix it,” Lucanis said firmly, though the conviction in his voice wavered just slightly. “And… thank you, for letting me know.”

Davrin gave him a hearty pat on the back, his grin equal parts teasing and supportive. “I don’t envy you, Lucanis. I thought fighting the ancient Gods was going to be tough, but this? Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Lucanis let out a quiet breath, half a smile tugging at his lips. He knew Davrin was right.

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

He found her up on the balcony, as he expected. Rook often went there to read when she needed space from everyone else. Davrin slid onto the bench beside her, and they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet of the moment broken only by the rustle of pages and the distant sounds of the Lighthouse.

Assan nuzzled his head against Rook’s arm, demanding pats, which she happily obliged, scratching behind the young griffon’s ears.

“It’s good to have you back,” she said finally, her voice soft but genuine. “I missed you. Did it go well?”

Davrin smiled, leaning back. “Of course it did. Harding is a terrible cook, though... but apart from that, we got the job done.”

Rook huffed a laugh, but before she could reply, Davrin added, almost too casually, “Oh, and I spoke to the Crow.”

Rook froze for a moment, her smile faltering. “Oh, Maker, how did that go?” She waved a hand before he could answer. “You know what? Don’t tell me. I’ve been perfectly happy here without him.”

Davrin turned his head, giving her a pointed side-eye. “Sure, sure... you’ve been perfectly happy.”

Rook glared at him over the top of her book, but he wasn’t done.

“He knows what he’s done wrong now,” Davrin continued with a shrug, “and is, and I quote, ‘formulating a plan,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

“A plan?” Rook repeated, her gaze drifting off into the endless expanse of the Fade sky. She hesitated, her fingers absently scratching Assan’s feathers as she gathered her thoughts. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want complete honesty. Even if it’s not what I want to hear.”

Davrin tilted his head, his smile softening. “Always.”

Rook turned to him, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “Does the man even remotely like me?”

Davrin’s grin widened as he leaned back against the railing, taking a moment before answering. “Rook,” he said slowly, “I watched the blood drain out of the his face when I laid it all out on the table for him. I have never seen such a sorry sight.” He paused, his tone turning more sincere. “If that’s any indication of what he’s feeling, I think he’s sweet on you.”

Rook’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable.

“He’s clueless,” Davrin added with a shrug. “I doubt he’s ever had a relationship before. Doesn’t excuse what he did, but I know he’ll fix it—or at least try to.”

Rook leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why is life so hard? Everything feels so complicated, and I’m so tired. I know you said I shouldn’t compare myself to anyone, but… I don’t always feel strong, you know?” She paused, her fingers idly stroking Assan’s feathers. “Have I blown this all out of proportion? I think… I think I need to speak to Neve. She’s lovely—I know she is.”

Davrin stayed quiet for a long moment, his usual humor replaced by a thoughtful stillness.

“I think, sometimes, Rook,” he said softly, “you don’t see yourself the way the rest of us see you. At the heart of it all, you’re a good person. And yes, you’re beautiful too.”

Rook shifted slightly, about to protest, but Davrin pressed on.

“People come in all shapes and sizes. That doesn’t make anyone worth less than the next person. Maybe instead of comparing yourself to what you’re not, you should take a hard look at all the amazing things you are. All the shit you’ve accomplished under impossible odds. Hell, you’ve even put Solas in his place a few times—and that guy’s a dick.”

“That’s a weird way to ask me out on a date, Dav,” Rook said with a small smile, her eyes glinting with playful mischief.

Davrin laughed out loud, the sound echoing through the balcony. “You wish, de Riva. You and me would never work out.” He leaned back, grinning. “Besides, I come with a kid in tow—parenthood is tough.”

Rook chuckled, scratching Assan under the chin as the griffon chirped contentedly.

“Nah,” Davrin continued, “I think you’re more suited to the stabbity-stab life of Crow intrigue. I’m just a simple man, a Grey Warden with modest needs. You’d outlive me, no doubt, and I can’t have you being all mopey about the charming and heroic warrior you once knew.”

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

She heard the faint rustle of a note slipping under her door just as she was drifting off to sleep. For a moment, she considered leaving it there until morning, her exhaustion tugging at her. But curiosity got the better of her.

Pulling the blanket tightly around her shoulders, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, shivering as her feet touched the cold floor. With a quiet sigh, she padded across the room, picked up the envelope, and sank into the worn couch by the window.

The candlelight flickered softly, casting long shadows as she slid her finger under the seal. The handwriting inside was instantly familiar, and her breath caught as she unfolded the letter.

-----

Rook,

I have thought about what to write in this letter to you for days as we made our way back home. I am usually good at making plans and coming up with solutions to any problem. Unfortunately, in this case, I am the problem, and I don’t know how to fix the hurt I’ve caused you.

That being said, I will try to make this right. If you decide not to accept my apology, I will understand. But if you can find it in your heart to let me make this up to you, I would be grateful.

Meet me in Treviso tomorrow evening at my favourite café—you know the one. We went there not long after I joined you at the Lighthouse.

I will wait for you.

—Lucanis

-----

Rook sank back into her couch, the letter still clutched against her chest. Stupid Antivan man, she thought, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite herself.

She couldn’t deny it—no matter how frustrated she was, no matter how much she wanted to stay angry—she was willing to hear him out.

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

There was a knock at the door.

“Can I come in, Rook?” Neve’s voice was soft but firm.

From inside, she heard a flurry of shuffling, a thud, and several muffled expletives. Finally, the door creaked open.

“Yes, come in,” Rook said, rubbing her toe with a wince. “I’m just getting ready to…”

Neve smiled knowingly. “Meet Lucanis in Treviso. I know.”

Rook sighed, slumping back slightly. “Of course you know. He probably told you.”

She moved to the couch, sitting down to pull on her boots, her movements stiff with nervous energy. Neve stepped inside, her gaze drifting to the window where the shimmering fish swam lazily outside.

“You really do have the best room at the Lighthouse,” Neve remarked, her voice distant. “No wisps, just the fish.” She turned back to Rook, her expression softening. “No, he didn’t tell me. Davrin did.”

Rook paused, her hands hovering over her laces.

“I wanted to stop by and tell you to enjoy yourself,” Neve continued. “If I know Lucanis, he’ll have a wonderful evening planned for you.” She hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, her tone quieter but no less sincere. “And I also wanted to tell you... I envy you.”

Rook’s head snapped up in surprise. “Envy me?”

Neve gave a small, bittersweet smile. “He’s a good man, apart from the whole abomination thing he’s got going on.” Her smile widened slightly, a hint of humor in her voice. “I’ll admit, I entertained the idea of him and me once. But it was clear his heart had already chosen another.”

Rook opened her mouth to respond, but Neve cut her off gently.

“Like all men, he’s a bit of an idiot, and he’s made mistakes,” Neve said, her gaze steady. “But if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Rook admitted, her voice quieter now. “I do feel stupid for being unkind to you. I’m sorry about that.”

Neve waved the apology away with a small smile. “No need for deep and meaningfuls, Rook. We’re both busy women with jobs to do. But tonight?” She stepped closer, her expression softening. “You have a date with a Crow.”

Rook shifted awkwardly, Neve’s eyes scanning her as if assessing her readiness. “I know,” Rook said, glancing down at herself. “I’m in my leathers. I probably should have dressed—”

Neve cut her off with a laugh. “I saw Lucanis leave for the Eluvian. He was dressed in his too. Are you Crows ever not on the clock?”

Rook chuckled despite herself. “You’ve met my boss, right? Viago?”

Neve grinned. “Point taken.” She reached for the door, her hand hovering for a moment before turning back. “Anyway, enjoy your evening. I hope it’s everything you need and want.”

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

Davrin had insisted on accompanying her through the Eluvian to Treviso, despite her protests.

“You didn’t need to escort me, Dav,” Rook said as they stepped out into the bustling city. She smoothed down her cloak, her tone exasperated but affectionate. “I’m more than capable of navigating a city I’ve lived in most of my life.”

“Yeah, I know,” Davrin replied with a casual shrug. “But I did need to come here. Lucanis has me set up with his blacksmith. And, well…” He paused, glancing sideways at her. “I wanted to make sure you got here okay. If things go south, you know I’m around.”

Rook nudged him with her elbow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve never had a brother, but you are bordering on the whole ‘protective big brother’ vibes right now. And I have to say, it suits you.”

Davrin smiled shyly, looking away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you’re pissed at Dellamorte,” he said softly. “I get it. But let him speak. Give him a chance, Rook.”

She sighed, her gaze dropping for a moment. “I’m not that angry anymore. I spoke to Neve before heading here—she came to my room.”

Davrin raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly amused. “Please tell me she left said room. I know what you Crows are like,” he added with a chuckle.

Rook rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “She’s very much alive, thank you. And she said something… odd. Something I wasn’t expecting.”

“Oh?” Davrin leaned in, curious.

“She said she was envious of me,” Rook admitted, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Davrin stopped in his tracks, raising both eyebrows now. “Well, well,” he said with exaggerated flair. “It seems we’ve come full circle. Now she’s jealous of you! I believe I’m experiencing whiplash.”

As they walked along the bustling streets of her hometown, Rook couldn’t ignore the faint queasiness in her stomach. She wasn’t angry anymore—not really. More… disgruntled. But there was no venom behind the feeling now. Lucanis had made a mistake, and, if she was being honest with herself, she’d probably blown it out of proportion—a tendency she sometimes leaned into more than she should.

At least she’d managed to entertain everyone at the Lighthouse with the intrigue and drama.

“Ahhh, I love it here,” Davrin mused, breaking her train of thought. His eyes roamed the lively street, the laughter and chatter of the city swirling around them. “Great atmosphere, excellent food, and some rather beautiful distractions for the taking.”

Rook rolled her eyes, her nerves briefly forgotten as she fought back a smirk.

“And it seems,” Davrin added with a dramatic flourish as they neared the café, “I have delivered you to your destination, my Queen.” He swept into an exaggerated bow, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Maker, you’re an idiot,” Rook said, shaking her head with a smile. “But I love you despite it.”

Davrin grinned and placed both hands firmly on her shoulders, leaning in just slightly. “You’ve got this, Rook. Go forth and get your man and—let him speak. He can actually be pretty good at it, you know, when he’s not saying all the wrong things.”

Rook took a deep breath, her nerves settling just enough to nod. “Wish me luck?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Davrin shook his head, his grin softening into something more earnest. “Nah, you don’t need it. You’ve got this, girl. No luck required.”

He stepped ahead and held the door open for her. She squared her shoulders and walked through, the warm hum of the café greeting her as she crossed the threshold.

Davrin lingered outside for a moment, watching her disappear inside. He knew, deep down, it would all be okay. But still, a small pang of worry tugged at him—for his friend, for her heart, and for the man she was about to face.

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

The café was empty.

Anxiety, her old and unwelcome friend, crept up her spine as she glanced around the dimly lit space. Had she gotten the wrong day? The wrong time? Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she dug into her bag, pulling out the note Lucanis had sent. She unfolded it with shaky fingers, scanning the words again, double-checking that she hadn’t misread anything.

No. She was in the right place.

But as her eyes flicked to the counter, the absence of anyone behind it made her chest tighten further. The café felt eerily quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the soft ticking of a clock.

Now she felt like the idiot. Where was he? And why was she standing awkwardly in an empty coffee shop at eight o’clock at night?

As a Crow, this screamed assassination attempt, and the thought made her pulse quicken. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of the blade hidden beneath her cloak.

Not that she’d ever killed anyone with a dirk before—magic was her usual go-to—but the weight of the blade under her fingers offered some small comfort. Her unease grew as she wandered further into the café, cautiously checking dark corners and peeking around the pillars.

She moved closer to the counter, her nerves prickling with every step, when suddenly, Lucanis popped up from behind it.

“Maker’s breath!” Rook yelped, jumping back, her heart hammering as she glared at him.

Lucanis stood there, his dark eyes warm as they met hers, and a small, gorgeous smile spread across his lips—the one that always managed to disarm her.

“Rook,” he said softly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. “You came.”

“Why were you hiding behind the counter?!” Rook exclaimed, her voice sharp with surprise.

Lucanis straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his leathers. “I was looking for sugar,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know you like your coffee sweet and hot. Good news: I found it.”

He turned his attention to the coffee pot, busying himself with making their drinks as if nothing about this was out of the ordinary.

Rook crossed her arms, glancing around the empty café. “And you now own this place?” she asked, her tone tinged with amusement.

Lucanis smirked, glancing at her over his shoulder. “I asked the owner for a favor and promised to pay him back with a free contract.”

Rook blinked in surprise before letting out a laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not,” she said, shaking her head. “You never work for free.”

“Sometimes I do,” Lucanis said with a small smile, handing her the steaming cup. “Let’s sit… the table over there.”

He gestured toward a cozy corner, and Rook’s gaze followed. The table had been set perfectly, a small display of her favorite desserts arranged neatly on a plate, waiting for her.

Her lips twitched in a faint smile as she followed him. They settled into their chairs, and for a moment, a comfortable silence fell between them as they both enjoyed the first few sips of their drinks.

Lucanis leaned back, cradling his cup in his hands. “Good coffee...And yours?”

Rook took another sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness. It was perfect—just the way she liked it. “You know it’s good,” she replied, glancing at him over the rim of her cup. “If there’s one thing you never fail at, it’s making it exactly the way I like it.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face, lighting his dark eyes.

Setting her cup down, Rook slipped off her gloves and laid them neatly on the table, the nervous energy in her hands too much to contain. Lucanis noticed, of course—he always did. He knew her tells. Whenever she was anxious, she’d fidget, her fingers tracing the stitching of her coat over and over again or right now, fiddling with her gloves,

“Rook…” he began, his voice soft, testing the waters, “I’m sorry—” , but Rook cut him off.

“I know I’m an idiot,” she blurted, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I should have just told you, and instead it became this whole thing involving everyone, and I didn’t mean for it to get so... big. It was stupid of me.”

Lucanis watched her for a long moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. Then, without a word, he placed his hand gently over hers.

“Rook,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? I’m not doing anything,” she replied, immediately defensive. She picked up her cup again, taking a long sip—anything to avoid his gaze.

“Blaming yourself. Apologising for things you don’t need to apologise for,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. “I am the one to blame for your worries. I was the one who hurt you.”

“Yes, but you didn’t know,” Rook said quickly, her words tumbling out before she could think better of them. “And if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn—or dare I say petulant—I could have just told you. But I felt… well, I did feel stupid.”

Lucanis opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, her voice softening as she admitted, “You were an arse though.”

A faint smile flickered across his face, but he stayed quiet, waiting.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his briefly before darting away. “It’s okay if you want to—”

She stopped herself mid-sentence, before her mouth could betray her further, she grabbed one of the neatly arranged cakes from the plate and shoved it into her mouth.

It worked—a bit too well. She sat frozen for a moment, cheeks puffed with cake, as the realisation of what she’d just done hit her. Across the table, Lucanis raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching as he tried not to laugh.

It took forever to get through the sugary treat—she’d completely forgotten how chewy they were. Looking effortlessly graceful with a mouthful of cake was not the impression she’d been going for.

Lucanis, ever observant, seized the opportunity to speak before she could finish. It might be the only way to get a word in.

“Yes,” he began, his tone quiet but deliberate. “I fully accept your blunt observation of myself.”

Rook raised an eyebrow at him, still chewing, but didn’t interrupt.

“Why I did it?” Lucanis continued, his gaze dropping briefly to the table. “It’s… was easy to flirt with Neve. A distraction from what’s in my mind, who shares my body, and everything else—fighting Gods, dealing with the Blight…” He paused, his voice softening. “But, also, it means nothing. And when it means nothing, there’s no possibility of consequences.”

“Consequences?” she managed, still chewing, her words slightly muffled.

“Yes,” Lucanis replied, his voice steady but quieter now. “If I don’t say those things to you, it’s not because I don’t notice you, enjoy your company, or desire someone else. It’s quite the opposite.”

Rook froze mid-chew, her eyes widening slightly as she watched him, his gaze fixed firmly on her.

“But how would you know this?” he continued, his tone filled with a rare vulnerability. “I’ve never told you. And I have never reciprocated any of the affection you have so generously given me.”

“But you said consequences, and I’m still not following,” Rook said, finally finishing her cake.

Lucanis sighed, frustration flickering across his face. Maker, he wished he were better with words—like his cousin Illario. “Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m trying to say right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away before meeting her eyes again.

“I’m not good at this, Rook,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I struggle with you because… because you mean something to me. You’re not just a distraction. You’re something that has—” He hesitated, the next word slipping out before he could stop it. “...weight.”

He saw her gaze drop instantly to her coffee, her expression unreadable.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lucanis’s stomach dropped. Why the fuck did you say that? Davrin had specifically told him not to mention the word weight.

“Yes, I’m aware I have ‘weight,’” she replied, her tone dry as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Lucanis opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, gesturing to the plate. “Thank you for highlighting that right after watching me devour at least three of these cakes.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a mock-serious expression. “And for the record, they were delicious, and I have zero regrets eating them.”

“What I meant is… you’re special to me,” Lucanis said, his voice quieter now, his dark eyes meeting hers. “To Spite, as well. And that’s dangerous to admit. It’s information that could be used against me—or you. And Maker knows Viago will not be pleased.”

He paused, frustration clear on his face. “I never flirted with you because… because I care for you. More than a friend.” His voice softened, the words weighted with sincerity. “Hopefully, I get to be more. But I’m the most foolish of men when it comes to matters of the heart. I’m not good at… any of this.”

Rook’s gaze shifted, taking in the café around her. The warm, romantic glow of the lights, the beautifully laid-out table, the intimacy of the setting—it all seemed so deliberate, so unlike the Lucanis she thought she knew.

Her eyes landed back on him, and she arched an eyebrow. “You’re not good at being romantic? Or apologies? Because, by the way, you still haven’t said sorry.”

“Despite my Antivan heritage, we aren’t all blessed with my cousin’s gift for romance,” Lucanis said with a wry smile. “But I’ll try—for you.”

He stood, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the floor, and stepped around the table.

“And this,” he continued, his voice dropping to something softer, almost reverent, “is where I kneel at your feet and beg for your forgiveness.”

Before Rook could react, he sank to one knee before her, taking her hand gently in his. His eyes lifted to meet hers, his expression utterly sincere.

“I am sorry,” he began, his voice steady but weighted with emotion. “For any hurt I caused you. I am sorry for my misplaced charm. I am sorry for letting you think you are anything less than breathtaking to me.”

Her breath caught, the words hitting her like a wave.

“I am sorry you ever felt you were not enough,” he went on, his thumb brushing softly against her knuckles, “when you are—more than enough in every way a woman can be. I am sorry. Truly sorry.”

He paused, his voice softening even further as he added, “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I swear to you—you will never doubt my affection for you for as long as I breathe.”

Rook sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the man kneeling before her. She turned her hand slightly in his, lacing her fingers through his as she searched for the right words.

“How am I supposed to stay angry at you now?” she said finally, her voice soft but tinged with exasperation. “The cakes, the candlelight, and that—” she gestured toward him with her free hand—“what you just said… Maker’s breath, you’re impossible.”

Lucanis’s lips curved into a hesitant smile, hope flickering in his eyes.

She sighed, shaking her head slightly. “And… I forgive you,” she added, her voice steady now, but her cheeks flushed.

“But I swear,” Rook continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, “if you ever make me feel that way again, I’ll take a contract out on you. Better than that—” she leaned forward, her tone dropping for emphasis—“I’ll kill you myself.”

Lucanis tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he rose to his feet.

“I’d like to see you try,” he replied smoothly, settling back into his chair across from her, “Promise me there will be lots of struggling,” Lucanis added, his voice dropping into a playful drawl. “Rolling around, grabbing for each other’s daggers…” He leaned forward slightly, a wicked glint in his eyes. “And sweaty. It’ll be sweaty, right?”

Urrgghhhh. She hated it when he turned it back on her like that.

Rook crossed her arms, trying to maintain her composure, but she could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks. She wasn’t nearly as good as he was at making death threats sound… sultry.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, grabbing her coffee and taking a long sip to avoid saying anything else that might give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d flustered her.

“Are you flirting with me, Dellamorte?” Rook asked, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

Lucanis leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “First time for everything, de Riva,” he replied smoothly. “You could say I’m making up for lost time.”

“I’m not sure if I should say yes or no,” Rook admitted, a nervous smile playing at her lips.

Lucanis leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady, his voice soft but teasing. “Say yes. Take a risk. See what happens.”

He could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between protecting her heart and giving in to her curiosity.

“Yes,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady.

Lucanis half-smiled, standing as he offered his hand. She took it, and together they walked to the balcony overlooking the canal. The soft light reflected off the water below, casting shimmering patterns onto the stone railing.

He leaned against the cool stone, his hand still firmly holding hers.

“So… I said yes, and now we’re looking at…” Rook began, her voice tinged with nervous humor.

“For the love of the Maker, Rook,” Lucanis interrupted, turning to face her fully. “Shut up and let me kiss you. Just stop… talking.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his mouth brushing against hers in a soft, deliberate kiss. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, and Rook melted into him, her heart racing.

He was a good kisser.

Cliché as it was, she slowed time around them with a spell, savoring the moment as the rest of the world blurred into nothing.

Lucanis smiled against her lips, not breaking the kiss, his voice low and warm. “I know what you’re doing, Rook,” he murmured, his lips still grazing hers.

And she didn’t care.

[meliciousmel13]

̗̗̀̀➛ BUSY

warnings: just pure angst

wc: 1,800~

SYNOPSIS: she’s always working. and your drifting apart because of it.

an: idk about this one guys

She was always working. Couldn’t last an hour without writing something down on her notes app, or fucking relax for a day. you quickly got tired of it after a few weeks into your relationship.

She was always out. couldn’t stay still or stay at home. whenever you did agree to go out, the only thing you could think of was all the cameras you knew were on you.

You loved billie. you loved her to death. she was the love of your life. but she’s never around. and on the rare occasions that she wasn’t working, she would be too tired to do something fun with you.

You were desperate all the time. practically begging for her attention. you felt like a stranger in your own skin. having to sleep in an empty bed nearly all the time, even when billie does sleep with you, you still feel uncomfortable in her arms. because you weren’t used to having her near you. not used to having someone hug you from behind. not used to being so warm and safe.

You knew you were falling apart. you knew months ago—you’ve been knowing. but you still chose to ignore it. the way she’d slowly forget about some things you said when her usual arm around the shoulder turned into nothing. the usual giggles when she did something stupid slowly turning into sighs.

It was depressing—not saying anything—refusing to even believe it yourself was depressing. that you were drifting apart. that she wasn’t your billie anymore. she was her job.

You loved her passion. you loved when she rambled about her music and how she creates. but whenever she’d mention a tour your entire brain turns into mush. you know you should be happy for her—proud—but you couldn’t. going on tour means that you couldn’t even have her. couldn’t hug her or lay your head on her lap.

The tour ruined you even more. as if you weren’t already on the edge. You used to call every day, her voice that kept you from spiraling too far. You used to sleep on call, her soft breathing on the other end a lullaby that made the distance feel less suffocating. But now, but now—there was only silence. She didn’t call first anymore. Didn’t check in. Your phone stayed painfully still, the void between you stretching wider with every passing hour.

When you did call, it rang too many times. Sometimes she answered, distracted, her voice tinged with exhaustion. Other times, she didn’t. Excuses piled up—interviews, rehearsals, travel—but they felt hollow. Like maybe you weren’t worth the effort anymore. Like maybe the space she filled in your life didn’t exist in hers.

You tried telling her about your concerns, you tried. a million times you tried. but they never work. so you thought that maybe when she comes back from tour you’d try again. to tell her. so she can fix it. She always fixed everything.

She came back from tour exhausted. She was free for a whole two months. even though she wasn’t totally free, she still had to work and prepare but you were still ecstatic, and billie couldn’t be happier to see you.

“Baby!” Billie gasped, her arms sweeping down to catch you as you practically launched yourself into her embrace. Your feet barely touched the ground as she lifted you, holding you close, too close, like she was afraid to let you go. Still in your pajamas, with mismatched slippers, you looked ridiculous, ridiculous on camera. But you couldn’t care less. All that mattered was her, the warmth of her body, the scent of her hoodie, the soft thrum of her heartbeat that grounded you.

“Billie,” you mumbled into her neck, your voice muffled against the fabric, but she felt so real, so solid in your arms, you almost forgot how much you’d missed her. She hummed softly, she hummed and you could feel the vibrations through her warm chest.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, her words catching in your hair as she pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. Her hands slid down your back, steadying you as your legs dangled. Her arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, and you felt that familiar tug in your chest like you could lose her if you weren’t careful.

You nodded against her shoulder, fingers clutching at the back of her hoodie, desperate to keep her there, like if you let go for even a second, she might slip away. “I hate it when you’re gone,” you admitted, the words feeling heavy as they slipped out. You didn’t want to be this vulnerable, but it was too late.

“I know, angel,” she murmured, her voice soft, but firm, like a promise. She cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes sparkled in the harsh airport light, but there was something else there too, something that looked like guilt—or maybe it was relief. You weren’t sure anymore. “I’m here now. You’ve got me.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over, but before you could speak, Billie leaned in. Her lips brushed over yours in a kiss so gentle, so tender, it almost made your chest ache. Time seemed to slow, the noise of the airport fading away, until it was just you and her in your own little world. When she pulled back, she smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

“And by the way,” she teased, her voice lighter now, but you could still hear the exhaustion in it, “nice pajamas. Truly a statement.”

The bus door closed behind you, the hum of the city fading as the world outside was left behind. Billie dropped her bag on the seat with a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she slid into the booth. The energy between you felt different now, quieter. You had tried to keep the lighthearted mood going, but the silence between you two was thick, almost palpable.

You sat down across from her, legs curled up beneath you, waiting for her to say something, anything. She glanced up briefly, offering you a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, before looking back down at her phone.

“I’m just really tired,” Billie murmured, the words barely above a whisper as she tapped on the screen, distracted. “I’ve had a long day.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. The warmth that had been between you earlier felt like it had slipped through your fingers, leaving you in the cold space that now seemed to stretch between you. She didn’t look up again, her attention solely focused on her phone, her fingers swiping with mechanical precision.

“Yeah, I get it,” you said softly, glancing at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Billie let out a soft sigh, the kind that spoke volumes without a word. She finally looked up at you, her eyes softer now, but her voice still distant. “I’ll be better tomorrow. Just… tired, y’know?”

You nodded again, a faint ache tugging at your chest. Her words were meant to reassure you, but the emptiness in her tone made it harder to believe.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and the space between you felt wider with each passing moment. Neither of you spoke, the quiet pressing in on you both as the bus moved down the road.

When the bus finally came to a stop outside the house, you felt like you were stuck in slow motion. You stepped out, your legs unsteady, but you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. Everything around you was the same, but the air between you and Billie felt different—colder, heavier.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you lingered for a moment just inside the entryway, eyes on the floor.

Billie moved past you, her footsteps echoing softly through the quiet house as she dropped her bag by the door and hung her jacket on the hook. She didn’t even look at you.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart was already pounding, the words stuck at the back of your throat. You didn’t want to do this. Not now. Not like this. But you knew if you didn’t say something, you’d lose her completely.

You barely whispered her name. “Billie?”

She didn’t turn to you right away. “Hmm?” Her voice was soft, tired, distant. She didn’t sound like she was really listening.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. You could feel the pressure of four years, of everything you’d been through together, weighing down on you. It felt like you were standing on the edge of something, like if you took one wrong step, it would all fall apart.

“I—” you faltered, your voice trembling, but you forced the words out anyway. “I feel like… you’ve been so distant. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s like you’re not here anymore.” You winced as you said it, like admitting it would make it all real.

Billie stopped what she was doing but didn’t turn around. The silence between you felt endless, like she was taking her time to decide how to handle it. You could feel your hands shaking at your sides, a deep ache in your chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I’m just tired, baby,” she said after a long pause, her voice quieter now, almost apologetic. “Tour, everything… it just gets to me sometimes. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

You nodded, though it didn’t make you feel better. You wanted to believe her, you really did, but the distance between you felt too real to ignore. You took a shaky breath, barely able to meet her eyes. “I don’t know if I can keep pretending like everything’s fine when you’re like this.”

Billie’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but she didn’t turn around. Her hands were still on the counter, gripping the edge like she needed to steady herself. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just… sometimes it’s too much, you know?”

Your heart sank at her words, but you didn’t have the strength to push her further. Instead, you took a slow step toward her, voice small but desperate. “I just need to know that you still want this. Want me.”

There was another heavy silence, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear what she’d say next. You stood there, trying to keep yourself from shaking, barely able to breathe as you waited for her answer.

Finally, she turned toward you, her face soft but guarded. “Of course I do. I just need a little time, okay?”

You nodded, but it felt like a fragile promise.

taglist: @chrissv4mp, @billiesguitar, @ilovebillieeilish2000, @d14n4ol, @raspberrymacaroon if your not a part of this list but want to be comment under my taglist post, which is on my masterlist.

b.e masterlist | m.b masterlist | s.r masterlist | taglist

[dissapointu]

u have beautiful writing and it’s honestly a talent! you’re so quick with it like hello? may u please do how arcane characters would react to having a partner who likes making handmade gifts instead of buying them? me personally i LOVE making handmade gifts because it seems more beautiful putting in work for my friends and family! honestly you’re my favorite writer on this app I’ll most definitely think about makin u a handmade gift! you’re so cool!

FIRST OFF??? YOU are the coolest person EVER and reading your message made me do a little happy dance in my chair, so thank you for THAT! 🥹 The fact that you’re out here pouring love into handmade gifts for your friends and family?? ICONIC. Handmade gifts are SO slept on, and you’re out here proving they’re the superior love language. If I could, I’d be your hype squad 24/7. (Also, i would ugly cry if you made me a gift Mamas.)

Okay, okay, let’s jump into how the Arcane characters would react to having a partner who loves making handmade gifts because spoiler: they’re all gonna be absolutely obsessed with you. Let’s GO.

—��—————————————————————-

Jinx

Jinx would LOSE HER MIND every single time you gave her a gift. She’s such a sucker for anything you pour your heart into.

• “Wait, wait—YOU made this? For ME?” She’s staring at it with huge eyes like you just handed her a treasure map.

• She’d keep EVERYTHING you give her, no matter what it is. You could hand her a crocheted pigeon and she’d be like, “This is the best thing anyone’s ever given me.”

• She’d totally try to make something for you in return, but it’d be chaotic as hell. Like, you’d get a DIY flamethrower or something held together with duct tape and glitter.

Basically, she’s your number one fan and would brag about you constantly.

Vi

Vi is playing it cool, but deep down, she’s melting into a puddle of feelings. She’d get all quiet when you give her something and just kinda… stare at it like she can’t believe someone would put in that much effort for her.

• If you made her something wearable, like a bracelet or beanie? That thing is NEVER coming off.

• She’s not much for words, but she’d pull you into a tight hug and just whisper, “Thanks. I mean it.”

• Also, if anyone dares to make fun of your gifts, she’s throwing hands. (“What’d you say about my partner’s hand-painted mug? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”)

Sevika

Sevika would be SO caught off guard when you hand her a gift. She’s not used to people doing thoughtful stuff for her, so she’s just… staring at you, holding your gift like it’s a foreign object.

• If it’s something practical, like a leather pouch or gloves? She’s putting them to use immediately. And trust, she’ll let everyone know her partner made them.

• If it’s something sentimental? She’s keeping it tucked away somewhere safe, but you’ll catch her looking at it when she thinks you’re not watching.

She’s a little rough around the edges, but trust me, she cherishes EVERY handmade thing you give her.

Silco

Silco would be SO intrigued by the concept of handmade gifts. Like, he’s trying to figure out why you’d put in so much effort instead of just buying something. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s because you care about him. And yeah, that hits him right in his cold, scheming heart.

• Something elegant or functional, like a pen case or a decorative box? He’s putting it on his desk like it belongs in a museum.

• Something more emotional, like a portrait of him and Jinx? He’ll treasure it forever but keep it private—it’s too precious for the world to see.

You’ve officially cracked the Silco Code: thoughtful effort = instant softie.

Vander

Vander is 100% DAD MODE ACTIVATED every time you give him something. He’s smiling so big it hurts, just standing there like, “You made this? For me?”

• If it’s something for the bar, like a new sign or decoration? He’s putting it up immediately and making everyone compliment it.

• More personal gifts, like a knitted scarf? He’s rocking it every single day, even if it’s summer.

• He’d also love hearing about your process, sitting there with his tea like, “Tell me about this one. What inspired you?” Big golden retriever vibes, honestly.

Ekko

Ekko would be OBSESSED with your gifts. Like, you’ve unlocked a whole new love language for him.

• If you made him something for the Firelights, like a custom mask or patch? He’s adding it to his gear immediately. “Look at this! My partner made it. Isn’t it sick?”

• If it’s something sentimental, he’d carry it around like a good luck charm. It could be the tiniest trinket, and he’d be like, “This? This is everything.”

• He’d also 100% try to make something for you in return. Now you’ve got matching handmade energy, and everyone is jealous of your vibes.

Jayce

Jayce would be SO touched by your gifts. This man is a golden retriever in human form, so every time you give him something, he’s beaming like you just made his whole week.

• If it’s something for his lab, like a personalized toolbox? He’s showing it off to Viktor like, “Look what my partner made. Aren’t they amazing?”

• Something sentimental, like a framed photo or painting? He’s hanging it in his house and telling EVERYONE about it.

Jayce is basically your personal hype squad, and he’s never gonna stop appreciating your creativity.

Viktor

Viktor would be SO soft about your gifts. Like, he’s not used to people going out of their way for him, so when you hand him something, he’s just sitting there like, “You made this? For me?”

• If it’s something practical, like a custom notebook for his designs, he’s using it every day and thinking of you while he works.

• Sentimental gifts, like a sketch or keepsake? He’s keeping them close, tucked away in a spot where he can see them when he needs a boost.

You’d inspire him to start tinkering on something special just for you. Now you’ve got your own Viktor Original™.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would be SO charmed by your gifts. She’s used to fancy, expensive things, but the effort and love you put into your handmade stuff? That’s what gets her.

• Make her something practical, like gloves or a scarf? She’s wearing them CONSTANTLY and bragging to everyone.

• If it’s more sentimental, like a personal letter or drawing? She’s keeping it somewhere safe and rereading it when she misses you.

Caitlyn loves thoughtful gestures, so you’re basically her dream partner. Period.

Mel Medarda

Mel would be absolutely enchanted by your gifts. She’s surrounded by luxury, but your handmade work feels so much more personal.

• Something elegant, like jewelry or an intricate painting? She’s showing it off at council meetings like it’s priceless.

• Something heartfelt? She’s keeping it in her private quarters where she can admire it when she’s alone.

Mel would also encourage you to turn your craft into a business because she believes in your talent 100%.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be IMPRESSED. She’s a practical person, so if you make her something functional, like a knife sheath or leather gear, she’s putting it to use immediately.

• If it’s sentimental, she’d keep it hidden, but trust—it means a lot to her.

She’d respect your dedication and probably compare you to a warrior. “It takes discipline to create something with your own hands.”

Heimerdinger

Heimerdinger would be THRILLED. He LOVES creativity, and your handmade gifts would light up his world.

• If you made him something clever or whimsical, he’s showing it off to everyone in Piltover. “Look what my partner made! Aren’t they brilliant?”

• Sentimental stuff? He’s putting it in his workshop where he can admire it while he tinkers.

He’d also want to collaborate on a project with you because you’re basically his new favorite inventor.

Salo

Okay, Salo would be one of those people who doesn’t know how to react at first, but you’d totally catch him staring at your gift later, all soft and thoughtful.

• If you made him something like a carved figurine or a small keepsake, he’d keep it in his pocket for good luck and touch it when he’s thinking about you.

• He wouldn’t be super showy about it, but you’d KNOW it meant a lot to him when he said something lowkey like, “You didn’t have to, but… thanks. This is nice.”

• Deep down, he’d be so touched that you took the time to make something just for him. Handmade gifts just hit different for someone like Salo, who appreciates quiet, meaningful gestures.

Scar

Scar is giving CHAOTIC, “OMG YOU MADE THIS??” energy every single time. Like, no matter what it is, he’s holding it up like you just gifted him the crown jewels.

• If you made him something goofy, like a silly little knitted hat or a bracelet, he’s rocking it IMMEDIATELY. “Look at this! My partner made it! Aren’t they the best?”

• He’d totally try to “help” you make stuff sometimes, but he’d just end up making a mess and laughing about it the whole time.

• Scar is your ultimate hype man, always gassing you up and telling everyone how talented you are. You could hand him a macaroni necklace, and he’d be like, “Masterpiece. Absolute masterpiece.”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie is secretly the softest bean about your handmade gifts. Like, she’d be a little shy at first when you gave her something, but you’d catch her smiling at it later when she thought you weren’t looking.

• If you made her something practical, like a cozy scarf or a cute notebook, she’d use it all the time and feel so warm and fuzzy knowing it came from you.

• Sentimental gifts? She’s absolutely treasuring them forever. She’d keep them somewhere special, like her desk or bedside table, and glance at them whenever she’s missing you.

• Maddie would totally ask about your process too, like, “How did you even come up with this? It’s amazing.” She’s so supportive, and your gifts would mean the world to her.

Lest

Lest would be absolutely ENCHANTED by your handmade gifts. Like, she’d hold them so gently, as if she’s afraid of breaking something so precious.

• If you made her something elegant or delicate, like a hand-painted vase or a piece of embroidery, she’d treat it like it’s the most valuable thing she owns.

• Lest would also love the thought and care behind your gifts. She’s the type to listen closely when you explain how you made something, nodding along with genuine interest.

• You’d totally catch her showing off your gifts to her friends, like, “My partner made this. Isn’t it beautiful?” She’d treasure everything you give her, no matter how big or small.

And that’s it! TL;DR: YOU are a gift, and every Arcane character would feel insanely lucky to have someone as thoughtful and creative as you. Keep being amazing, bestie. 💜

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[hoesluvjude]

Winter Wonderland || jobe bellingham

Word count:1,4k words

Genre:fluff

Author's note :first time writing for jobe and this was a request.enjoy:)

Masterlist

The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks as you wandered through London’s Winter Wonderland with Jobe, the glow of twinkling fairy lights reflecting in his wide smile.

The creaky wooden sign read “House of horrors " in faded, blood-red letters, the entrance draped with cobwebs and flickering lanterns. You and Jobe stood in front of it, the muffled screams of previous visitors echoing from within.

“You sure about this?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jobe said, feigning confidence. “I’ve got this. You’ll be the one clinging to me in five seconds flat.”

You smirked, not buying it. “We’ll see about that.”

The attendant ushered you inside, and instantly, darkness enveloped you both. Jobe stepped closer, his arm brushing yours as he muttered, “Alright, it's not too bad so far…”

Just then, a motion-activated skeleton lunged from the shadows, its jaw clattering as it shrieked. Jobe let out a startled yelp, practically jumping behind you.

“Not scared, huh?” you teased, biting back laughter.

He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “I was just… caught off guard. Happens to the best of us.”

You rolled your eyes, but secretly, his reaction made the whole experience twice as fun. As you moved deeper into the maze of creepy corridors, eerie music played, and fog curled around your feet. A door creaked open ahead, and you both froze.

“Okay, you go first,” Jobe said quickly, gesturing for you to take the lead.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to protect me, remember?”

“I’m protecting you by letting you prove how fearless you are,” he countered, a cheeky grin on his face despite the unease in his eyes.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open, revealing a pitch-black room. The moment you stepped inside, strobe lights flashed, revealing a clown lunging from the corner.

Jobe grabbed your arm with a startled shout, practically hiding behind you. “Nope. Nope. Nope!”

You couldn’t stop laughing, even as your own heart raced. “Jobe, it’s just a guy in makeup!”

“Yeah, well, that guy in makeup almost made me jump out of my skin,” he muttered, refusing to let go of your arm.

The rest of the haunted house was a blur of jumpscares, laughter, and Jobe’s increasingly dramatic reactions. By the time you emerged into the safety of the park, the two of you were breathless from a mix of fear and laughter.

“Alright, fine,” Jobe admitted, leaning against a railing to catch his breath. “Maybe haunted houses aren’t my thing.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you said, grinning as you nudged him with your shoulder.

He shot you a mock glare. “Hey, at least I didn’t scream that loud.”

“Loud enough to scare the ghosts away,” you teased, clutching your sides as you laughed.

Jobe couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head. “Next time, we’re sticking to the Ferris wheel. My heart can’t handle you laughing at me like this.”

“Deal,” you said, still grinning as you grabbed his arm. “But for the record, I think you were very brave… eventually.”, chuckling.

“Oh, ha-ha,” he quipped, rolling his eyes but clearly enjoying himself. “You just wait until we get to the rides. I’ll show you who’s laughing then.”

The two of you wandered through the maze of festive stalls, stopping occasionally to admire hand-crafted ornaments or taste a sample of spiced nuts. Jobe’s eyes lit up when he spotted the towering Ferris wheel. “Come on, let’s do it!” he said, tugging your hand with childlike enthusiasm.

As the wheel slowly climbed, the chaos of the park melted into a serene view. Jobe nudged you with his elbow. “See? Best seat in the house.”

You glanced at him, only to find his eyes already on you, his usual cheeky grin softening into something sweeter. “Glad you’re here with me,” he said quietly, almost shy.

The moment lingered, the chill of the evening forgotten as the Ferris wheel reached its peak, the world below sparkling like a snow globe.

----

“Alright,” Jobe broke the silence, his grin returning. “Now we race to the bumper cars. Loser buys hot chocolate!”

With a playful shove and a head start, he was already off, his laughter echoing through the frosty night air. You sprinted after him, determined not to let him win so easily. But it was no contest. Jobe darted ahead like he was weaving through defenders on the pitch, and by the time you reached the bumper cars, he was already leaning casually against the railings, arms crossed, his smug grin waiting to greet you.

“Too easy,” he teased, pretending to stretch like he’d just run a marathon.

You bent over, hands on your knees,to catch your breath. “Unfair advantage!” you protested, standing upright and pointing at him. “You’re literally a professional athlete. I don’t stand a chance.”

Jobe laughed, that warm, rich sound making you forget the sting of defeat.

You gave him a playful shove, grumbling under your breath about how footballers always had to show off. “Fine, you win. But you’re definitely buying the next round of hot chocolate.”

Jobe held up his hands in mock surrender. “Deal. But first—” He gestured toward a nearby shooting game booth, where plush toys of all sizes hung as prizes. “Let me make it up to you.”

You followed him to the booth, watching as he handed over the money and picked up the plastic rifle. He took a second to size up the targets, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’m clutch under pressure.”

True to his word, Jobe hit every single target with practiced precision. The booth attendant gave an impressed whistle before handing over the biggest prize of the lot: a massive teddy bear nearly as tall as you.

“For you,” Jobe said, presenting the bear with a dramatic bow.

You took it, struggling to hold the oversized plush in your arms. “Oh, so now you’re trying to bribe me into forgetting about the race?” you joked, peeking over the bear’s head.

Jobe laughed, sliding an arm around your shoulders to help steady you and your new companion. “Call it a peace offering. But if it works, I won’t complain.”

The two of you walked toward a stand selling hot chocolate, the oversized teddy bear snug in your arms and Jobe by your side.

“Two, please,” Jobe said to the vendor, turning to you with a mischievous grin. “Extra marshmallows for you, of course.”

The cup in your hands felt like a warm hug, and you couldn’t help but laugh when Jobe immediately took a sip of his, only to wince and blow dramatically on the steaming drink. “Careful,” you teased. “Wouldn’t want to burn that tongue of yours.”

----

The smell of sweet treats filled the air as you and Jobe wandered toward the cotton candy stand, the colorful clouds of spun sugar glowing under the festive lights.

“I’m telling you,” Jobe said with a grin, “I can finish an entire stick faster than you.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh, really? Big talk for someone who took forever to finish that hot chocolate.”

“That’s because I was savoring it,” he shot back, stepping up to the counter.

The vendor handed over two massive swirls of pink and blue cotton candy, and you barely had time to admire the sugary fluff before Jobe was already taking a giant bite.

“Careful, you’ll choke,” you warned, laughing as strands of candy stuck to his face.

“Worth it,” he said through a mouthful, wiping at the sticky sugar on his chin. “This is top-tier cotton candy. You’ve got no chance.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a more deliberate bite of your own. The sweetness melted on your tongue, and for a moment, you simply enjoyed the cheerful buzz of the park around you.

But Jobe wasn’t letting you off the hook. “You’re losing, by the way,” he teased, holding up his stick to show how much progress he’d made.

“It’s not a race,” you countered, smirking as you plucked a piece of his cotton candy and popped it into your mouth.

“Oi!” he exclaimed, feigning outrage. “That’s cheating!”

“All’s fair in love and cotton candy,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

Jobe shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I’m nice. Next time, though, I’m guarding my food.”

“Next time, I’m ordering popcorn instead,” you said, laughing as you nudged him with your shoulder.

By the time the cotton candy was gone, both of you were sticky with sugar and laughing too hard to care. The night seemed to sparkle a little brighter with Jobe at your side, his laughter as sweet as the treats you'd just shared.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Pls pls pls I have a request 🙏

Could you do (young) Elrond x fReader pls?

The reader is a Young Elleth who lives in Khazad-Dum and she's one of Diza's friends. Elrond meets her during a diner with Durin and he's kinda offended because Durin hide her from him for a long time. 👀

This was so fun to write! I would definitely be willing to continue the story of these two- maybe little one shots of cute moments? Let me know what you think!

A Flower Among Stone

The air in the dining hall of Khazad-dûm is thick with the rich scent of roasted meats, spiced roots, and the faint tang of molten metal from the forges below. Disa’s laughter rings out, a warm and vibrant melody that bounces off the carved stone walls, mingling with Durin’s hearty chuckles. You sit at the end of the long table, fingers idly tracing the etched patterns on the wooden cup before you, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

You’ve learned well enough that in Khazad-dûm, it’s best to let the Dwarves hold the spotlight. Your presence here has always been a delicate balance. Disa, with her boundless kindness, has made you feel more welcome than you’d dared hope. Durin, too, has treated you fairly, though his teasing often borders on exasperating.

But tonight is different.

The arrival of Elrond Peredhel, emissary of the High King, has shifted the mood. He’s seated across from you, his polished armor catching the warm light of the lanterns, his posture impeccable. His smile is practiced, though you can see the faint strain behind it. He has been nothing but polite to you, but not once has he addressed you directly.

It stings, though you try not to show it.

“I must say,” Elrond begins, his tone even but his gaze fixed on Durin, “it’s curious that in all our conversations, you never saw fit to mention the presence of another elf within your halls.”

Durin’s brow furrows. “Didn’t think I had to report every visitor to you, Peredhel.”

“Visitors are one thing,” Elrond replies, voice tightening, “but a representative of the Eldar? That seems… noteworthy.” His eyes flick to you for the first time, and though his words remain formal, there’s a shadow of accusation in them. “I trust your time here has been… informative”

Your shoulders stiffen. “It has,” you reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “Durin and Disa have been most gracious hosts.”

“And yet, the High King seemed unaware of your presence here,” Elrond counters, his words measured but pointed.

Disa’s fork clatters against her plate. “Oh, come now, Elrond,” she chides, her voice sharp but not unkind. “There’s no need for that tone. She’s been a dear friend to us, and if Durin didn’t mention her to you, that’s on him.”

Durin raises his hands in mock surrender. “You think I keep track of everything I say to the Peredhel? He’s lucky I remember his name half the time.”

Elrond’s jaw tightens, and you can see the effort it takes for him to keep his composure. “It is not a matter of names, Prince Durin. It is about trust and transparency.”

“And perhaps,” Disa interjects, leaning forward with a pointed look, “it’s about showing a bit of kindness to someone who’s done nothing to deserve your irritation.”

The tension at the table is palpable. You lower your gaze, wishing for the polished stone floor to swallow you whole. The rest of the meal passes in a strained silence, the usual warmth of Disa and Durin’s table replaced by a frosty discomfort.

You step lightly through the stone-carved corridors of Khazad-dûm, the tension from dinner still knotting your shoulders. The soft murmur of voices drifts from the dining hall behind you, and though you know it’s impolite to eavesdrop, you hesitate at the turn of the corridor.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Disa’s voice rings clear, her usual warmth sharpened into a reprimand.

“I beg your pardon?” Elrond’s measured tone holds an edge, though it lacks the hauteur one might expect from someone of his station.

“You heard me,” Disa retorts. “That poor girl has been nothing but respectful—more respectful than some, it seems.”

“I was merely—”

“You were rude,” Durin interjects, his deep voice gruff but not without humor. “Manners, Peredhel. Haven’t the elves mastered those yet?”

Elrond sighs audibly. “It was not my intent to offend. I was… taken off guard. I did not expect to walk into a situation so significant without any prior knowledge.”

“And that justifies putting her on the spot?” Disa presses. “She’s not some courtier at Gil-galad’s court, used to fancy words and sharp barbs. She’s young, Elrond, and far from home. You should know better.”

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. When Elrond speaks again, his voice is lower, softer. “You are right, of course. My reaction was unworthy of her—or of me. I will apologize.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Disa replies. “You’ll mean it. And you’d better do it quickly, before she decides we Dwarves aren’t worth the trouble of enduring your bad behavior.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you before you can stop it. You press a hand to your mouth, feeling a guilty sort of satisfaction at hearing the great Elrond Peredhel, herald of the High King, being so thoroughly chastised.

Careful not to make any more noise, you step away and head toward one of the common areas, where the soft glow of lanterns and the steady hum of Khazad-dûm’s life offer a welcome reprieve.

The room you choose is warm and inviting, carved from the same sturdy stone as the rest of the mountain, with thick tapestries lining the walls to dampen the chill. A small fire burns in the hearth, its light dancing across the polished surface of a low table. A few Dwarves sit in quiet conversation nearby, nodding in greeting as you enter. You take a seat by the fire, pulling your cloak closer around your shoulders, and let the soothing atmosphere wash over you.

You don’t wait long.

Footsteps echo faintly down the corridor, precise and deliberate. You glance up to see Elrond appear in the doorway, his expression as composed as ever, though there’s a flicker of something almost sheepish in his eyes.

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice steady but less formal than before.

You incline your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “If you wish.”

He sits gracefully, resting his hands on his knees as he regards you. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his gaze meeting yours directly. “My behavior at dinner was unbecoming, and you bore the brunt of it without cause. For that, I am sorry.”

You study him for a moment, noting the sincerity in his tone. “Disa and Durin gave you quite the lecture, didn’t they?”

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a fleeting smile. “They did. And rightly so.”

You laugh softly, leaning back in your chair. “Consider your apology accepted, then. Though I admit, it was amusing to hear them scold you.”

Elrond lets out a breath, almost a laugh himself. “It is not an experience I am accustomed to.”

“Perhaps it’s one you needed.”

His smile widens slightly, though it carries a hint of self-reflection. “Perhaps.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between words. 

Elrond’s gaze, keen and thoughtful, settles on you with a quiet intensity as the firelight casts shadows across his features. “I find myself curious,” he begins, his tone gentler now. “What brought you to Khazad-dûm? It is… an uncommon place for an elf to reside.”

You take a moment to consider your words, the memory stirring a familiar ache in your chest. “Two years ago,” you begin, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the tale, “my mother and I were traveling to Eregion. We’d heard whispers of its beauty and hoped to visit the city.”

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “It is indeed beautiful, or it was the last I saw of it. Please, go on.”

You draw in a slow breath, the next part of the story weighing heavily. “We were nearing the borders when we were ambushed by orcs. They struck swiftly, without warning. My mother…” You pause, swallowing hard. “She did not survive. She gave her life so I could flee.”

Elrond’s expression softens, his sharp gaze clouded with sorrow. “I am sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” You offer him a faint smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was badly injured in the attack. I thought that would be my end, but one of the dwarves found me—not far from the mountain’s borders—and carried me back to Khazad-dûm.”

“The dwarves saved you?” His voice is tinged with surprise, though not disbelief.

“They did,” you confirm. “They nursed me back to health, though their methods were… slower than the healing arts I’d known among our people. Even now, I still bear the scar on my side.” You gesture toward your right side, feeling the faint pull of the old wound as you shift. “And my sword arm aches from time to time, especially in the cold.”

Elrond’s gaze drifts to your arm, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. “And yet you chose to remain here?”

You nod. “I did. I owe them my life, and I’ve come to care for them deeply. Disa and Durin have been like family to me. I’ve stayed as long as they would have me.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Elrond’s expression is unreadable, his sharp features softened by the glow of the firelight. Finally, he speaks.

“It is rare for one of our kind to form such bonds with the dwarves,” he says, his tone contemplative. “But perhaps it is in such rarities that the truest friendships are forged.”

You smile faintly, feeling the weight of his words. “The dwarves have a saying: ‘Stone endures.’ I think that’s true of friendship, too—if you’re willing to put in the work to shape it.”

Elrond’s lips quirk upward, the faintest hint of a smile. “Wise words. Perhaps I underestimated the lessons to be learned here.”

For a moment, the fire crackles softly between you, and you find yourself surprised by the ease that has crept into the conversation. Elrond’s demeanor, so guarded at dinner, has shifted, and you see not only the High King’s herald but a man of keen mind and deep feeling.

“Thank you,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “For sharing your story. It cannot have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, meeting his gaze steadily. “But I’ve learned that some scars are worth bearing, even if they never truly fade.”

Elrond's gaze lingers on you thoughtfully, his expression warm but serious. “The pain in your shoulder—your sword arm—it lingers still, yes?”

You nod reluctantly, rolling your shoulder as if to test the ache. “Sometimes, especially when the air grows cold or I push myself too hard.”

“Then allow me to help,” he offers, his tone soft but insistent.

You blink in surprise. “Help? How?”

“I am trained in the healing arts,” he replies. “It is a skill I have honed over many centuries. Perhaps I can alleviate your discomfort.”

You hesitate, the idea of Elrond tending to you both unexpected and a little overwhelming. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” you say, your voice quiet.

“It is no trouble,” he insists. “Think of it as an apology—for my behavior earlier.”

His earnestness leaves you with little room to protest. With a nod, you agree, and he rises from his seat. “Come,” he says. “We’ll need a quieter space.”

Elrond leads you through the winding halls of Khazad-dûm, his stride purposeful but unhurried. You soon arrive at the guest chambers where he is staying, a spacious room within Durin and Disa’s home. The air inside is warmer, lit by a few softly glowing lanterns. A desk sits near the far wall, its surface neatly organized with parchment, ink, and a few books Elrond has brought with him.

He gestures to the chair by the desk. “Sit here,” he instructs gently.

You comply, settling into the chair as he gathers his thoughts. “The pain resides near your shoulder, does it not?”

“Yes,” you confirm, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s mostly where the orc’s blade struck, just below the collarbone.”

Elrond nods, his expression thoughtful. “I will need to see the injury,” he says, his tone careful and professional.

You take a steadying breath. “Of course.” With practiced ease, you reach for the straps of your dress, undoing them over your right shoulder and letting the fabric slip down to expose your back and shoulder.

The room is silent for a moment, save for the crackle of a distant hearth. You catch a flicker of movement in the polished steel that edges the desk—a faint blush rising to Elrond’s cheeks. He clears his throat softly, a sound that makes you smile to yourself despite the situation.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, regaining his composure.

His hands hover above your shoulder, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from them. He murmurs a few words in Sindarin, the lyrical quality of the language soothing in itself. Then, a gentle glow emanates from his palms, and you feel the magic begin to seep into your skin.

A soft gasp escapes you as the warmth spreads, soothing the tightness that has plagued you for so long. The ache fades, replaced by a sensation of lightness and relief you hadn’t thought possible.

“Are you in pain?” Elrond asks, his voice low and concerned.

“No,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… better. So much better.”

He works for a few more moments, his touch light but steady. When he finally steps back, the glow fades, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“The injury was deeper than I anticipated,” he says, his brow furrowing slightly. “But I believe the worst of it has been mended. The pain should trouble you less now, if at all.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, pulling your dress back into place. “Thank you, Elrond. I didn’t realize how much I’d grown used to the discomfort until now.”

He inclines his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “It was the least I could do, after my earlier misstep. I hope this begins to mend more than just your shoulder.”

You smile back, warmth spreading in your chest. “I think it does.”

For a moment, you sit in companionable silence, the bond between you subtly shifting—like a thread of gold woven into the fabric of stone and steel. The warmth of his magic still lingers faintly, and you feel a cautious sense of ease settling between you. Gathering your courage, you glance at him and speak.

“There’s something I’d like to show you,” you begin hesitantly. “If you have the time. The dwarves have cultivated gardens deep within the mountain. They use mirrors and lenses to bring in light—it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, even in my own lands.”

Elrond raises an intrigued brow, his expression softening further. “Gardens, within stone walls? That sounds remarkable. I would be honored to see them.”

Your smile grows, tentative but genuine. “Then I’ll show you. I think you’ll find they’re worth the journey.”

He nods, the hint of a smile on his lips, and for the first time, you sense that his earlier guardedness has given way to something deeper—an openness to the possibilities that this unexpected connection might hold.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ You all know what time it is! }~

•The Circus•

Jazz and Danny have always taken care of each other when their parents eventually forgot about them

Like when Jazz had to learn how to cook and fight off reanimated food to feed Danny when she was 6 because their parents got a new idea and had to work on it right that second

Or when Danny had to find a way to copy Maddies hand writing so when Jazz got sick or had class trip and she was to busy with other things so could go and have fun like someone her age so have

So you can tell they always took care of the other so when Maddie and Jack tried to lock Danny in the lab and have their way with the “Ghost scum” Jazz stood by his side until the end

And now that they both are full ghost that’s not going to change a bit they took care of each other in life

They going to take care of the other in death

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

When The Circus held out their hand for Jazz and Danny they were a bit surprised and untrusting in the beginning in fact Jazz would never leave Danny’s side or the other way around

But they have been with The Circus for some time now ( It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been in here Jazz and Danny find out pretty quickly ) and the people of The Circus has gained some of their trust but never quite all of it ( only the other has their full trust )

but the one they trust the most has to be the ringmasters or the leader of The Circus they keep everyone safe and protected so Jazz and Danny can respect that in them

And they made sure Jazz and Danny were safe as well so they respected the ringmaster a lot but not to the point where they would take their side over the other but they still respected them

Back on track, Jazz has been given the role as a sharp shooter and Danny as a Aerial act and of course jazz and Danny are always in acts together (The ringmaster has tried to get them to be separated acts due to their different roles and he got punched by jazz after he got to close to Danny for her liking, she gains everyones respect that day)

And if you need danny you often have to get past jazz first due to her being overprotective of Danny

How Danny and Jazz fight, Danny will use the silk he uses often in his and Jazz’s acts grab the person and fly around as fling the person all around and disorient them as Jazz fires her gun at them until the person is unable to fight or Danny and Jazz just get broad they will from Danny’s silks or whatever he’s using for flying around let them hit the ground or Danny will stop flying and Jazz gos at it, they treat it like target practice (They got everyone respect and fear after they did that the first time)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

~{ Now onto the DCU part! }~

A emergency meeting is called for the JL about a new potential enemy or a rescue mission

So when one of the heroes [Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green arrow, Green lantern, Martian Manhunter, Aqua Man] in the meeting ask what it is are told about

A large big top that has large mechanical legs with the possibility of more due to the build of this structure and it seems to have been avoiding main areas where one of the main members of the JL are like its hiding

inhabitants of this is known to be unpredictable in their actions and how they react to people and objects out side of the structure and how they respond to questions about the big top or anything related to The Circus they will act as though the big top and whole Circus itself can hear them and become quiet and run off (They don’t really talk to people out side of acts so they just run back to where the others are or back to where their act is taking place)

And very little is known about them but this was brought to their attention due to the disappearances of people in the wake of The Circus (The ghost walk in and move on to the Ghost zone or find peace) and this is a problem and with the concerning words of some of the people who are in The Circus it is leaning towards the rescue mission

And they need to find out what is happening and need a team to go under cover and young justice volunteers to go under cover

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

~{ Now onto Danny and Jazz’s outfits! }~

For Danny I’m thinking

This for the outfit ~{ Or not this is really the best I could find that I at least liked enough }~

And for Jazz I’m thinking something like this

Or this ~{ I’m not picky about which }~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

~{ And that’s it for this! I hope you things like it and life’s to short punch a politician! Byeeeee }~

[iandoubt]

thisss a million times this! The thing that people forget about the secret soulmates ordeal is that Grian chose BigB, but he did not choose to be paired with Scar. He made it clear from the beginning how he didn’t want to be with Scar. (Interjection: this is all c!s, and not hating on scarian also a valid ship just me rambling about how I like to interpret it and also it’s very grammatically incorrect and probably pretty repetitive because I didn’t really read through it lol) He was forced to team with him by their shared health, but the term “cheating” implies that Grian chose to be with Scar and then later went back on that. Secret Soulmates, meanwhile, was purely for Grian’s emotional benefit. They gave each other hearts and cookies and there was nothing in particular about the two of them that screamed alliance made for practical reasons. They were just kind of keeping each other company, BigB needing it because his soulmate was away so often that the guy had joined a singles support group, and Grian needing it because well if I write all my thoughts on why in this one sentence it’ll go on forever. Even from third life, Grian shows bias toward Bigb, commenting that if it comes down to it he doesn’t think he’ll be able to kill him even though Bigb is on the opposite side.

But back to my point about why I think Grian is lonely: in double life, Scar behaves with Grian the same way that he behaves with him in third life, where he was reckless and Grian just had to go along with whatever scar said because he was indebted. This in contrast to double life, where the soul bound puts each partner on equal standing, but Scar, probably without realizing, takes the lead, but Grian is no longer content to follow. Scar takes for granted that Grian will always follow him, hence the reason he seems more inclined towards petty vengeance than actual anger or even worry when he finds out about BigB. He is confident that Grian will always come back to him, which, when Grian doesn’t want to, makes things. Complicated. Really, he builds himself a panda reserve, Grian made it very clear that he’s not super fond of the pandas, but Scar is operating on how he knew Grian in third life, before Grian joined the south lands where equality (sometimes rather than equity even when thats not really good, but that’s it whole own shebang) was like their whole shtick, so he thinks that everything he builds for him is for both of them, because in the past he was in charge and had to take the lead. So Grian seeks out someone he wanted from the beginning of both that season and of the series who is, as prev stated, very calm. Scar wanders off to go do something dangerous expecting Grian to follow because that’s what he would have done in third life, but Grian is like okay, you go do that, and goes over to go do arts n’ crafts with BigB. BigB, also, has been constantly on the outside of groups and rarely having an alliance of his own because other people find him creepy or scary or unnerving, which is something he encourages, and even seems to enjoy, but Grian is usually the only one to not be scared off by BigB’s bigbness, like in secret life when he was like this base is scary but it’s also cool, hey is that your initial in the roof and he is literally the only one to notice that and Bigb is just so excited that someone noticed something about his base that wasn’t hey this place is terrifying. They just genuinely enjoy each other company. They can just be silly and definitely not bossy together and have fun! They, for all their fanon characterization, and actually probably one of the healthiest c!relationships in the whole series, because they actually like each other, chose each others company out of their own free will and for no other reason than their affection for the other, and are not toxicly codependent. Idk this is a pretty long and probably incoherent ramble, but I felt compelled because please for the love of all that is sculk someone put some biggri on ao3 that is literally anything other than cheating in scarian angst fics. Thank you prev for reminding me how much I love this pairing.

I know that Grian said “Bigb treated me right” just to get a rise out of Scar but I feel like this is a good opportunity to talk about how much (in my opinion) Grian and Bigb as a pairing are slept on

They both have this chaotic energy that feels complimentary, Grian’s pesky bird-ness and BigB’s whimsy. They both have this quiet rebellion or discontent against the games. BigB knows that it’s all for nothing and doesn’t play into the Watchers’ emotional manipulation, whereas Grian (up until wild life) tries to escape and fight the Watchers’ hold on him.

I feel like BigB’s calm energy is a sigh of relief for Grian. That he can trust someone, and be trusted, without it being another game. That he doesn’t need to constantly worry about survival, and can just enjoy existing. They just want to frolic in a meadow and have a nice picnic your honor

I feel like there’s so much more to this pairing beyond the secret soulmates thing and that their chemistry is actually reall nice! And have a lot of potential for AUs and fanfics!

[leighlew3]

Overall, Agatha All Along was a nice watch.

I struggled to connect with a couple of the characters due to some of the writing, including William/Billy which made things a tad difficult as he was so central to the plot and reveal tbh, but oh well. The cast were ALL great in their roles though.

Overall -- I dug the show.

Felt at first like there was a lot more emotional depth to mine from and they only sort of scratched the surface in exchange for an easy to digest 'fun' tale for the casual Marvel viewer for most of the show, but they really got deep with it in the last three eps, to my surprise and enjoyment.

Sooo yeah, Agatha really is a tragic figure and sympathetic "villain".

If I'm remembering her backstory correctly (sorry, been a bit distracted with a lot of work and life stuff while watching this show and am trying to remember the specifics set up in WandaVision) -- her awful mother basically created a self-fulfilling prophecy, ffs.

Believing Agatha was incapable of good (we've seen otherwise) and thinking she had to DIE for the supposed betrayal of her coven by practicing dark magic.. it simply set in motion BY her mother. The series of events that pushed Agatha to go dark and fight back in order to survive after her own mother ignored her desperate pleas to spare her as she burned alive...

Everything Agatha did after that, while yes it was her own choosing at the end of the day, was ultimately the result of that trauma and hate for fellow witches. The ironic price she had to pay for seeking to take as much power as possible after hers was threatened by her own mother and fellow witches -- was her own child. So basically, she was harmed -- and she harmed back. Not okay, but empathy makes you try to at last understand why she did what she did and feel bad for what she went through, even if it's not an excuse for her actions. But either way, had to suffer for it. It's sorta like someone sucker punches you, so you knock 'em out cold, and then YOU go to jail. Sigh.

Also, it's petty tragic that the only genuine love she's ever known was Rio (death herself). And it seems they produced a child together (?) whom she then tragically lost. It's just irony and tragedy wrapped in irony and tragedy. Sad shit.

Anyway, I'm glad to see "Agathario" was full canon, however tragic (for now) their "ending" was. Hopeful for further exploration of them in the future. But for now, for Marvel/Disney of all companies to be the one to allow a LEAD sapphic ship with a complicated history and dark dynamics to be a canon thing? Surprising, and kudos.

[wonder-farm-hc]

Elliott headcanons!!

Just some general headcanons, cw for mentions of homophobia

The post was a bit long, so I ended up putting a "read more" banner, but nothing explicit is mentioned!

Requests are open!

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

❤️ He struggled many years with a speech stutter, but eventually was determined enough to overcome it (he practiced, a lot, in his mirror)

❤️He’s an only child, and up until middle school he was homeschooled. For this reason, he was always a bit more awkward than other kids, never made friends easily

❤️ Although part of why he didn’t make friends easily was because he was always true to himself: he had a fancier style than most, he liked to play piano and write, stuff that many of his peers didn’t find interesting or fascinating. That said, he never tried to fit into the mold, preferring to remain true to himself rather than dulling his lifestyle

❤️ As he lives on the beach, he observes the small creatures such as crabs, starfish and others. He often ends up chatting with Willy over the local sea population, and they’ve become somewhat good friends

❤️ When he arrived in the valley, the first person he bonded with was Leah: they bonded over being artists (although very different ones) and living alone in nature

❤️ They often have debates on art, philosophy, music: they prefer different things, with Elliott being less chaotic than Leah in his art, and tastes as well

❤️ He sometimes stays up until very very late. One time Willy (who was coming back from a night time fishing trip) spotted him awake at night. As Willy noticed the tension in Elliott’s speech and manners, he tried to be there for him, and the best way he could do that was to show him how to light the fireplace, in case he wanted some warth

❤️ He suffers from insomnia, that’s why he was up

❤️ Now, from time to time, Elliott lights it up when he can’t sleep. Not that it helps him sleep, but he find the crackling of the fire to be relaxing

❤️ Elliott and Shane, strangely enough, sometimes do get along. Elliott is one who, ideally, likes to provide for his loved ones and such, and that’s something that Shane understands very well (as he is protective towards Jas).

❤️ Plus, Elliott often spends time in the library, and therefore watches many lessons that Penny gives to Jas and Vincent (sometimes, he even helps Penny, or accompanies home the kids). Getting to know Jas automatically means to hear a lot about Shane, as he’s important to her

❤️ Elliott has refined tastes, that’s for sure, but he’s not squeamish as one may assume: quite the opposite

❤️ He realized he was queer later in life, when he got a crush for a friend of his. To this day, he’s not 100% confident in his queerness

❤️ He came out to Leah, one day while they were in her cabin. He simply whispered “I don’t think I’m straight” during a quiet moment, and she sensed his tension immediately

❤️ She helped him overcome a lot of the internalized homophobia he had (turns out kids joking about your interests being gay does leave a mark, even if you don’t notice it) and, ultimately, he decided to not put a label on himself

❤️ He likes the Hamilton musical, a lot (but it’s a secret)

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

This was fun to write! Although Elliott isn't one of my favorites, he's very cool to write about, and explore as a character in general!

I hope you enjoyed my silly little writing thing :)

[musee-de-muse]

Anar'alah Belore

DWC November 2024 Day 4: Surrender/Tranquil OC: Lilliana Whitedawn, Sin'dorei "Felblood" @daily-writing-challenge Art Source, Artist

The long, lean blonde rode the path to the Whitedawn estate at a slow trot... closing her eyes, giving Tiberius the reins - old as he was, the faithful charger knew his way home well enough. She could feel the heat of the afternoon sun prickling at her skin, as her leathers grew warm... and for a moment, she let herself simply bask in the sun, drinking in the scent of a garden in bloom – pausing only a moment to enjoy a spot of shade beneath orange and yellow leaves.

That's when she saw it – the crimson strider heading towards her at practically break-neck speed - which could only mean one thing. She swung a leg up and over the massive equine, hopping down to brace herself as the bird came careening towards her.

“Minn'da!” The bird was upon her in no time – as was her daughter - the feathered creature having grown just as much as Caitiri had since she'd first received the bird as a gift... and a lesson in responsibility.

It still knocked the wind out of her, as the girl practically flung herself from the bird as it came to a halt – throwing her arms around her mother as she slammed into her, the older of the two rocking on her heels. She'd forgotten just how much bigger Caiti was now... no longer a little girl she could pick up in her arms and swing around; no longer climbing all over the couch with her mother, pretending to make Lily walk the plank – she would be a teenager in the next year. That thought alone made her chest tighten - and as she settled back onto her feet, she squeezed the girl tighter.

Caitiri squirmed, “Alright, alriiiiight -” wriggling her way out of her mother's arms, scrunching her nose up at the woman, “It hasn't been that long...” As if she hadn't been the one to race out to meet her mother, “Can I go back with you to Dornogal?”

And there it was. Lily supposed that, after all, this was not only her fault for bringing Caitiri along to the Dragon Isles, but... this was her daughter, after all... and they were cut from the same cloth. The heavy exhale through her nose was enough to see the preteen's features immediately crinkle in anticipation of the “No” that sound often preceded.

“Caitiri... this isn't like it was in the Dragon Isles. For one... I mean, you know that Eryth is busy – the Dragon Isles might be safe, for now, but we're not his only family – there's much the dragons still need to tend to. And he's really the only person I would trust to watch over you in a place like Dornogal – the only being powerful and trustworthy enough to keep an eye on my most precious treasure, hm?” She flicked the girl's nose, earning a faux-grimace, and a huff as the girl rubs at the spot. “Besides, it's more dangerous, as well. Even if Erythraestrasz were free to spend time with you and I every moment of every day... I still don't know if I would allow it. The things happening out there... not even the main city can truly be considered safe – and it's not peopled and guarded by dragons, either, like last time.”

The girl's crestfallen expression ate at her, as she brushed a strand of brunette hair back behind her daughter's long, slender ear, “I know... the taste of a 'no' on my tongue wounds me, as much as you.” How she hated those words – her own youth was not so far gone as to dull the memory of the ache of hearing such things, herself; no child likes the feeling of being left behind - of not being "enough," yet.

The young Sin'dorei rolls her eyes, however, and turns on a heel - to re-mount her bird – her mother quickly moving to do the same with her own steed, “It's so boring here with Aunt Ci. She's so stuffy, and never lets me do anything fun.”

By the Light, but it was like her own memory come to life... the brown hair, the sullen expression, and the open complaints about her aunt – it was all too familiar. But at least, with all the years that had passed, Lilliana had made peace with the Aunt who had raised her. She had been a child that Cecily hadn't expected – the woman and the child having lost a brother, and a father, respectively... and neither were prepared for the hardships to come. Cecily had been harsh... even cruel in her expectations and punishments – but she, too, had been lost in grief, with the responsibility of a child thrust upon her that she hadn't asked for – and they had both suffered for their inability, and eventual unwillingness, to work things out. But they were all the family each other had – and with time, and a concerted effort – they had reconnected, worked through the pains of Lilliana's own childhood... and she could confidently say that she felt safe with entrusting her own daughter to her Aunt "Ci," these days. The woman might be stern, and demanding – but she was no longer a broken woman, tormented with loss, struggling to raise a young child she'd never asked to bear responsibility for.

"You know, what she's teaching you is important... though I admittedly didn't enjoy having to sit around learning most of it, either. Some battles are won by blade, arrow, and spell... and others are won with wit, words, and poise." And a little bit of cheating, if a certain red-haired rogue had instilled anything into the towering blonde during their time together - but that was a lesson that could wait until Caitiri was a little bit older, herself.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Typical of a twelve year old, the frustrated mutter – but she let her daughter have this moment of frustration. To be a child on the cusp of her teen years, denied what seems like the adventure of a lifetime? She could mutter under her breath a bit, as a rebellious little treat.

Lilliana urged her steed forward, to ride alongside her daughter perched upon her bird, and the girl shot her a frustrated look – brows pinched, lips pressed flat - before simply prompting, “Well... tell me about it, at least! It's a brand new place! No one's EVER been there, right? Do the Dwarves really eat rocks? Do they all live in caves? I bet that's why there's so many spiders.”

The sun kissed her leather-clad shoulders anew, as they rode out from under the overhanging branches, closing in on their home, while Lily simply listened – allowing her daughter to chatter, the woman answering the occasional question peppered in along the way - allowing herself to enjoy the tranquility of the moment. This moment that never should have been, with a child she'd never planned for. Caitiri had been an “accident” – the child herself not the mistake, so much as the time spent with the man who had fathered her - but for as much as she had long regretted letting him woo her... the one good thing that that bastard Dayne had ever done, was to leave her this child that made her heart sing – that gave her hope not just for herself, but for a brighter Azeroth, in time.

But first... they had to save Azeroth – and that... that she would not tell her only child - the weight of the world would be her mother's to bear.

[mamasfavourite]

Hi your axel fic was really good! I was wondering if you could write a fic about kwon and a Miyagi-Do reader.Enemies to lovers lots of tension.

thank you so much and thank you aswell for requesting, i had sm fun with writing this!! i hope you enjoy :)

locker room

pairing: kwon jae-sung x reader

summary: kwon and y/n hated eachother, because of a little incident on the first day.. and because of the karate thing. but kwon can’t help but flirt around a little bit.

warnings: stupid rivalry, enemies to lovers!, kissing, making out, kwon is sassy, flirting, swearing,

you were so excited to be on the miyagi-do team for the sekai takai! you weren’t captain, but you didn’t mind at all because you had your best friend, sam, there with you and you knew your capabilities under pressure.

it was practically your natural state at this point :)

you and sam decided to share a room in barcelona. which was probably for the better, considering neither of you wanted to share with the boys, except for maybe sam and miguel.

after an insanely long flight, you arrived at the hotel and immediately dropped your backpack to your bed and felt each tired muscle in your back start to decompress.

you went to shower, wanting to rinse off the dirt from travelling. after washing your hair and body, you stepped out and dried yourself off. you brushed through your knotted, wet hair and put on some baggy shorts and an off-shoulder tshirt.

it was around 5:30pm, which meant it was around 8am back home, most of your team wouldn’t even be awake yet. you went back into the main area of the room and saw sam laying on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

“i’m gonna go down to the buffet and see if i can grab something to eat, do you want anything?” you asked her and she wearily looked up from her phone and replied with a “no, thanks!”

you smiled and acknowledged her response before you put on some sneakers and grabbed your phone and room key from on top the dresser, and headed out. you made your way to the elevator and managed to find the open buffet nearby the reception.

the buffet was relatively empty, which wasn’t surprising due to the lack of people who typically had an appetite at 5:30pm. there was one or two people in the corner, eating something you couldn’t quite make out, and someone else on the right hand side of the room.

you grabbed two pieces of a brown bread at the back of the serving tray. once you did, you grabbed a selection of butter, avocado and some smoked salmon, putting it beside the bread on your plate. yum!

you grabbed some tissues, and a knife and fork and began to walk back towards the elevator. the elevator was empty, so your ride was quite peaceful. you held the plate with both hands, the knife and fork, and napkin were balanced in your right hand.

you were so focused on holding onto your plate and keeping it steady, that as soon as you heard the elevator doors open with a ding!, you stepped out and immediately collided with a tall figure infront of you.

you watched in horror as the slimier foods slid down the person’s body and your plate landed on the carpet with a soft thump. you tilted your head upwards to look at their reaction before you frantically apologised.

of course, he was fucking gorgeous. the first enemy you make for yourself in barcelona was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. he glared down at you which such anger. “what the fuck?” he said, with a thick, korean accent.

damn even his voice was hot!

as you came back up again you began to apologise. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to spill that on you, i can help you clean it or-“ you paused your rambling as you watched the guy continue to glare at you angrily through your speech.

his gaze was filled with nothing but fury. “don’t let it fucking happen again.” he bumped your shoulder as he walked past you, to the elevator. you knelt back down to the floor to clean up as much as you could, before you just went back to your room.

you saw him again the next day. the sekai takai had organised a field trip to the barcelona aquarium. there was a lot of different people there, but only one really stood out to you, and that was kwon.

well, clearly he stood out, i mean he was yelling at everyone, challenging all of the dojo captains to a kicking contest, and of course, robby couldn’t just step aside for once.

you were peacefully drinking your water, as the boys spoke, and it was safe to say you had zoned out completely. that was until you heard what they were betting. you coughed and spluttered, putting your water bottle into sam’s hands and struggling to speak for a second.

“sorry what?” you asked, with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. kwon’s head turns to you with his signature smirk, one you only noticed now, as before he had only thrown scowls your way.

“i said..” he paused and took one step closer to you. “if he wins, he gets my room, if i win, i get yours.” he delivered with a wink. you felt your cheeks heat up, confused as to why this was because you were enraged.

“what, how is that fair, i’m not even playing?” you answered, angry that your room was being gambled away without your consent. your weight shifted from one foot to the other.

“oh relax, sweetheart, i wouldn’t kick you out or anything.” he flirted with you once more before he turned his body back to robby and held out his hand

“deal.” robby answered, and they shook on it. you gasped, and pushed robby in the chest. but at the same time, you were confused because why would this hot guy from the elevator, who DESPISES you, want the key to your room?

despite his skills, robby somehow lost the competition and you find yourself face to face with kwon. “hand over the room key, princess.” you wanted nothing more than to wipe the stupid smirk off his face and tell him to leave you alone. your response was only a little bit nicer than that. “no.” you replied, your gaze shifting around the room, as you felt scared to look him in the eyes.

“if you’re gonna try to reject me, at least look in my eyes when you do it.” he spoke, his voice low and commanding. something about it made you wanna listen, and so you did.

you stared into his dark eyes and repeated yourself. “i don’t want to give you my room key.” he chuckled to himself, under his breath. you maintained eye contact, not wanting to pull away.

he rolled his eyes at your attitude. “okay, well i’m gonna talk to your captain over there, and sort this out because a deal is a deal.” he replied and started walking over to robby.

they argued back and forth for a while but in the end, you didn’t have to sleep in a room with kwon. much to his dismay, robby gave up him and miguel’s room and had to share with the other boys.

your next interaction happened on the day of the final. cobra kai had narrowly escaped elimination and were going to fight in the last round. the matches were 30 minutes from starting and you had only then realised that you wouldn’t have another opportunity to go back inside the locker rooms and you left your water bottle there.

you ran over to the shared locker rooms, one you coincidentally shared with cobra kai, as soon as you arrived, you found yourself stopped in the doorway watching as the very guy you had secretly hoped to see was there, packing up some of his gear.

the large metal door was propped open by a small wooden doorstop, a detail that you had missed in the midst of your staring. you took a step forward and knocked over the doorstop. you stumbled, nearly falling to the ground.

kwon turned around at this and let out a small laugh at your misfortune, but he shut up as soon as he realised the door was shut and could not be opened from the inside.

“do you have any idea what you just did.” he practically growled at you. he was absolutely enraged, but he didn’t seem as angry as he had been during the elevator incident. you apologised but he still seemed quite angry.

you sat down against the wall, and he sat on a bench across from you. there was quite a loud silence between you, except for the quiet whirring of the fan above you. you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of kwon. he bothered you, and confused you and made you feel things and ugh.

you hated him, but most of all you hated his karate. wait.. maybe you could start a conversation about that! “what got you into cobra kai?” you asked him.

you looked up at him and he met your gaze. he swallowed, and left the silence there for a moment as he thought of what to say.

“well, i was in a dojang before, do you know what that is?” he replied and you nodded along, your interest piqued.

“so my kwanjang was incredibly conservative. she knew one style of teaching and disciplined anyone who didn’t feel comfortable with it. it was rough, it was such a fucked up environment, but then sensei kreese came and she never relaxed but he helped me seize my power, and i haven’t really looked back since then.”

he spoke with conviction and you were surprised by his sincerity. you thought for a moment, never taking your eyes off his and replied. “i get that.”

a beat passed. “but cobra kai is angry, it’s viscous, and there’s no ethics to it. no mercy is not how the real world works.”

he swallowed and nodded, accepting the weight of your words, and you were impressed that he was so considerate of you. he matched your behaviour, taking his time to think of what to say before he replied.

“well, look. at the end of the day, i have to look out for myself. i know who i am and no dojo can change it.”

you accepted his answer, truth be told, you fully agreed. and your impression of him completely shifted. you shivered slightly, the room had turned quite cold. kwon noticed and you watched as he removed the cobra kai hoodie he wore over his gi.

he offered it to you which you gladly accepted, and flushed a little. he scooted across the floor to hand it over to you.

he was really close and he brushed his fingers over your wrist as he handed it to you. you put it on, and he felt something inside him flutter as he saw you in his clothes.

you glanced at him and he was so close you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. you couldn’t feel your fingers or the emptiness of the room because all you paid attention to was his gaze, that was still never left you.

his expression turned vulnerable as he put a hand to your cheek. “please don’t hit me for this…” he whispered, as he leaned in close to you and kissed you.

his lips were soft and you couldn’t help but wrap your fingers around his collar to pull him closer to you. you kissed him with passion and at some point, you pulled back, out of breath.

he seemed even more vulnerable for a moment, thinking he was just rejected. “do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his voice laced with a worry that you found difficult to detect.

you panted for a second, your hands never leaving his collar and your eyes never leaving his. “just the opposite, please.” you mumbled breathily against his lips as you pulled him back in, reconnecting your lips.

[aleiiii]

What are the top 3 embarrassing moments for Wukong and Macaque whenever they are trying to impress Na? Like you're trying to impress someone, and it does not turn out the way you wanted, like you trip, or stub your toe.

And that person thinks it's cute and will bring it up casually, and your face just gets all sorts of red.

HEHE this got me thinkin of some goofy scenarios

Yknow when Wukong sent that letter to MK, and its was really scratchy and probably had a bunch of spelling errors... I would imagine that he was trying to write her a love letter and Na couldn't make out what he was trying to say and took it to MK to try and decipher. And at the end, she gets embarrassed cause he wrote really corny things to his lovebird and MK has to sit there reading it out loud. Na telling Wukong about the debacle and getting really red from embarrassment

From Macaque it's probably something that he drew, and knowing Na and how often she draws tries to impress her with something. He really thought he ate up that drawing. Na involuntarily gave a little chuckle at how cute this probably looks, Mac getting a lil conscious if this was a good reaction or not. Na seeing how flushed he's getting, she reassures him that she loves the drawing and, all is well. (yall know that video that's like "I sat here and posed for 10 minutes, lemmie see the product", this is the same energy)

A last one, maybe both of the boys are like racing to see who can get to Na first, winner gets to have her for the rest of the day. Both are neck n neck, so very close to her, lots of shoving and pulling. Right as they are about to reach out to her, they get caught in each other's capes and they both tumble right in front of her. Na begins to scold them like an angry mother, telling them not to run indoors. Both are sitting there embarrassed, exchanging a few glares at each other. No one won that day.

[aprill-99]

Rhys: “So let’s see if I’ve got this; you have immense shadow power, incredible combat skills, height, tattoos, secrets, dead parents, a thirst for vengeance, the weight of the world on your shoulders, a rebellion to lead, and a dragon?”

Xaden: “Yeah? I mean, there’s also my girlfriend who I’m completely in love with and 107 people under my protection but-”

Rhys: *frantically flipping through papers* “this is the hyper-intelligent girlfriend with unprecedented lightning powers? The one you speak to with your mind and call a nickname permanently?”

Xaden: “I do only have the one girlfriend. Kinda offended you’d think otherwise.”

Rhys: *signs a paper* “Adopted. The rebellion thing is handled. Me and your aunts and uncles have got this. Your new mom is going to need some time to add you and your mate to the family portrait gallery. Your bedroom is upstairs, knives are in the training ring, family dinner is every Thursday, your allowance is infinity and your curfew is never.”

Xaden: “I am…. Older than your wife?”

Rhys: “Did I fucking stutter?”

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself