#uh i guess it's time to work on book 3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Fourteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, jealous lando, protective grid, sexual content

Notes — Welcome to the 2021 Formula One season! (Testing, but still... it counts). Also... hehehehehehehe double update <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Lewis H. A warm welcome to our 2021 rookies! Mick, and Yuki :)

Lando N. Yeah, welcome or whatever More importantly, does anyone know if I can call up the Apple store in Woking and get them to deliver to me? Even though it’s closed rn

Lewis H. What happened? Did her iPad break?

Lando N. Yeah mate, completely toast.

Max V. Shit. I can have one express delivered to your flat, Lando. It is, of course, a work expense.

Yuki T. Uh hey I guess! I thought this was a work only chat? Did I get the wrong briefing?

George R. It usually is, but as admin I allow Amelia-based chat @Yuki

Mick S. Hey! Great to be here. Um, just curious though. Who is Amelia?

Max V. My lead technical engineer.

Lando N. My girlfriend.

Lewis H. Zak Brown’s daughter.

Fernando A. Her iPad is broken? I will bring her one now. Lando, send me your home address.

Mick S. Ohhh, I actually know Amelia Brown!

Lando N. ?????????? @Mick

Fernando A. Lando you have not sent me your address.

Max V. @Fernando I have already purchased the iPad.

Mick S. @Lando we met years ago, mate. She used to ski with her family where mine did in the winter.

Lando N. You heard the part where she’s my girlfriend, yeah @Mick?

Mick S. Yes…

Lando N. Good.

Fernando A. @Max She will need it delivered to her soon.

Charles L. It finally broke? Wow. Lasted far longer than I believed it would.

Lando N. @Charles Not a good time for jokes, mate. She’s devastated

Daniel R. Should I start carrying a spare iPad to races with me just in case? LOL.

Lando N. Wait that’s a good idea Somebody write that down Max write that down

Max V. I purchased three. I will carry the spares

Fernando A. Vamos, Max!

Pierre G. I bet the rookies are so confused lmao. Welcome to the grid group chat. We discuss penalties, race conditions, plane shares, and Amelia Brown.

Carlos S. @Lando How is she? Did she freak out?

Lando N. She’s good now. All chill.

Lewis H. Tell her that I just bought her a new bunny sticker book. I’ll give it to her at testing.

Lance S. If I buy her the entire Apple company, do you think she will come and fix the Aston Martin car?

Max V. NO.

Yuki T. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in any grid group chat, and the f2 chat used to get weird lol

George R. Welcome to the grid, Yuki. Keep your head on straight, and if you ever find a lost iPad with a bunny sticker on it anywhere in the paddock, make sure it gets back to Amelia asap

Lando N. Thats important for all of the rookies to know @Mick @Yuki 

Mick S. Sure I’ll keep an eye out!

Lando N. Actually I change my mind Mick if you see an iPad just leave it yeah :) 

Mick S. ????

Pierre G. This is going to be a great year. 

Checo P. All of the other drivers have this chat muted, yes?

Kimi R. Yes. 

— 

Amelia was crouched down by Max's car, her hand resting on the tire as she scanned through the data on her iPad. The numbers on the screen felt too slow, almost static, compared to the racing thoughts racing through her head.

Beside her, Jos loomed over her, a red-ink pen poised above her little black notebook. He was taking notes for her. Her mind was moving faster than her hands could keep up, and sometimes, just sometimes, she needed someone like him, methodical, steady, and patient, to help her process it all.

Her fingers flicked over the screen, swiping through the data from Max's morning run, when she paused, eyes flicking to Jos. “You see what I see?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might break the delicate focus she’d managed to carve out for herself.

Jos nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen before looking back down at the scribbles he’d started in her notebook. “More rear stability in the high-speed corners. We’ll need to adjust the dampers again,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Amelia’s eyes tightened slightly as she thought. “We might need to soften the rear more. The front’s too reactive. Max is going to be fighting it in corners three and four, especially.” She tapped the screen lightly, zooming in on the section of the track map. “The car’s settling into a snap too fast, can’t keep up with the rear load in the high-speed sections.”

Jos made a mark in her notebook. “Front end’s still too eager, then?” He sighed. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Amelia made a face. “We soften that just a little bit more. Max needs more confidence in the corners. Less initial bite, more consistency. Maybe tweak the ride height slightly too.” Her words were coming faster now as the solution to their issues fell into place in her brain. 

As the day wore on, Max’s car was fine-tuned with the adjustments, and Amelia watched on with satisfaction as everything came together in perfect harmony. 

They had a plan. The tweaks would work. Max would be happy with the handling.

She turned to Jos when the mechanics started to wheel Max’s car back into the garage for the final time, day one of testing officially over, giving him a small but appreciative smile.

He pulled her notebook out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. “I hope you can understand my handwriting.” 

— 

Amelia sat opposite Max at one of the small team tables in the Red Bull hospitality unit. Most of the staff had already filtered out for the night, their voices fading down the hallway as engineers, PR reps, and mechanics headed for shuttles and taxis. But the two of them lingered — Amelia, still editing Jos’ scribbled notes from earlier in the day, and Max, who had quietly gotten into the habit of not leaving until she did.

It was almost sweet. He dropped her off to Lando at her hotel room at the end of every day like she was a preschooler getting passed between divorced parents. She hadn’t said anything about it, partly because it was practical, and partly because she didn’t mind it. It was nice not to have to worry about being alone.

Across from her, Max was hunched low in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze flicked from the tabletop to her notebook and back again, a rhythm she’d seen a hundred times before. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Or more likely, overthinking.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Just say it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your straw for six minutes. It’s starting to irritate me.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the bench with a groan. “You are very annoying.”

��Mhmm,” she hummed, finally meeting his eyes. “Max, tell me.”

He hesitated, then shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table. There was a pause, a rare, tentative kind, and then, quieter than usual, he said, “I’m nervous.”

That made her put the pen down.

“For the season?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Max nodded. “Everyone keeps saying 2021 is my year. Like it’s inevitable. Like this is it. And I want it — Fuck, I want it so bad. I’ve worked for it my whole life. But now that it’s here, I don’t know…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “What if it doesn’t happen?”

“It might not,” Amelia said plainly.

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped short, blinking at her. “Comforting.”

“You’re not asking for comfort,” she said. “You’re asking if you’re good enough. And yes, you are. But this sport doesn’t always care about that.”

He let that sit for a moment. Nodded.

Then, quieter still, “There’s something else.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“I met someone. Over the break.”

She made a face. “Someone?”

He groaned. “Don’t do the eyebrow thing.”

She relaxed her face. “Who did you meet?”

Max scratched at the edge of the table. “I met her in Monaco. She’s nice. A lawyer . She thinks I’m just… Max. I didn’t tell her about the racing. About… everything. She doesn’t follow F1.”

Amelia leaned forward slightly. “So she doesn’t know who you are.”

He shrugged helplessly. “She knows who I am. Just not… what I do.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you like that?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s peaceful. She talks to me like a normal person. No hero-worship, no pressure. Just… calm.”

“You’re lying to her, essentially,” she said bluntly. “Not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He shot her a withering look. “Jesus. You’re worse than my dad.”

“I take that as a compliment. We have the same goal.”

“I know.”

She looked down at her notebook, flipping a page and skimming it for a second. “You think you can manage both? A relationship and a championship battle?”

He hesitated. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” she said, then looked back at him. “But it might be a bit stupid.”

Max chuckled dryly. “Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have both,” Amelia added. “I’m just saying that it probably won’t work.” 

He frowned, nodded slowly, then said, “But you’re managing your relationship and my championship.”

“I’m not the one driving the car, Max.” She argued. 

“Still,” he muttered. “You’re making it work. I could make it work.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Is she nice?”

Max nodded, “I almost ran her over.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. That’s… romantic?” She tried. 

He laughed shortly. “She was in a rush, didn’t look properly. I apologised and gave her a ride to work. She— she, uh, thinks that I’m just some wealthy businessman’s son, or something.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. “You should stop lying to her. I would… I would not like it if I was in that situation and I found out that I was being lied to.” 

Max sighed. Nodded. 

Then he stood, grabbed both their jackets, and slung hers over the back of her chair. “Come on. Let’s get you to your boyfriend before he starts texting me again asking where you are.”

She gave him a flat look. “He has a GPS tracker on my phone.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Typical Norris.”

She shrugged. “It’s sweet. Sometimes I get lost and he has to come and find me.” 

Max laughed, and for the first time all day, some of the tightness left his posture. “Yeah,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Probably good that he has it, then.” 

— 

The lights of Manama twinkled in the distance, warm and hazy against the desert night. From the balcony of their hotel suite, the city looked like it belonged to another world; quiet and golden and slow in a way the paddock never was. The hum of the air conditioning inside was replaced by the occasional distant honk of a car, or the hush of wind weaving through the palm trees below.

Amelia was seated cross-legged on one of the outdoor chairs, wrapped in a white robe, her hair still damp from her shower. Lando, in a t-shirt and joggers, was fiddling with a tiny bottle opener, attempting to open a bottle of some obscure sparkling drink he’d insisted was “romantic, okay baby? Trust me.”

Their room service tray sat between them on the small table. Grilled flatbreads, mezze, roasted lamb. Lando had ordered for them and he’d gotten everything right.

“I don’t know how you always remember this stuff,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into a tangy yogurt sauce.

Lando grinned, finally getting the bottle open with a victorious pop. “Because I listen when you talk. I know the face you make when you think something tastes bad or has a yucky texture. I have eyes. Shocking, I know.”

Amelia gave him a pointed look. “Last week, you kissed my eyeball because you were being lazy and tried to kiss me with your eyes closed.”

“Shut up.” He huffed. 

She laughed quietly, curling into him, giving him a bit of the blanket. “I think Max might be in love,” she said suddenly.

Lando blinked. “Max? Verstappen?”

“Mm,” she nodded, chewing. “He told me today that he met someone over the winter. She doesn’t know who he is. Like, really doesn’t know. Thinks he’s just some rich guy named Max.”

Lando made a face. “That… feels impossible.”

“She’s apparently very disconnected. Doesn’t follow the sport. Max likes it.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Weird. But kind of sweet, I guess.”

She frowned at him. “I told him he shouldn’t be dating during a title fight.”

“Very romantic of you.” Lando teased. 

She shrugged. “I never said I was romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But you are.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for his hand where it rested on the table, her fingers brushing over his lightly. “I hope you do very well this year, Lan.” She told him, earnest and hopeful. “You deserve it.” 

Lando turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So do you. Deserve to do well, I mean. You’ve worked so hard this past year. You deserve to see it pay off.”

Amelia didn’t say anything right away. She just leaned over and kissed him; soft, sweet, clinging. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere at first, just a thank you. But she didn’t pull away. And he didn’t let her go.

She ended up in his lap, her legs curled against his chest, her robe brushing his knees. His hands slid instinctively around her back, fingers splaying wide against the thin fabric, grounding her. Grounding himself.

They stayed like that for a long time. The balcony lights dimmed behind them. The city hummed faintly in the distance, the last remnants of dinner cooling on the table, the silence between them easy.

Then, gently, she climbed off of him and stood. Her bare feet whispered against the tile as she stepped forward, and she stopped just in front of where he sat, between his knees. Her eyes searched his face for a beat, then she reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Come inside with me?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly. He looked up at her, her expression steady, soft, open, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside, the hotel room was cast in warm light, golden from a low bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn against the city, muffling the world outside. The bed was turned down, sheets crisp, pillows fluffed. A quiet kind of invitation.

She tugged him by the hand toward the bed, and he followed without a word, heart thudding in his chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward.

There was a kind of reverence to the way they undressed, slow, curious. Amelia’s robe slipped from her shoulders, caught briefly on her elbows before pooling at her feet. Lando’s hands hovered just for a second before brushing up her arms, like he was making sure she wouldn’t vanish if he touched her too quickly.

Their kisses deepened, still hesitant but filled with intent, with the weight of everything they’d been building toward for over a year. Every laugh, every shared moment of delicate intimacy, every time they’d caught each other’s eyes across a garage or a hotel lobby, it all settled into the space between them.

Lando’s mouth trailed across her skin with an almost startled sort of wonder, like he was learning a language he’d been waiting to speak. Her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. They moved together with quiet urgency, limbs tangled, breath catching against skin.

At one point, Lando paused, hovering just above her, his eyes sweeping across her face, flushed, focused, real.

“You’re so... fuck,” he whispered, barely audible.

Amelia blinked, lips curling faintly. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, then her collarbone. “It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”

And when they finally settled under the covers, tangled together with her head tucked beneath his chin, Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

She didn’t say much, but her fingers curled into his shirt like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, and that was enough. 

— 

The sunlight was already creeping through the sliver of the curtains when Lando stirred, warmth pooling low in his stomach before he was even fully awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember if he’d dreamt the night before, or if it had really happened.

Then she shifted against him.

Amelia was tucked beneath his arm, hair a little wild against his chest, one bare leg tangled over his. Her cheek was pressed just below his collarbone, lips slightly parted, her breath steady and warm against his skin.

Definitely not a dream.

He smiled, slow, stupid, unbelievably content.

She felt it too, maybe, his laugh or the way his fingers brushed along her back, because she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a complaint and burrowed closer, clearly not ready to be awake yet.

Lando tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”

She made a noise that was more sigh than word. “Mm. No.”

“No what?”

“No talking,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Too early.”

He laughed quietly, the sound muffled by her hair. “It’s almost seven.”

“Too early for you to be this cheerful.” She grumbled.

Lando shifted just enough to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m not cheerful.”

“You’re smiling.”

He smiled wider. “Can you blame me?”

She cracked an eye open, blinking up at him. Her face was still soft from sleep, a little puffy and makeup-free, but to him, she looked... ridiculously beautiful.

“What?” she asked, because he was staring.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I just really like waking up next to you.”

Her expression shifted slightly. And then, a second later, she exhaled and said quietly, “I like it, too.”

Lando kissed her, just a little one, lazy and warm.

They lay tangled in the sheets, the morning light spilling gently across the room. For a while, neither of them moved, perfectly content to exist in the quiet, wrapped up in warmth and each other.

Eventually, Amelia stirred, shifting just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She blinked blearily at her phone and then sighed and glanced across the room.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot to charge my iPad.”

Lando, still half-asleep, pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “I plugged it in when I got up in the middle of the night to go for a piss.”

She turned to look at him, her expression soft, a little surprised. Her voice came quiet. “You did?”

He nodded, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want you waking up to it dead.”

A pause. Then she gave him the smallest pout, sleepy and affectionate and so purely her. “I love you.”

He broke into a grin, one of those quiet, full-body smiles that lived in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I love you too.”

—

The McLaren motorhome was buzzing with early morning energy, the consistent hum of coffee machines working overtime. Amelia slipped through the front doors with her badge swinging around her neck, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and Lando trailing behind her, half-yawning into a croissant.

Zak spotted them first, already seated at one of the corner tables with Daniel, who was halfway through a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and talking animatedly about something.

“There’s my girl,” Zak called, waving them over.

Amelia dropped into the seat beside her dad with a tired sigh. “Morning, dad.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You sound tired,” he frowned at her, sipping his coffee.

Lando slid into the chair beside her, nudging her with his knee under the table. She handed him a napkin in response, gesturing for him to wipe the crumbs away from his face, and he smiled. 

Daniel looked between them, eyebrows raised. “You must be Amelia. I’m Daniel. Can’t actually believe we’ve not met properly before now.” 

“I know.” Amelia agreed, already reaching across the table for a muffin.

Daniel leaned in a little, grinning. “Lando talks about you all the damn time. In debriefs, pre-race meetings, on his radio—”

“Please stop talking,” Lando glared at his new teammate, clearly embarrassed.

“She’s worth talking about,” Zak laughed, patting Amelia on the shoulder with a fond smile.

Daniel smirked at Lando, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Lando just narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Amelia took another bite of her muffin, savouring her food. But before she could finish, her phone buzzed violently against the table. It was from Max.

iMessage — 7:33am

Max Verstappen Are you here, sister? I want to talk about my steering set-up

Amelia On my way to you now.

She shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth and stood up in one swift motion. “Okay. I gotta go.”

Lando looked up, surprised. “Already?”

Amelia kissed him quickly on the cheek, her lips lingering for just a second longer than expected. She gave her dad a quick shoulder squeeze before smiling at Daniel, her usual bluntness softened by a bit of shyness she wasn’t used to showing in front of him. “Max wants my advice.”

Zak called after her with a grin. “Tell Jos I want my daughter back for lunch.”

“No promises,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder, already speed-walking toward the exit. Her hair bounced with each step, and her phone was pressed to her ear before she even made it out of the motorhome.

Daniel leaned toward Lando as she disappeared down the hallway. “You’re screwed, brother.”

Lando shot him a look, kicking him under the table. “Shut up.”

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Yuki T. I have Amelia’s iPad in AlphaTauri garage

Lewis H. Yeah, this has to be a new record.

Lando N. Lol she’s just been rly busy. Probably hasn’t noticed she hasn’t got it yet

Max V. She just noticed and started freaking out. @Yuki I’m on my way to get it.

Lando N. She okay @Max?

Max V. Yes mate, no need to worry.

Mick S. @Max Can I pop by your garage and say hi to her? It’s been years!

Lando N. @Max Say no. Max, say no. Max, say no.

Max V. @Mick No, she is too busy for friends.

Lando N. LMAO, REKT @Mick.

Mick S. Bro????? I really don’t want to steal your girlfriend 😭

Fernando A. You do not believe my Amelia is good enough for you, Schumacher?

Max V. What the fuck Mick

Charles L. Uh oh 😬😬

Pierre G. Bro that was NOT the right thing to say 😭

Max V. @Mick She wouldn’t even look your way. 

Lando N. Wild angle, mate @Mick

George R. We are witnessing a man dig his own grave live in chat

Daniel R. *shovels faster* Keep going, Mick. Say you think she’s boring next.

Sebastian V. This feels like bullying.

Yuki T. I think it is  

Carlos S. @Mick Just lie down. Accept it. The storm will pass.

Mick S. I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 I literally just meant she’s your girlfriend and I respect that! @Lando

Lando N. Sure you did. 

Fernando A. In my country we have a saying — "Schumacher has placed his own foot in his own mouth."

Lewis H. Pick your words better next time yeah? @Mick

Lance S. This is why rookies don’t get access to Amelia.

Esteban O. Wait does that mean I have access to Amelia?

Max V. No.

Fernando A. Absolutely not.

Lando N. You do not.

Valtteri B. I do not speak much in this chat but I just want to say: Mick, this is very funny.

Antonio G. +1

Nicholas L. same 😭

Sebastian V. Let it be a lesson to all of us. Never try to be polite in here. It will be weaponised.

Charles L. I miss when this chat was about tyre pressures and strategy.

George R. That’s adorable. It’s never been that.

NEXT CHAPTER

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Make ‘Em Earn It

Older Brother!Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Younger Sister!Reader x Older Brother!Elias "Stack" Moore

Synopsis: Your brothers left you helpless for years, when they come back into your life unexpectedly acting like nothing happened you make them earn your trust back.

cw:DDDNE!!! Incest, Brother x Sister, smut, NO MINORS WHATSOEVER (literally stop reading now if you are gonna have something to say about the content i already warned you <3), Taboo

a/n:Proofread by the amazing @starfxkrinc mreow! other than that enjoy!

You remember the day they buried him.

That red dirt caved over your daddy’s chest like the devil himself was covering up the mess. You weren’t supposed to be there weren’t even supposed to exist in their eyes but you were watching. Always watching.

From behind the cottonwood, with your mama’s old cross hanging low between your collarbones and your little hands squeezing the hem of your sundress like it could stop your heart from thumping out your chest.

Stack and Smoke didn’t even know you was his blood. Well not until after.

Didn’t take long for them to figure it out neither. Your mama’s name rolled off Smoke’s lips like ash from a cigarette . His eyes lit up like he seen a ghost, and you?

You stepped out from the trees with a grin that ain’t belonged on no baby girl’s face.

“Y’all done kilt my daddy,” you said, voice sticky sweet, “guess that make you my daddies now.”

And Lord, did they take to it. Took you under quick. Stack buying you books, teaching you how to fix a busted pipe. Smoke letting you sit in his lap, lighting his cigarettes, holding his switchblade. You knew even then power done tasted good, even at fourteen.

But they left.

First for war. Then for Chicago. Said it was for money, for freedom, for y’all. But you weren’t stupid. You knew abandonment when it knocked on your door and left nothing but cold grease and a cracked porch swing behind.

They ain’t even write.

Ain’t nobody else could’ve raised you, so you raised yourself. All attitude, hips, and full breast by the time they finally came crawling back down 61. You was grown now Black, beautiful, and burning with rage. Dressed like sin.

“You remember how to say my name?” you purr as they step out that truck, shadows long and hungry in the late July heat.

“Damn, baby” Stack says first, low and gravelly, eyes drinking you in like he ain’t sure if he dreaming or dying.

Smoke don’t say a word. Just stares like you a preacher’s lie he been trying not to confess.

You step off the porch, slow and teasing. Letting them see everything they left behind.

You don’t move. Don’t smile. Don’t run into their arms like some sad helpless little girl.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve showin’ up,” you say, voice syrupy and sharp. “Left me like a dog in the yard. No word. No nothin’. Just gone.”

Stack winces. Smoke takes a step, like he wants reach for you, but you step back.

“Nuh uh. If you want me now, you gon’ have to earn it.”

And baby, you made them work.

You dragged them inside the house you kept spotless all them years. Air thick with magnolia and sweat. You tell them sit down. Tell them hush. You straddle Smoke first, kissing him slow, like he’s your punishment.

Let Stack watch. He drawls out your name like a warning, like he remember you as a baby girl and can’t quite reckon this woman sitting in his brother’s lap with sin in her smile.

“Oh I ain’t your baby no more,” you whisper, letting your hips grind down on Smoke’s belt buckle. “But you still gon’ take care of me, ain’t you?”

They take turns saying yes. Over and over.

You ride one, while you kiss the other. Whisper filthy confessions between licks of sweat and soft bites. They beg, and you love it. Love the way Stack says your name all reverent like, like you holy now.

Love the way Smoke trembles beneath you, muttering “we sorry, baby, we so damn sorry” like it’ll fix anything.

It don’t. But it feels like it might.

After, when you laid between them both of them still breathing heavy and bruised up with guilt you press your cheek to Stack’s chest, reaching for Smoke’s hand.

“You gon’ leave me again?” you murmur, lashes brushing against his collarbone.

“No, ma’am,” they say in unison. Like a prayer.

You grin in the dark.

“Good. ‘Cause next time, I won’t be waitin’.”

[punkitt-is-here]

Had to write a three-page screenplay script for a "Discovery" for class. Didn't have any further instructions. It's super off-the-cuff, but I wanted to share it. Happy pride <3

INT. COLLEGE DORM - NIGHT.

A college student sits at his desk, sketching. It's a one room apartment, and his roommate is sound asleep. He's sketching in the light of a single lamp, being quiet. The student, GABE (male, 19) is drawing a cartoon version of himself. He's studying outfits from a fashion catalogue, drawing himself in different ones. He bites the tip of his pencil, not feeling the piece he's working on. He rolls his chair back, reeling away from the desk. Gabe puts his hands in his hair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale. It's late.

After a moment, he rolls back to the desk. Tapping the pencil to his head, he flips through the pages. It's an unremarkable task, stopping on a random page. Oh, the women's fashion section. It has simple, practical outfits for girls, including a jean skirt. Gabe peers at it. Fuck it, it's late. He erases the pants of one of his drawings and pencils in a skirt instead.

He pauses.

He stares at it.

Something here is weird.

He goes to erase it, but once he does, he just draws it in again. This time with more care. More detail. He stares at it again.

Tears well up in his eyes.

GABE

(whispering)

…what the fuck?

Gabe, confused, touches his hand to his eye. He looks at the tear on his finger. Huh? He stares at the drawing again. He looks back at his roommate, sound asleep. He's having some sort of moment, but he has to be quiet. He frantically looks back at his sketchbook.

GABE

(whispering)

Uh…

A beat.

Gabe starts drawing himself again. In the women's fashion this time. It's like a whole different world. He's drawing like crazy. It's all flowing out of him. He draws another.

And another. Slowly, details start to adjust in his art.

Longer hair. Longer eyelashes. Daintier poses. More smiles.

He's got tears running down his face, but he's not wearing any emotion. He's not sure what to think.

CUT TO

An indeterminate amount of time later. Gabe stares at his notebook. It's full. It's lots of drawings of him.

As…well, he guesses as a girl. But he's not one. He flips through the book again, then turns towards the dark window his desk resides next to. He looks at himself. Patchy facial hair and a shaggy haircut.

CUT TO

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Gabe rushes down the hallway, looking frantic. He's carrying a bag.

INT. DORM BATHROOM - NIGHT

It's quiet inside the bathroom. No one else occupies the space. It's just him and his reflection. His reflection? Maybe their reflection. Her reflection? No, that's not right. Is it right? Gabe stares at himself intently. The whirring of a trimmer cuts through the silence. He brings it up to his facial hair, shearing away a week's worth of fuzz.

He looks at himself like it's not him in the mirror. He holds a hand up to his face, feeling it.

It's not enough. Not yet. He has to know.

He gets out his phone and starts typing.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFHG

He frantically types, misspelling. He backspaces like his life depends on it.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFF ALL

THE WAY

He quickly scans an article and then gets to work, pulling some miscellaneous bathroom supplies out of his bag. Shaving cream. A razor. Gifts for cleaning up at college. He wets his face. Applies the shaving cream. Does careful strokes down his cheeks and neck. Slowly, someone reveals themselves.

They lean down, splashing themselves with water. They look up, and it's a different person. She's completely shaved her facial hair off. Gabe hasn't seen herself like this since she was in freshman year of high school, before facial hair was even an option. She reaches up and touches her face, smooth to the touch. She stares, enamored. A moment. She grabs a towel and dries her face off, and then looks again. She's so…different. But that's her! That's Gabe! Is it Gabe? She doesn't know anymore. A close up to her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her neck. It's all so new. She starts laughing. She laughs, and tears well up in her eyes a little. She laughs some more. In moments, she's full on crying tears of joy. She doesn't know why. But she is! That's her!

CUT TO

INT. SECONDHAND - DAY

Gabe is at a clothing rack, searching for something. She looks around, a little embarrassed. She browses for a moment before finding what she wants. She passes by some more racks carefully, trying not to be too obvious. She slips into the changing room, then locks the door.

GABE

…okay.

Gabe unbuckles her belt. In a moment, she's wearing black leggings. She hikes them up, then unclips a gaudy skirt from the clothes-hanger. She stares at it, a little scared of it and what it represents. She bites her lip. She stretches it out and then steps in. She looks up at the mirror.

Oh shit, that's her! That's her!

Gabe is wearing a long, patterned skirt and a tee-shirt. The colors don't match at all, and the patterns don't either.

She looks a bit like a yard sale of a person. But it's her!

She spins around, watching the fabric flow out from her hips in a whirlwind of stripes and insignia. She laughs again.

This is her! This is her!

This is her!

[gf2bellamy]

hiya! i had a cute request if you’re interested in writing it. spencer reid x reader where they finished a case and go back to a hotel to sleep and reader goes to spencer’s room (friends with feelings?) asking if she can sleep with him cause they case damaged her mental state. and it’s just cute and cuddly how they figure out how to sleep and such. maybe they can even sleep through the alarm or maybe emily finds reader missing and goes to spencer to ask if he’s seen her only to see the two of them together.

entangled — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of reader having a rough time with a case ( no explicit mention of the details of the case though ) a/n: hiii !! such a cute idea - i love writing sleepy spencer !! hope you like this <3 also lets just pretend emily got into the room with magic cuz i couldnt figure out how she'd get into the room 😭

You hesitated before knocking, your knuckles barely making a sound against the wooden door. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your shoe nervously against the carpet.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing Spencer standing there in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly tousled from sleep. His hazel eyes softened with confusion. 

"Hi," you greeted weakly, offering a tired smile. 

"Hi," he echoed, his brows furrowing. "Are you okay?" 

You couldn't blame him for asking. After all, it was two in the morning, and you'd shown up unannounced at his hotel room after an exhausting day working on the case. You swallowed hard, suddenly second-guessing yourself. 

"I—" You faltered, unable to find the right words. Because no, you weren’t okay. That’s exactly why you were here. Spencer didn’t wait for you to finish. Instead, he stepped aside, silently inviting you in.

"Come in," he said gently. 

You stepped inside, as your gaze drifted across the neatly arranged space, the open book on the nightstand, his clothes folded on the chair. The sight of such organization brought a small, fleeting smile to your lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, his long fingers resting lightly against his knees. He gestured for you to sit beside him, and you did, your knees brushing his as you settled in. 

You let out a slow breath. "I just... can't sleep," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. 

Spencer studied you for a moment, and you knew, he knew. He had noticed throughout the day how the case had weighed on you.He had also noticed the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked softly, his voice free of pressure, just an open offer. 

You shook your head. “Not right now.” 

He nodded, understanding as always. You hesitated before biting your lip, your knee pressing just slightly harder against his. The warmth of the touch sent a thrill through both of you, hearts drumming faster in unison. 

“Can I ask you for a favor?” you murmured, your voice unsure. 

Spencer tilted his head, his expression soft but curious. “Anything.” 

Another silence. You exhaled slowly, gathering the courage to say it. “Can I sleep here? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

The words felt fragile as they left your lips, almost afraid of being rejected. You kept your gaze down, suddenly fascinated by the wrinkle in the hotel comforter, unwilling to meet his eyes. Spencer didn’t hesitate. He nudged your knee again, firmer this time, silently coaxing you to look at him. And when you finally did, he was already nodding. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Of course you can.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Spencer, meanwhile, was doing his best to suppress the way his pulse had kicked up at your request. He stood up, and instinctively, you did too. Neither of you knew what to do next. 

“So, uh… I can just sleep on the floor. That’s no problem,” Spencer offered, scratching the back of his neck.

His voice was uncharacteristically uncertain, and you didn’t miss the way a faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. But then again, who could blame him? The girl he was in love with was standing in his hotel room, asking to stay the night. 

“No, no,” you shook your head quickly. “Spence, I didn’t come here to take over your bed and make you sleep on the floor.” You gave him a small smile, hoping it would ease his nerves, yours too. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.” 

Your voice was softer this time, more vulnerable, and as you said it, your gaze drifted toward the bed. And that’s when it really hit you, what you were asking for. To sleep in the same bed as Spencer. The same Spencer you had been in love with for what felt like forever.Your stomach twisted, equal parts nervous and thrilled. 

“Oh—oh, yeah. Right,” Spencer stammered, nodding rapidly. His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I-I mean, so we can—uh—yeah, that makes sense.” His words tripped over each other, and you swore he somehow got even redder. 

You bit your lip to hide your smile, but a chuckle still slipped out. Trying to keep yourself from overthinking, you stepped toward the bed, moving to the left side. You pushed back the covers, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you the entire time. He hadn’t moved yet, just stood there, frozen, like his brain was short-circuiting. 

“Spencer?” You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hm?” He blinked rapidly, snapping out of his daze. 

“You getting in, or…?” 

“Oh! Yes! Right,” he said quickly before practically tripping over his own feet to join you. The bed dipped slightly under his weight.“I hope it’s okay if I keep a small light on,” he hesitated, his voice softer now. “But if you’d rather have it off, I can—” 

You turned your head toward him before he could finish, smiling at the way he was so concerned about your comfort. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “I actually think I’d prefer a light right now.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, nodding slightly. “Okay.” 

He glanced at you, just for a second, before quickly looking away again. The warmth on his neck deepened, the blush creeping to his ears now. He reached over and switched off the harsh overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp.You shifted slightly, turning your head toward him, and Spencer, still lying on his back, hesitated before tilting his head just enough to meet your eyes. 

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding,” you murmured, voice small, genuine. 

His brows pulled together slightly as he found the courage to fully turn onto his side, facing you completely. “You’re never intruding,” he said, and the certainty in his voice made your stomach flip. 

His eyes traced the way you absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The small, simple movement felt oddly intimate, and before he could even think about it, his own hand twitched as if he wanted to do the same. Instead, he clenched his fingers into the sheets, trying to steady his heartbeat.  You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. Close enough to see the way his eyelashes flickered against his cheeks, close enough to count the freckles on his nose, close enough that if you moved even slightly forward, you— 

You pushed the thought away. “It was a rough case,” you suddenly mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Spencer's hazel eyes scanned your face with concern. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but was carefully choosing his words. 

“Yes, it was,” he agreed, his voice soft but laced with worry. A beat of silence passed before he spoke again, this time more certain. “I hope you know that you did a great job,” he said, his words gentle. A small, nervous smile flickered on his lips.

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at his reassurance. “Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, letting your eyes meet his. And before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. 

Spencer froze for half a second, his breath catching in his throat. The warmth of your fingers against his sent a shiver up his spine.And maybe it was the way your fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, or maybe it was the way you kept biting your lip, something he had long since learned you did when you were nervous, but suddenly, Spencer found himself feeling just a little bit braver. 

So when you started to pull your hand back, instinctively retreating, he didn’t let go. Instead, he gently tightened his grip, his fingers threading through yours, locking them together like they were always meant to fit this way. Your breath hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his again. 

“I’m glad you came here,” he whispered, his fingers tracing over your hand. His gaze flickered downward, watching the way your fingers remained tangled together.

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. 

You hadn’t even realized you had scooted closer,not until the space between you was barely there.But then Spencer moved. With a shy kind of confidence, he turned onto his back and gently pulled you toward him.Your head landed against his chest, and for a split second, your breath stalled. 

But then you relaxed. The warmth of him seeped into you. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your cheek. And even as you adjusted, your fingers never let go of each other. Spencer swallowed hard, doing his best to seem normal, like his heart wasn’t practically slamming against his ribs at the fact that you were here, curled up against him, trusting him enough to be this close. His free hand hovered for a moment, uncertain, before he slowly, hesitantly, let it settle at your back. 

“You’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice slightly muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer let out a small, breathy chuckle. “So are you.” 

You tilted your head just slightly, peering up at him. “Is this okay?” 

Spencer looked down at you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “Yeah,” he murmured, like there was never a doubt. “This is more than okay.” 

A small smile tugged at your lips as you settled back down, letting your eyes flutter shut. Spencer’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly.Both of you ended up falling asleep smiling. And maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, neither of you felt the weight of loneliness pressing down.

Either way, neither of you stirred when Spencer’s alarm went off the next morning. At some point in the night, you had shifted, your body now draped over Spencer’s, your face tucked against his neck. His arm was wound securely around your waist, holding you close as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. 

Neither of you heard the knocking. 

When Emily hadn’t been able to find you anywhere else, she had hoped, guessed, that you might be with Spencer. Maybe going over case notes, maybe just talking. But when she knocked again and got no response, her brows furrowed. 

“Reid?” she called, twisting the handle.

The moment she stepped inside, she froze. 

Her eyes landed on the sight before her, Spencer, tangled up with you in bed, your body curled against his, his arm tight around you, his face buried somewhere in your hair. 

Emily blinked. Then blinked again. A slow smirk spread across her face. “Well,” she murmured to herself. “Would you look at that.” 

Not wanting to wake either of you (and also definitely wanting to use this as future blackmail), she carefully backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.  As she walked down the hall, she pulled out her phone. 

Emily: Guess who I just found cuddled up in bed like a couple of love-struck teenagers? 

A second later, her phone buzzed. 

JJ: NO. WAY. 

Derek: Finally. 

With a satisfied grin, Emily slipped her phone back into her pocket. 

[haeiheart]

LEE DONGHYUCK | NOT A BIG DEAL

LEE DONGHYUCK

SUMMARY: You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. Best friends who stick together through every minor inconvenience, every 2 AM fast-food run, and especially every party. Their little deal? If they’re both single and drunk at a party, they make out for a good time and purely to avoid awkward hookups with strangers. No feelings, no complications. It’s a good deal no? But when a new guy, Jeno, enters y/n life just like that. They both feel that for the first time, their “not a big deal” deal feels like it might’ve always been something bigger.

GENRE: friends to lovers - kind of fwb hyuckyn - jealous avoidant hyuck! - sweet jeno - minimal angst - slight reader x jeno.

NOTES: first time releasing a full written fic… bye im scared pls be kind (◞‸◟；) also first time making a header? design?? hehehehe. I hope you guys enjoy this though, i personally enjoyed written it so i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed making it for you guys!! :3 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY IF THERES ANY ERRORS >_<

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

BEFORE THE PARTY

You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. The best of friends. The kind who finish each other’s sentences, send texts at the exact same time, and know each other’s go-to orders at every café on campus. It’s always been easy with hyuck. You don’t overthink things with him.

That’s why your little pact made perfect sense.

“If we’re both single, and we’re both at a party, and we’re both drunk, we find each other.”

It wasn’t some deep, life changing agreement. It was just a way to keep each other from making bad decisions with strangers. A safety net, nothing more. It always worked. Every single time. It was the perfect deal after all, you both get the pleasure needed in a fun night out. No commitment, no feelings.

Until tonight. But let’s rewind back a couple of weeks.

The day you met Lee Jeno.

3 WEEKS AGO @NCU CAMPUS

College life has always been a blur of assignments, late-night food runs, and whatever chaos Hyuck drags you into. Between classes and parties, your days feel like a well-balanced mix of stress and fun. Thank goodness you had your best friend to keep you sane right?

You first met Jeno during an elective course, one of those random classes you picked to fill credits unfortunately. He was the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but somehow made every conversation feel important. You sat next to him out of convenience, and it wasn’t until the next few classes that you really spoke to him, which was currently right now.

“Do you always write your notes like that?” he had asked, glancing at your mess of shorthand scribbles and little doodles in the margins. You could tell he wanted to laugh at it.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”

He grinned. “It’s interesting. You do know this is a literature class, right? Because your notes look more like a doodle coloring book for toddlers my baby brother's age rather than actual notes.”

You snorted. “Well, you look like you should be in an engineering class, not here.”

“I was forced to take a humanities elective,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad. I like the class.”

“Because of the material or because of me?” you teased, raising a brow.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Jeno slipped into your life.

The thing about him was that he never tried too hard, he didn’t force his presence, didn’t demand attention the way Hyuck did. He was just… there. Reliable. Easy to talk to. It was easy to get hooked on a guy like Jeno.

You started walking out of class together, grabbing coffee before your next lectures. You studied together, shared snacks, exchanged casual texts that eventually turned into daily check-ins. Somewhere along the way, you got comfortable with him. But it wasn’t until one particular afternoon that you noticed something else.

OPEN FIELD STUDY AREA @NCU CAMPUS

It was another dreadful afternoon, pilled with assignments you swore just appeared in front of your face. You and Jeno were sitting outside on campus, reviewing notes. Though half the time you guys were mostly making corny jokes and laughing at shared interests. That was until Hyuck showed up unannounced, like he always did, dropping himself onto the bench next to you with a dramatic sigh.

“What’s up, losers?” he greeted, snatching one of your fries before you could react, looking as happy as always to mess with your little head.

You rolled your eyes as a faint smile appears on your face. It’s been awhile since you saw him. “Hyuck, this is a study session. You know, where people focus?”

“Sounds lame,” he deadpanned, then turned to Jeno. “So, how do you put up with this one?”

Jeno smirked. “I think she puts up with me.”

Hyuck’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight pause—the way his fingers drummed against his knee a little too fast, the way his jaw tightened for just a second. It was so quick that you almost missed it. Almost.

But then, as fast as it came, it was gone. Hyuck smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Well, good luck, man. She’s a handful.” You smacked his arm, rolling your eyes again, but the feeling lingered. Hyuck only stuck around for a short while and you never questioned it, but the odd part was he was too quick to leave the setting as well. Feeling lost as he suddenly got up and fled the scene after saying his byes and ruffling your hair.

After that, things felt… different. Not drastically. Not in a way you could point to and say, this is where everything changed. But the subtle things. Like how Hyuck stopped crashing your study sessions with Jeno as often. How he’d make jokes about you “ditching” him but never say it outright. How he seemed to drink more at parties, getting reckless in a way that made you worry.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, buried beneath layers of laughter and banter. And maybe you noticed it too late.

@NEOCAFE - 127 DISTRICT

Hyuck doesn’t text first anymore.

That’s the first thing you notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, you’ve been busy anyway. School, assignments, late-night study sessions with Jeno. But the silence sits in your chest like a weight, pressing down heavier each day. You truly did miss your best friend, nobody else was as much of a dork loser like he was.

You still see him around. In class, at parties, in the spaces you used to share. But it’s different now.

No more texts that say where are you? when you take too long to respond. No more arms slung over your shoulder as he drags you out of the library for a “much-needed” break. No more late-night walks, just because neither of you wanted to go home yet. God you truly did miss lee donghyuck.

The worst part? You know it’s your fault. You were the one who stopped looking for him first. You were the one who let the space between you grow. And now, you don’t know how to close it.

Jeno Notices “You’ve been quiet lately.” Jeno’s voice is gentle, his eyes scanning your face as you stare blankly at your untouched coffee. It’s the third time he’s caught you zoning out in the past hour and he was getting worried.

You blink, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the way he tilts his head, studying you. “It’s about Hyuck, isn’t it?” The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You exhale, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just nods, as if he already knew. And maybe he did. Maybe everyone did. You’ve spent so much time pretending things are fine that you almost forgot Jeno sees right through you.

So when he reaches out, fingers brushing over yours, you don’t pull away. Infact you allow yourself to get embraced by his comfort. Was Jeno’s comfort what you needed all this time?

@YOUR APARTMENT

The thing about Jeno is that he never rushes anything.

Not his words, not his movements, nothing. He lets things happen as they are, as if he trusts time to work things out on its own. Which is probably why being around him feels so easy, you always had a smile on your face when you were with him.

Like now, for example. You’re both sitting on the floor of your dorm, backs against the couch, a half-empty bag of chips between you. You’ve been talking for what feels like hours—about everything and nothing all at once.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeno says, holding up a hand to stop you mid-story, his eyes already crinkling in amusement. “You mean to tell me you climbed a tree to save a cat, but then got stuck yourself?”

You groan, covering your face. “Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no, I need to process this.” He grins, resting his chin on his palm. “How long were you up there?”

“Like… twenty minutes?” you mumble, cheeks burning from embarrassment clearly…

Jeno loses it. He tilts his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake. You gotta admit that laugh of his does wonders to girls. He was a real catch. A once in a lifetime cutie, you should consider yourself lucky to have him around right?

You huff, crossing your arms. “Are you done?”

He wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh man. I- yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.” He snickers again. “Twenty minutes. Amazing.”

You try to glare at him, but his laugh is infectious, and soon enough, you’re giggling too.

Jeno turns to look at you, a soft smile lingering on his lips. “Y’know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’re always talking about Hyuck or your friends, but I like hearing about you.” He leans against the couch, watching you. “Your dumb little childhood stories. Your love for cats. Your terrible decision-making skills.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I might.”

Jeno tilts his head, studying you for a second. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, but Jeno has always been good at seeing through people. So you exhale, looking down at your hands.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just feel… lost.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just shifts a little closer, his knee bumping against yours. You don’t realize how much you needed that until it happens.

“I get that,” he finally says. “Sometimes it feels like you’re walking through fog, and you don’t know where you’re going. But…” He nudges you lightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, warm and genuine. “I’m here.” You don’t know what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the way his voice is so steady, so sure. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re important. But before you can overthink it, you lean in.

Jeno’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips quirk up in amusement.

“You’re not about to kiss me mid-existential crisis, are you?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Shut up.”

But he’s still grinning when he finally closes the distance. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first. But then you feel him smile against your lips, and suddenly, it’s all laughter and warmth and the taste of leftover chips.

You break apart for air, and Jeno chuckles. “That was—”

You groan, covering your face. “Don’t say it.”

“— surprisingly nice for two people who just ate sour cream and onion chips.”

You swat at him, laughing. “You ruined it.”

He catches your wrist, grinning. “Nah. That made it better.”

You shake your head, still breathless, still here. Jeno doesn’t fail to make your day once again, as he leans in, continuing where you both had left off as if it was almost natural.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel so lost.

PRESENT TIME

And this is how your weeks have been spent. With Lee Jeno. Full of kisses, laughter, playfulness, and comfort. Jeno arrives with an armful of snacks, two sodas balanced precariously on top. “Alright, before we do anything, I have to ask…why do you have like, seven different cat towers in your apartment? Are they that spoiled?” as he takes in his surroundings once again.

You shut the door behind him and scoff. “Excuse you, my children deserve the best.”

Jeno grins, setting the snacks down. “How many do you have again?”

“Three.” You sigh dramatically. “But honestly, I think my oldest cat hates me.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“Because I accidentally stepped on her tail when she was a kitten, and she’s never forgiven me.” You flop onto the couch, pouting. “Now every time I call her, she looks at me like I owe her child support.” Jeno bursts out laughing, nearly knocking over the bag of chips. “That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Oh, shut up. You’ve definitely done worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Doubt it.”

“Oh really? What’s the dumbest injury you’ve ever had?”

He thinks for a moment before admitting, “I once tried to jump over my couch but tripped, hit my head on the armrest, and passed out.”

You gasp. “Wait—like, fully unconscious?”

“Yup.” He sighs. “Woke up two minutes later to my mom yelling at me for being stupid.”

You’re already laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “Okay, okay, once, when I was seven, I thought I could ride my bike down the biggest hill in my neighborhood with my eyes closed.”

Jeno’s eyes widen. “No. No.”

“Yes,” you wheeze. “Flew straight into a bush. My mom had to pull twigs out of my hair for an hour.”

He practically collapses against the couch, laughing until his shoulders shake. “You’re actually crazy as a kid.”

“Thank you,” you say proudly.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Jeno leans back, staring at the ceiling. “You know, I never really asked—but what was Hyuck like when you were kids?”

You hesitate, but the memories come easily. “Chaotic. Loud. Got us into trouble, like, every other day. He would drag me into the most ridiculous situations and it wasn’t even my fault.”

Jeno smirks. “Sounds about right.”

You smile softly. “One time, we thought we could build a pillow fort. We barely even got the first pillow up before the entire thing collapsed and we both fell.”

He laughs. “Did you get hurt?”

“Surprisingly, no. But Hyuck cried for a full hour because he swore it was sabotage.”

Jeno shakes his head, amused. “He hasn’t changed at all, has he?”

“Nope.” You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He’s always been… Hyuck.”

There’s a pause, but Jeno doesn’t push. He just watches you, waiting.

You clear your throat. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He hums, tapping his chin. “Alright. You know how everyone thinks I’m all sporty and serious?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” He leans in like he’s about to share a top-secret confession. “I used to write fanfiction.”

You choke on your drink. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” He sighs dramatically. “It was about superheroes.”

“What kind? Marvel? DC?”

“Neither. Completely original characters. I had a whole series.”

You clutch your stomach from laughing so hard. “Jeno. Are you telling me you were a self-insert superhero fanfic writer?”

He groans, covering his face. “Look, I was twelve—”

“NO, THIS IS AMAZING.” You grab his arm. “Did you give yourself powers? A tragic backstory?”

He peeks at you between his fingers. “…Both.”

You collapse into the couch, wheezing. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

He grins. “Alright, your turn. What’s your cringiest secret?”

You pause, then admit, “Okay this might not be cringy… but i had a harry potter phase.”

Jeno gasps, clutching his chest. “What house were you in?”

“…Slytherin.”

He high-fives you. “Respect.”

The conversation keeps flowing, lighthearted and easy. You talk about everything, old childhood memories, embarrassing moments, ridiculous hypothetical scenarios (what would you do if you woke up as a worm?), and somehow, even the meaning of life.

It’s fun. It’s comfortable.

But beneath it all, there’s something bittersweet.

Because you both know this is goodbye.

Eventually, the night slows down. The laughter fades, leaving only the quiet hum of the TV in the background. You shift, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “Jeno…”

He already knows. You can see it in his expression.

Still, he lets you say it.

“I have to go find him,” you admit softly.

A beat of silence.

Then he smiles? He smiles. A small, knowing smile. “Yeah.”

You swallow hard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” His voice is gentle. “You never had to say it, y/n. I knew.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly. “But… can I ask for one last thing?”

You nod, already knowing what it is.

“One last kiss,” he murmurs.

So you kiss him.

It’s soft, lingering. A silent thank you. A quiet goodbye.

When you pull away, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That was a solid 9/10.”

You snort. “Only 9?”

“Could’ve been a 10, but my foot fell asleep.”

You smack his arm, laughing. “Shut up.”

He grins. “Go. Before I change my mind and challenge Hyuck to a duel.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for your shoes.

And as you step out the door, heart racing, you realize—

This time, you’re going to run toward Hyuck.

Because he’s always been the one and it’s about time you told him.

@HYUCKS HOUSE

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

Actually, scratch that—you do know why.

Because this is Hyuck.

Because it’s been weeks. Because you let the distance grow, and now you’re about to do the most humiliating thing possible: show up at his door in the middle of the night, probably looking like a disaster, and pour your heart out.

Great plan. Really solid. No notes.

Still, you knock.

And the second the door swings open, all your thoughts evaporate.

Hyuck stands there, hoodie slightly rumpled, his hair sticking up like he was asleep before you interrupted. His face is groggy, blinking at you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

“…y/n?”

You open your mouth.

And immediately start crying.

Like, full-on tears. Embarrassing.

Hyuck panics. “Wait, huh, are you okay??”

You sniff, waving your hands wildly. “I— hiccup— I don’t know why I’m crying!”

His hands move without hesitation, reaching for your arms, steadying you. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” His grip is warm, grounding. “Did something happen?”

You shake your head rapidly, but the tears won’t stop. God you really missed him.

Hyuck makes a helpless noise before sighing and tugging you against him. His arms wrap around you, firm but careful, like he’s worried you might break.

You bury your face in his hoodie, gripping the fabric tightly.

Hyuck rubs your back in slow circles. “Okay. Just—breathe, yeah?”

You sniffle, nodding against his chest. His warmth seeps into your skin, comforting in a way nothing else has been these past few weeks.

And then, before he can say anything else, the words just spill out.

“I just— Hyuck, I missed you.”

His hold on you tightens for a second before he pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His brows furrow, but he stays quiet, letting you talk.

“You’re— you’re so important to me, okay? And I hate that I let us drift apart. And I hate that I didn’t realize sooner that you are—” You hiccup again, rubbing at your face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, I just miss you so much, and everything sucks without you, and I—”

Hyuck suddenly squints at you. “…Are you drunk?”

You freeze. “What?”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.” His lips twitch like he’s holding back laughter. “You have to be drunk.”

You gape at him. “I am not drunk, you absolute—”

“I dunno…” He crosses his arms, pretending to analyze you as he leans closer to your face. “Messy hair, teary eyes, emotional confessions in the dead of night… this is very intoxicated behavior.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “I swear I’m sober—”

“Alright, c’mon, Crybaby.” He snickers, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. “At least cry in my room instead of my doorstep.”

You let him drag you in, still sniffling as he kicks the door shut behind you.

And just like that, you’re home.

Hyuck flops onto his bed, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, you baby.” You roll your eyes but sit down anyway, pulling your knees to your chest.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward, not tense. Just… there.

Hyuck sighs, tilting his head toward you. “You really missed me that much?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a moment, then scoffs lightly. “Idiot. I was always here, y’know.”

Your heart clenches. “I know. I was just—”

“Being dumb?”

You groan. “Yes, okay! I was being dumb.”

Hyuck smirks, but it softens as he nudges your knee with his. “It sucked without you, too.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

“Obviously.” He huffs, looking away like admitting it pains him. “Who else was gonna make me leave my apartment and go on stupid 2AM snack runs?”

You let out a small laugh. “You love those snack runs.”

“Yeah, but I love them with you.”

You freeze.

Hyuck doesn’t seem to notice what he just said, or maybe he does, because he clears his throat quickly and sits up straighter. “Anyway. What was up with that dramatic monologue outside? You really that miserable without me?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He blinks.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “Hyuck, you’re— you’re my person.” You glance at him, eyes searching. “You always have been.” You meant it.

Something shifts in his expression.

For the first time all night, he’s quiet.

Your heart pounds. “I—”

“Wait.” He suddenly lifts a hand, stopping you. Then, deadpan— “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

You groan, shoving his face away. “Hyuck!”

He bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners.

And even though you’re this close to smacking him, you realize—

This is why you came back.

Because no one makes your heart race and your soul feel alive like Lee Donghyuck. You don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until his laughter fades, leaving only the soft hum of the night around you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he leans in.

And you meet him halfway.

The kiss is warm, slow— like a quiet understanding. Like something that had always been there, waiting to be noticed. It wasn’t like all the other kisses, the party hookups. This was real.

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just a little, enough to make your breath hitch.

When you finally pull away, he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…Yup.” He grins. “You definitely weren’t supposed to kiss me like that if you were drunk.”

You laugh softly, still slightly breathless. “Shut up.”

He hums, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Not a chance.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, neither of you stop to think.

Because for once, nothing else matters.

NOTES: I wouldve wrote longer but my brain fogged oops but i hope you guys enjoyed!!

[mallowsweetmiri]

Remus Lupin x Potter!Reader

Part 2 • Part 3

Summary: the boys try to guess who Remus is seeing after finding a pink bow tied to one of his bookmarks

Warning: oral fem receiving

—————————————————————————

Remus couldn’t help but to fall in love with you. You’d always been sweet, always too pure for this world. When you were kids, he couldn’t help but want to protect you. It was in all the boys instincts to protect their best friend’s little sister. But as you got older, you and Remus began to spend time together without James. Your relationship truly started last summer at Potter Manor, when you and Remus started an unofficial book club when the boys would play quidditch for hours outside. You guys just had so much in common, and you were more comfortable being around Remus than any other boy besides James. So the two of you spent a lot of time in the library, reading books together and getting into heated debates about writing styles. It didn’t take long for his eyes to wander to your lips when you smiled at him, and it didn’t take long for you to notice. Before you knew it, the two of you were sneaking off to your room while the boys played quidditch, and locking the door behind you.

So that’s how Remus found himself with his face buried between your thighs in the middle of lunch hour. You’d been reading a novel with his head in your lap, innocently trying to finish your chapter before class. But Remus couldn’t constrain himself. He didn’t care if you had class in twenty minutes, you could go with your cunt pooling under your skirt.

“Remi,” you whined, pulling his hair into a fist. He hummed into your core, fingers massaging your thighs as you clenched around his head.

“Shh, be a good girl and let me finish,” he said hastily, before diving back into your folds. He let his tongue ruin you as you squirmed on his bed. Your shirt was bunched up now, buttons undone and tits pulled out of your bra. Remus chuckled as he thrust two fingers into you. He loved seeing you come undone. You were always perfect, also so innocent. It made Remus hard thinking about being your first, being the only one to make you come. He ground himself down into the mattress as he felt you begin to tighten up under his tongue. He almost told you to be quiet but his mouth was occupied. You shuddered and let out a whiny moan as you came onto his mouth. He grabbed onto your waist as he kissed your cunt and drank every drop you gave him. As you began to relax, he brought himself over you, littering you body with kisses.

“Rem,” you chuckled, “now you made yourself all worked up.” You grabbed hold of him under his pants. He was rock hard and it made your pussy throb just thinking about it inside you. He chuckled and kissed you.

“I’m saving it for you later. Wanna go on an adventure tonight?” Remus smirked, rubbing his thumb on your hip. You nodded eagerly. You wished you could just come to his dorm at night but it wasn’t exactly possible considering your brother slept three feet away from Remus.

“What time is it?” You asked, suddenly remembering you had class. Remus looked at his watch and sucked through his teeth.

“Uh, time for you to go love,” Remus chuckled as he watched you scramble out of his bed and fix your clothes.

“Remus! I told you I was going to be late, ” you scolded him, grabbing your bag and hurriedly putting your tie on. He only chuckled and gave you a kiss on the head as you ran out the door. He took his time getting ready for his class, which involved having a smoke until his dick got soft again. Remus spent the rest of the day in class thinking about you, daydreaming about how you would look tonight when he fucked you. Like a ghost wandering the castle halls, Remus brought himself back up to the dorm after his last class, immediately wanting to have another smoke. James and Sirius were already by the window when he came in.

���There he is Pads,” James chuckled, ashing his cig on the window sill, “go on and ask him.” Sirius’ brows were furrowed and he looked quite mad. Remus was confused until he saw your book in his hand.

“And what the fuck is this?” Sirius asked, shoving the book into Remus’ chest. Remus felt his heartbeat speed up. He was never one to enjoy lying.

“My book, you prat,” Remus quipped, nodding his head towards James to pass him a smoke. James looked thoroughly amused. Sirius let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Your book my ass! What is this then?” Sirius held up your bookmark decorated with a cute little pink bow, just like the one you wore in your hair. Remus was glad that James wasn’t the brightest because anyone who spent time with you knew you loved to tie your hair up with that exact shade of pink. Okay, maybe only Remus noticed, but he couldn’t help that you looked absolutely adorable with it.

“Erm, a bookmark,” Remus tried to play it off, focusing more on his smoke than looking either of the boys in the face. He’d been dreading James finding out, and wanted the right moment to do so. When you were ready to tell him.

“Yeah we can see that,” James laughed again, “but who’s the girl?”

Remus’ heart sank into his stomach. Fuck. James had her same smile, her eyes too. He couldn’t lie to his best friend, especially when it was his little sister he’d been fucking.

“I, um,” Remus choked on his words. Sirius squinted his eyes in scrutiny.

“I knew you’d been acting strange! All happy recently, I knew you had to have been getting some,” Sirius grumbled.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Remus said quickly, unable to stop himself. It truly wasn’t like that, he was head over heels for you. You were so much more than a fuck to him, even if he did think about fucking you all day long. James eyes lit up.

“Moony, are you in love?” He clapped hands together and smiled, “why didn’t you tell us? Remus! Who is she?” James was positively beaming with excitement now, looking to Sirius who looked a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know,” Remus cleared his throat, placing your book down on his bed. This was the truth at least. She didn’t want James knowing, mostly because she presumed he would be insanely controlling over their relationship. Remus wasn’t sure she would be wrong about that.

“But, we won’t tell anyone. We won’t, right Sirius?” James pleaded. Sirius rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement. Remus just chuckled uncomfortably and loosened his tie. He felt like he was choking in there.

“Sorry guys, I can’t break the ladies trust,” Remus turned away from the boys and started to change, effectively shutting down the conversation. Now, both Sirius and James were grumbling to themselves, unhappy with their lack of gossip. Remus let out a breath. That was the first time you two had slipped up. You’d have to be more careful.

“Well, if you seriously won’t tell us,” James sighed dramatically, “do you want to go get dinner?” Remus laughed and agreed, happy to spend time with the boys not thinking about his terribly kept secret. The three of them waltzed down to the great hall, making loud and obnoxious jokes at any opportunity they could find. Remus wasn’t quite sure how you and James were related sometimes, you seemed years older in maturity. Once they reached the Gryffindor table, the boys immediately sat out and began to grub. A few minutes in, James eyes lit up towards the entrance hall.

“Hi, Y/N,” James smiled and waved with food in his mouth. Remus heard you chuckle.

“Hi, Jamsie. You’re disgusting,” you stuck your tongue out at James as you passed by the boys. Remus turned around just enough to see your beautiful face and your perfect hair tied up with a pink bow. Shit. In the split second that Remus had before he turned to face James, he prayed to any and every god he could think of, hoping that James hadn’t noticed your bow. His reddening face and clenched jaw told Remus that he had, in fact, noticed. Sirius looked dumbstruck, shaking his head slowly at you as James stood up from the table.

“Y/N. Come here right now,” James growled, causing multiple heads at the table to turn. You stopped smiling and looked between James and Remus. Oh fuck.

[novacorpsrecruit]

It’s lonely at the top

Part 1 | part 2 | here / final part

Read on Ao3

wc 1,698 | Steddie | angst with a happy ending!

“You need to give him some space,” Robin said over the phone. Eddie frowned. It’s been three days. He missed Steve. He nearly leaped over the couch to answer the phone, assuming it was him. Robin was the next best, he guessed. “You really hurt him.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “And I’m sorry. I really am. Will you tell him I’m done with the parties? Done with Trick? He means more to me than being liked.”

“Yeah,” Robin huffed. “You sure showed him that.”

“I mean it,” Eddie said honestly. “I do. I’m done with it all.”

“I think you need to tell him that yourself,” Robin said.

“How can I?” Eddie asked. “You won’t let me talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Robin corrected. “You need to let him be ready to accept you.”

Eddie sighed, pressing his forehead against the cabinet where the phone hung. He wished there was a way to tell Steve how sorry he was. As much as Eddie wanted to take the Green line to Robin’s dorm and talk to Steve, he can’t cross that boundary. But he needed a way to pour out his emotions, to let Steve know that he’s loved. That Eddie’s sorry. “Can I — Can I send him a letter? That way when he’s ready, he knows I’m there for him?”

There was silence on the other line as Robin thought it over. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Just address it to me. He’s not …”

“Supposed to be there,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I figured. Thank you, for being there for him.”

“Yeah. Look,” Robin huffed. “If he does let you back in again, and you fuck up again. It’s your balls, Munson.”

“Understood,” Eddie said. “I promise. Never again.”

Robin hung up with a click. Eddie sighed, running his hands over his face. He fucked up. Bad.

He guessed there was no time to start writing like the present.

💌💌💌💌

“Steve, someone at table 13 requested you personally,” Jenny, the hostess said. “He’s — uh — a little scary. So if you have issues, get Rod.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Steve said, pulling his order book from his apron. He wasn’t sure who would request him at 3 pm. Most of his early birds on Saturdays stop by the diner for brunch and he barely saw a soul until 5.

When they first moved out to Chicago, Steve had no clue what he was going to do for work. He was attending Harold Washington College to get his associates in early education, and then potentially apply to UIC. Then one day, he got off a stop too early and saw the help wanted sign. It was easy for him to pick up, he made decent tips, and it worked with his schedule well. Plus, he was able to take home food at the end of his shift.

Robin’s been enjoying the pancakes lately.

Plus, Steve loved when it was slow and Eddie would —

He closed his eyes, letting the thought disappear. He missed Eddie. His heart ached any time he thought about him. But he was afraid that Eddie didn’t miss him in the same way.

He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile as he greeted his table.

“Hi, welcome in. I’m Steve. I’ll be taking care —“ Steve stopped as he looked at the patron. He felt his lips turn into a frown. “Trick?”

“Patrick’s fine,” Trick winked. “I mean, we’re in your court, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve nodded. He pressed his lips together, feeling like he couldn’t stop staring at the black and blue circles under his eyes. “What happened to your — uh —“ he gestured to his own face. He winced. Trick didn’t like him in the first place. He wouldn’t give Steve the time of day. Why would he bother to tell him about an injury like that. “Sorry — shouldn’t have asked that. What can I get started for you?”

“Your boyfriend, actually,” Trick smirked. It was like ice water was dumped over Steve as the words washed over him. Trick’s smirk dropped. He leaned over the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey — hey, sorry. I didn’t mean — It’s cool. It’s — Eddie and you — are cool, I mean.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he felt any better or worse. All he could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, uh —“ Trick ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and exhaled. “Half of our friends are gay or lesbian or queer. It’s — that’s fine. Promise.”

“Oh,” Steve repeated. He sat on the other side of the booth, across from Trick. “Okay.”

“I just —“ Trick looked up to the ceiling before turning his attention back to Steve. “We shouldn’t have judged you. We saw you and immediate thought you were gonna be some straight jackass like we’ve dealt with our whole lives. We built this community of accepting outcasts, and outcasted you while doing so.”

Oh.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

When Eddie and him started to date, the Corroded Coffin boys treated him similarly. But Eddie called them out on that before it got bad.

Before it got like this.

“I guess what I wanted to say was sorry,” Trick said. “For pushing you out. And name calling.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I don’t recall any name calling?”

“Yeah, you weren’t around for that,” Trick winced, gesturing to his nose. “Eddie made sure I knew that was wrong.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. “My Eddie?”

“Yep,” Trick said. “I hope he gave you a big apology for everything. So, tell me. What do you got that’s good to eat here?”

Steve took Trick’s order — one strawberry milkshake and an order of fruit loaded French toast — sent it to the kitchen, then went into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and pulled out Eddie’s letter from his apron pocket. The first letter arrived last Monday. And he received a letter every day that he’s stayed with Robin.

With a shaky breath, Steve opened the letter.

💌💌💌💌

Dear Steve, there’s nothing in the world that I can do to make this up to you. But I will try every day to make sure that you don’t ever forgotten again. You are the stars that light my way home, the sun that brings warmth into my light, and the moon that shines love over me. To experience your love is something truly unreal. And to think I put you on the back burner for a taste of popularity? It was like the Ring of Power overtook my mind. I got lost in the feeling of being admired by many, I forgot what it’s like to be loved by one. I’d travel to Mordor and back for you. Through the Gap of Rohan and through the Mines of Mora.

In a world where everyone could know my name, I’d only want to know yours.

My apologies will never be enough. Love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I hope you are well. I hope your classes are going good and that you’re excelling. I know you are. You’re so fucking smart, you blow me away with every new piece of knowledge you brought home. I hope that basketball at the YMCA is going good. I’m sorry I missed your last couple of games. There is no excuse. I hope one day you’d allow me to be by your side again, cheering you on.

You deserve the world, baby. Nothing will stop me from showing you that. Everything from the water in the rivers to the trees in the forest. From the canyons in Arizona to the mountains in Colorado. It’s yours. It’s all yours. You deserve everything. You deserve the best. And I promise that I will prove that.

Forever in love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I’d move heaven and hell

Just to see you smile again

Or remember how it felt

To have you in my arms

When I begged God for mercy

In the depth of hells

It was nothing compared

To begging for the mercy of you

To hear you laugh, to see you smile

To counting the stars across your skin

To pick up where we left off

To start all over again

I’d move heaven and hell for you

💌💌💌💌

Steve folded the letters, slipping them back into the envelope and set them on his nightstand.

He laid back down, turning to his side. Eddie’s side of the bed was empty. Like it has been for four days.

After Steve read the first letter, he found his way back to their apartment. Eddie was hope and nearly wrapped his arms around Steve, stopping as if there was an invisible barrier in between them. Eddie stopped, respecting that boundary at the threshold.

It was Steve to crack.

Steve who took that step over the threshold and fell into Eddie’s arms, burying his face into Eddie’s neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was all Eddie could say.

They agreed they needed to slowly integrate back into each others’ lives. Communicate when they’re feeling alone and listen when one’s feeling distressed. Nightmares seemed easier to deal with, but they were going to work it through.

Eddie said he would sleep on the couch until Steve was ready for him. “No matter how long it takes, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pressing a kiss against Steve’s knuckles. “When you’re ready for me, I’m here.”

And Eddie truly meant that. They could go back to just friends and Eddie would accept it. He would be heartbroken, but to have Steve in his life again?

That’s worth everything to Eddie.

Eddie was jostled awake, feeling the couch cushion shift underneath him. The blanket on his body lifted up and a familiar weight settle on his chest. He felt at home again. Eddie tugged the blanket back over the both of them, one hand around Steve’s waist and the other tangled in his hair as Steve laid his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, taking a silent vow to never lose him again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 20: The One Where We Take a Course in Rear Window Ethics

Oh, hey, hey – you’re back!

Yes. I, uh – we need to – uh... What the hell are you doing with that Exakta VX camera fitted with a 400 mm Kilfitt lens?

Come here. See those open windows across the courtyard?

Uh, yeah…

Well, I’m trying to zoom into that apartment –

Wow. Because that’s not creepy as fuck.

Oh, don’t be so modern. This is New York City, 1954. It’s fine.

Yeah, okay. I need you to focus for a moment. Seriously – put down the zoom lens. Headquarters called and wanted to know why Dorothy was still in Oz. You know we were told to take her home.

No – actually we were told to throw stones at that wannabe Wizard. And we did. Kind of. Okay, whatever, but surely you can feel the shift. At the very least we’ve infiltrated the base camp with a bunch of flying monkeys. They’ll take care of the rest. God, there’s one in there –

And we were supposed to help Dorothy find her way back home.

Meh, don’t worry about Dorothy. I don’t think she’s ready to go home. Even after the ping-pong bullshit of the past few weeks, she’s still standing on her own two feet. Although Toto continues to be a mild pain…

But –

But nothing. Dorothy’s had the power to get her own ass home this entire time. When’s she’s ready, she’ll go.

Okay, well, obviously you’re not going to be of any help as you seem preoccupied with spying on your neighbors. So, I’m going to need to borrow the hot air balloon. Where’d you put it?

Oh, it’s on the—wait! If you take our balloon, how am I supposed to get around? I’m not staying here indefinitely. There’s no air conditioning in this damn apartment!

How about I promise to come back for you? Maybe.

Damn you. Fine, I’ll go with you. Let me get my shit together. Here, hold my camera – and don’t drop it!

Hmph, this is heavy. How does it work? I just look through this and… <points camera towards apartment across the way> Oh – this is interesting. What the hell did you say was going on over there? “…[S]tart from the beginning…Tell me everything you saw – and what you think it means.”

You know those days when you have no choice but to catch up on the work you’ve been blowing off for the past few days (maybe even weeks)? Well, last week, I was having one of those days. The work I’d been pushing down my list for weeks finally needed to be addressed. Regardless of how mind-numbing it was, it had to get done otherwise things were going to start going awry.

I’m one of those people who – when working on the mundane – has a mind that tends to wander every few minutes or so. I find myself Googling things like, “What is the fastest animal on the planet?” And, for your own Useless Knowledge, the cheetah’s land speed of 60+ mph doesn’t come close to the peregrine falcon’s dive bomb of 240+ mph.

Anyway, to keep my mind from wandering, I usually have something running in the background to force my brain into paying attention to two things at once – somehow that helps me maintain focus. The most popular “something” is almost always one of the many (quite possibly too many) British detective shows available for streaming. But, the other day, I simply wasn’t in the mood to rewatch Season 3 of “Dalgliesh” for the seventh time.

So, after a bit of scrolling, I put on an old movie I hadn’t seen in years: “Rear Window.”

The 1954 original, of course.

I’m rarely impressed by anything put out by Modern Hollywood, but the old shit – well, there are some legit classics out there, including this one.

One of the reasons I’ve always been fond of this movie is because you go into it knowing the “bad guy” right from the word “go.” I’m one of those extremely annoying people who can guess the villain within the first few chapters of a book, or within the first twenty or so minutes of a movie (like I said, I am rarely impressed by Hollywood). However, I will admit, one book did slip by me. Damn you, Agatha Christie. Honestly, though, the thrill I felt with being wrong was far more memorable than anything I’ve ever felt with being right. Good or bad, a surprise always leaves its imprint, doesn’t it? Plus, the hysterical elation my father must have felt – and later exhibited – knowing I was going into the final few chapters wrong – well, damn him, too. And, no, the book was not “Three Act Tragedy.” That one was quite easy.

Okay, enough about Ms. Christie. Back to Mr. Hitchcock.

As I sat busily typing away and listening to the dialogue of “Rear Window” playing in the far reaches of my office, it suddenly occurred to me that the parallels between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom were rather, well, thought-provoking. Here we have a man (and later his sidekicks) peering into the personal life of another human being. Our protagonist in “Rear Window” witnesses an event (a cover-up, actually) and sets out to prove it – all from the perspective of an onlooker looking in. Sound familiar? I thought it might.

So, welcome to your course on “Rear Window Ethics.”

Now, I cannot intertwine “Rear Window” with the Lukola fandom without dragging your ass into the story. Actually, I could – but it’s far more entertaining for me (and hopefully you) if I form a nexus between you and the movie.

Therefore, you, of course, get to align yourself with L.B. Jefferies (played in real life by Jimmy Stewart). If you’re still in this fandom, it’s because you’ve witnessed something you simply cannot ignore and you’re almost certainly hellbent on proving it at this point.

It’s very likely most of you entered the Lukola fandom alone. You watched some portion of the World Tour and became intrigued. Your mind began to wander, which sparked some urge in you to do some digging. Eventually your investigation led you to the Devil – sorry, I mean, social media. There you met like-minded junior investigators, and you’ve now found yourself chatting with these newfound friends and theorizing in the burrows of underground group chats.

So, about your sidekicks…

The part of “Stell-aaaaaa!!!!” (yes, that is my hat-tip to Jake) is given to your most “inventive” Lukola friend. You know, the one that has their own “theories” channel in your private chats; the one who scurries down the rabbit hole – not in search of the White Rabbit – but in search of the Cheshire Cat. Stella is the reason you think outside the box. In “Rear Window,” Stella (played by Thelma Ritter) is Jefferies’ nurse (Jefferies is injured and bound to his apartment; hence why he has so much free time to gaze out the rear window). This friend will throw anything and everything against the wall to see what sticks – even if it occasionally takes a deep-dive into how to cut up a body in a bathtub.

Next, we have Detective Doyle, Jefferies’ long-time friend (played by Wendell Corey). Doyle is quite possibly your spouse, haha, or anyone who side-eyes your involvement with this fandom. Doyle half listens to Jefferies’ theories and usually counters Jefferies with an alternative piece of evidence. But don’t fret, although Doyle teases Jefferies about his wild theories throughout the film, Doyle is, in fact, supportive of Jefferies and does comes around in the end.

I’m going to switch gears for a moment but not before acknowledging that, yes, I am aware I’m missing a player here. Don’t worry – she will arrive shortly.

Alright, on to our subject matter: Lars Thorwald.

Thorwald (played by Raymond Burr) is our straight-outta-Hitchcock-baddie who has been spotted by Jefferies trying to cover up the murder of his wife. The obvious parallels I’m going to draw between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom are (1) Thorwald’s crime being equivalent to the World Tour and everything that has happened thereafter, and (2) Jefferies’ obsession with proving Thorwald is guilty being comparable to the fandom’s obsession with proving Lukola is real.

Now, I’m going to get the ball rolling by fast-forwarding through the World Tour all the way up to where I last left you – the post-release of “Mis-Directed.” Recall that shortly before the book’s release, in a surprise turn of events, Luke appeared with Antonia at the Boss event held January 30. However, this was almost immediately negated by Luke snubbing Antonia post-event (and perhaps even more shockingly, Antonia’s mirrored lack of acknowledgement of Luke). And try as Nicola might, there’s no skirting around the innuendo made throughout that fan-fic of a book.

“Watson! Get up! There’s fuckery afoot!”

Who the hell are you?

I’m Dad. Who are you?

Ah, not that guy!

Yes, that guy. Of course, Dad has entered the room. After all I needed someone to fill the role of Lisa Fremont (also known as Grace Kelly). Lisa is your Lukola friend with the highest degree of common sense. She takes the “evidence” presented and looks at it with some realism. She is never going to take the Dwight Shrute Route and state something as “Fact,” but she is the one you rely on to delineate between what makes sense and what doesn’t. In short, this is your friend who understands human nature.

Alright, before I really get this ball rolling –

Since I’ve now added a third wheel (Dad) to the back-and-forth dialogue of my two wizard-chasing-balloon-riding-time-traveling-narrators, I suppose I should also give these two imbeciles names.

You first.

Uh, well, I’m Charley and that’s –

I’m Crowd.

Full credit for these two make-believe idiots is given to my dad. He created the personas of “Charley and the Crowd” for my two nieces a few years ago. They would show him their dolls and my dad would narrate what was going on in their stories. Of course, my nieces regularly corrected him with, “No, Papá, that is not what Barbie is doing!” Still, Charley and the Crowd stuck around, playing the role of two, usually counter-productive and sometimes ignored, news anchors at a Macy’s Day Parade-like event hosted by my nieces’ massive collection of L.O.L. Dolls.

And just for clarity’s sake, during the dialogue between Charley, Crowd, and Dad, actual statements made by Dad will be in quotations. Any statement not in quotations was added simply to move the story along.

Let’s begin (finally).

In “Rear Window,” every time Jefferies and his sidekicks present their findings to Detective Doyle attempting to prove Thorwald’s guilt, they are thwarted by evidence discovered by Doyle’s investigation. It’s a constant back-and-forth throughout the movie; however, regardless of how “solid” Doyle’s evidence is that Anna Thorwald is still alive, Jefferies remains sat on the hill that Thorwald killed his wife. It was this parallel – not the peeping Tom aspect of the movie – that piqued my interest last week. No matter what was thrown at him, Jefferies remained steadfast in his opinion Thorwald murdered his wife. Nothing budged him. I realized Jefferies’ level of resilience mirrored every diehard Lukola’s reaction to every piece of contradictory evidence thrown at them. Nothing budges them.

The tail-end of January and all of February was a bit wild in the Lukola fandom. I mean, there were a lot of narratives being thrown around only to be counteracted by another event. As I mentioned earlier, we ended January with the Boss event but that flame was quickly extinguished by Luke and Antonia’s complete lack of follow-up. Luke had the perfect opportunity to make it “official” with Antonia – to finally shut down the Lukola shippers – but he didn’t.

Crowd: Antonia not doing anything with it is the biggest tell, in my opinion.

I’m not going to spend much time rehashing the Boss event because I already discussed it in Entry 18 (link below), but I will touch on two things that I believe deserve an Honorable Mention.

The first being –

Charley: Why didn’t Antonia have her phone or even a handbag at the Boss event?

I mention this little detail because it was echoed at the BAFTA afterparty Luke attended with Antonia on February 16. In fact, I suspect this may be the modus operandi when Antonia attends an event with Luke – she is not given the opportunity to have a phone with her. One would think, at the very least, you would see Antonia entering and/or leaving an event with some kind of handbag or clutch. But we have pictures of Antonia entering both the Boss event and BAFTA afterparty without one. I will acknowledge we don’t see her leave these two events; however, if we rewind time, Antonia does not have a handbag with her during Papsmear.

Dad: “Well, that’s extremely odd.”

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it before – at least not on this blog – that my dad has an eye for women’s fashion. My sisters and I grew up under his critical eye and, to this day, my father doesn’t know where he went wrong with my older sister. This is entirely why he was given the part of Lisa Fremont, the movie’s style icon in the form of Grace Kelly. The fact that Antonia is never seen with any type of handbag at these events sparked his interest.

Dad: “[It seems] they [at a minimum Luke] wanted complete control [of what Antonia could take away from the event]. No handbag. Nowhere to hide a phone. No rogue pictures floating about.”

Charley: Yes, it does seem that way.

The second event I wanted to mention was – although neither Luke nor Antonia liked the Boss grid post of the two of them entering that event together – Nicola did. Now, this wasn’t an immediate like. In fact, Nicola waited almost two weeks to like the post, on February 12.

Crowd: The day before Nicola went back and liked that post, that video was being dissected across social media.

Dad: Why?

Charley: Because it was suggested Luke said, “Let’s get this done,” as he walked inside the event with Antonia.

Dad: “I don’t hear shit.”

I will admit, when this video was initially sent to me, I didn’t hear anything except the background noise. However, when I was told what was allegedly being said, I was able to hear it. This very well could be the power of suggestion but the timing of Nicola’s like on this post is, at a minimum, noteworthy.

Once we leave the Boss event, we stumble right into “Mis-Directed.” I’ll post the links to my review of that book at the end. It is what it is – and it’s a whole lot of…umm, yeah…maybe Dad said it best.

Dad: “Either your Lukola thing is real, or Ireland is a psychopath.”

Crowd: Seriously, who let this guy in here?

I’m going to have to hard agree with my dad on this one. Not necessarily about Nicola being a “psychopath,” but the references made in the book are too on the nose for it not to be intentionally Lukola- and/or Polin-coded.

I’m also convinced this book was edited after the World Tour, with the most obvious example of this being demonstrated with the quote: “The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.” If our duo is to be believed, Luke and Nicola had no idea prior to the World Tour that the fandom would go wild over Colin’s fingers. But after the release of Part 1, any mention of “two raised fingers” would send the fandom into a feeding frenzy. And it’s such an extremely random bit of innuendo, I have trouble believing the author came up with it on her own.

Charley: When you think about it, if Antonia hadn’t shown up at the Boss event, the Lukola fandom would have taken the book as confirmation that Lukola was real.

Indeed, a hefty portion of the fandom would have done just that. The fandom was already convinced that Luke and Nicola spent the holidays together – even without direct evidence – because there was evidence that Luke and Nicola did not spend the holidays with Antonia and Jake, respectively.

Antonia appeared to be with family at Christmas and in the Maldives over New Year’s – without making even the slightest insinuation that Luke was with her.

Jake seemingly spent the holidays with Dylan B., as demonstrated by his pre-Christmas stories with Dylan in their (basically) adjacent hometowns – without Nicola, who, by her own account, was in Galway. Jake and Dylan’s Christmas stories were followed up with their jointly hosted New Year’s Eve party – at which Nicola was not present (as evidenced by Nicola’s comment to an attendee’s New Year’s Eve post: “Have the best night miss yous”).

Dad: “It is weird they [Nicola and Jake / Luke and Antonia] wouldn’t spend any of the holidays together. One? Sure, maybe. But all? No.”

But, even with that statement, my dad chose to play the role of Detective Doyle (a/k/a the Devil’s Advocate of “Rear Window”) regarding the holidays because –

Dad: “Misty [Antonia] was with her dance troupe. Jake was with his friends. Ireland was doing her thing. But no one knows where Thang [Luke] was. Everyone else has a trail except him, which is odd. He could have been with Ireland, but you can’t prove it, so what you have is not really evidence.”

Charley: Thanks, Dad.

But, let’s face it, my dad is right. There’s no solid evidence that Luke and Nicola spent their holidays with each other or anyone else. You can apply the same theory to the birthdays. The only “evidence” we have that two people did not spend a birthday together was Jake posting a belated birthday greeting to Nicola followed by Nicola posting what appeared to be an intimate birthday dinner for two, presumably from the night before. We can surmise Nicola’s birthday date was not Jake, otherwise he would not have posted the late greeting.

About Jake’s birthday –

Crowd: Oh, yeah, “hard launch No. 54” because Nicola used a red heart in her birthday story to him.

Charley: You mean the same one she used in a story for another friend just the other day?

Crowed: Yep.

Dad: “I don’t know what to say about those people [the Jakolas]. They need to resubmerge or something. There’s no relationship there [between Jake and Nicola].”

The Jakolas are banking this “hard launch” on the fact Nicola posted a birthday story for Jake, but not for Luke, and vice versa. These are the same people who will argue that Luke and Antonia not posting about each other’s birthdays is because they’re private – but, in the same breath, refuse to acknowledge Luke and Nicola may not post about each other’s birthdays because they’re private.

I believe it’s worth mentioning that no one from the Bridgerton cast except James Phoon posted about Nicola’s birthday on January 9. When Nicola acknowledged her birthday greetings the day after, she did not repost Phoon’s story nor did she repost fan-favorite JVN’s birthday story. And I should have placed bets on this next part – no one from the Bridgerton cast posted about Luke’s birthday on February 5. Surely, I’m not the only person who saw – and anticipated – the comraderie there.

What the Jakolas should have been focusing on with Jake’s birthday was the fact that it was Dylan and Becky’s boyfriend that were wearing matching “Jecky” shirts at their joint birthday party. No one else had that shirt except for the two people believed to be their significant others. Although I’m not fully convinced Jake is dating Dylan, I am one hundred percent convinced Jake would date Dylan over Nicola.

Charley: What’s next?

Crowd: God, there was so much shit going on in February! Uhh, let’s jump to Valentine’s Day. Nicola attended the IFTA’s with her mother and sister, and Luke attended a GQ dinner event alone.

This holiday follows in the same vein as the previously noted holidays, except it’s Nicola and (amazingly!) Luke that are both accounted for. Jake was presumed to be in Sheffield rehearsing for his play; and Antonia was nowhere to be found, not even at the GQ dinner.

However, Antonia does make a brief reappearance at a BAFTA afterparty alongside Luke on February 16.

Crowd: But it was a repeat of the Boss event. The next day, neither acknowledged the other.

Charley: And Luke was reported to have left the party after only an hour – without Antonia. He even posted a picture of himself getting into a car alone.

Dad: To me, “[i]t seems like Thang took his dog [Antonia] for a walk and left her at the dog park.”

Two days later, Luke – actually out for a walk – is papped getting coffee, alone. Is it horrible of me to say that the most exciting thing about these pictures was the untucked versus tucked shirt? I’m not even sure why I’m taking the time to mention this except I felt there would be some side-eye if I did not.

And to be honest, I’ve left out some details and minor events from the months of January and February because, if I were to add them, this post would be twice as long as it already is. For example, don’t get me started on sunburns, tan lines, and “sunny places.”

If we were in the movie, “Rear Window,” everything stated up until this point would run parallel to the back-and-forth between Detective Doyle and our Trio of Peeping Toms. Evidence is presented by the Trio, which is then countered by Doyle. Doyle’s evidence is dismissed by the Trio because, again, they’re hellbent on proving their case, so they continue theorizing and digging into Thorwald. All that leads up to the movie’s climax.

Charley: Have we finally made it to the SAG?

Crowd: Yes, yes, we have.

Charley: Dad – Dad – wake up!

Dad: Huh?

Alright, the fucking SAG awards. This would be about the point in “Rear Window” where Lisa gets caught by Thorwald rifling through his belongings in search of evidence. We’re in the audience biting our nails because Jefferies can’t do a damn thing to help Lisa except watch everything unfold. And that’s what we did with the SAG awards. The entire Lukola fandom was hyper-focused on Luke and Nicola – and they did not disappoint.

Forget all the drama we endured from the sideshow characters and the nonsense that came with them.

Forget Luke being AWOL for six months.

Forget everything except the “hug heard ‘round the world.”

The ice was broken; the champagne was flowing. Luke and Nicola’s joint SAG appearance was like the World Tour on steroids.

Dad: Can I say something?

Crowd: Fuck. What?

Dad: “It was their season, right? So, their joint appearance on the red carpet wasn’t earth shattering. Neither was them sitting together. It was their night to celebrate.”

Crowd: Who invited this wet blanket to the party?

Dad: I wasn’t done. “Their season has run its course, right? They’ve ‘graduated.’ So why are they the focus of mainstream media?”

Charley: <thinking> Because there’s something newsworthy there?

That is your climax. Not their SAG appearance – because everyone can have their own interpretation of Luke and Nicola’s behavior and those interviewers’ Q&A’s – it was the mainstream media going ga-ga over Luke and Nicola that sent the Lukola narrative tumbling out the window. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll understand that reference.

By the following day, Luke and Nicola were everywhere. I genuinely appreciate the “Librarians” of the private group chats – those people who track and record every single post, story, like, non-like, follow, unfollow, literally everything – their job was grueling last week. The Sincerely Ignorant Lukolas who jumped ship months ago were frantically trying to climb back on board, while the Jakolas were desperately trying to find their Dramamine. The Defectors went silent except to remind their hive of hornets not to worry; that they will get “a reminder soon…”

Charley: A reminder of what?

Crowd: Oh, that there are two side characters floating about.

Well, lo and behold – right on schedule – a random picture of Luke and Antonia in an elevator surfaced the day after the SAG awards. The problem with the picture was that it was dismissed by Lukolas almost immediately. The account that dropped the picture on X was suspicious. Antonia’s hair and clothing seemed “so last year.” The Lukolas were far more focused on Luke and Nicola liking anything and everything to do with the SAG that day than to pay any attention to the “same old song and dance” about Antonia. Even Nicola liking Jake’s very bland “Nicola” comment on her grid post was dismissed with a “shooing” wave of the hand and an uninterested half laugh.

On February 25, the “insinuation” pictures were at it again. In fact, it was a rather busy day. An event host posted a picture of what appeared to be Antonia perfectly centered at an L.A. hotel pool. The story was reposted by the hotel itself. In fact, that’s the only reason the picture was found by the fandom. A new elevator picture of Luke and Antonia dropped; however, it, too, was dismissed fairly quickly, regardless of it being dropped by a different, less dubious X account. The Lukolas just didn’t give a fuck about Antonia. Luke was the subject of a blind that insinuated he had spent most of his time at the SAG looking in a mirror. And the evening was rounded out by something that would have rocked the boat in June 2024 but had little effect in February 2025 – Nicola followed Antonia on Instagram and vice versa!

Oh, shit – Jefferies just lost his grip and fell out the “Rear Window.” But he didn’t die! So, that’s a plus.

The following day, February 26, Antonia started to remove tags from her Instagram account including the “Soho” New Year's 2024 picture of Luke and his friend group, which included Antonia. And Nicola responded to the “mirror” blind about Luke with “I can confirm this is 100% not true [laughing/crying emoji].” So, interestingly, we had Antonia backing further away from Luke and Nicola stepping up to defend him.

Crowd: So, where do we go from here?

That’s a good question. The thing I’ve learned through this “course” is that the Lukolas are now unmoved by the shenanigans happening around them. You can serve Antonia to them on a silver platter, and they’ll flag down the waiter and ask them to return her to the kitchen. And you won’t find Jake anywhere on their menu (hence why I didn’t even bother to mention Jake’s play).

Dad: I think “the whole thing has run its course.”

It really has. The Lukolas are tired but unyielding. At this point, they just want their version of Thorwald to confess. The narratives running parallel to each other (i.e., Lukola vs. Jakola vs. Lutonia) can’t go on much longer. One of them is going to crack under the pressure.

Remember, “Three can keep a secret…”

P.S.

Dad: “Is Ireland still wearing that ring?”

Me: Yes.

Dad: “Then why did you call me?”

Me: <deep sigh>

[wendichester]

ok you write some teen dean but I wanna see teen sam x reader please and thank you :3

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ assignments & study sess,

summary. you run into sam at the school's library

pairing. teen!sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 539

notes. honestly, whenever i think of sam is almost stanford and onwards, but this turned out cuter than expected ehe thank you for requesting bubs 😙🩷

Sam has noticed you before. It’s hard not to.

You’re in a couple of his classes, always sitting near the window, twirling your pencil between your fingers when you’re lost in thought. You don’t talk much, at least not like the loud kids who take up all the space in a room, but when you do—when you answer a question in English or crack a joke to your friend—Sam always finds himself listening a little too closely.

He’s never had the nerve to talk to you, though. His family moves too much for him to bother making friends, and besides, you probably don’t even know who he is.

At least, that’s what he thinks—until today.

The library is quiet, except for the occasional rustle of pages and the soft hum of the overhead lights. Sam’s hunched over his history textbook at one of the back tables, trying to focus, but his brain feels like it’s made of static. He’s got an essay due in two days, and all he’s managed to do so far is reread the same sentence ten times.

And then—

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

He freezes.

Because that’s your voice.

Sam looks up so fast he nearly knocks over his coffee. And there you are, standing right across from him, your bag slung over one shoulder, a hopeful tilt to your lips.

For a second, all he can do is stare.

“No,” he blurts, a little too quickly. He clears his throat, willing himself to not sound like a complete idiot. “Uh, yeah. I mean—go ahead.”

You smile, sliding into the seat across from him, and Sam swears his heart actually stumbles over itself.

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out your notebook. “It’s weirdly packed in here today.”

Sam glances around. There are maybe five other people in the entire library.

He looks back at you, and you’re watching him with a tiny, knowing smirk. Oh.

You did that on purpose.

Sam swallows, trying to fight the warmth creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Super crowded.”

You grin, setting your stuff down. “I’ve seen you around,” you say casually, flipping open your book. “You’re, like, crazy smart, right? You always get the highest scores in English.”

He blinks. “You—you’ve noticed that?”

You tilt your head, like the idea of not noticing him is absurd. “Of course. I sit right behind you.”

Sam has no idea how to respond to that. His brain is short-circuiting, stuck on the fact that you—this girl he’s been secretly stealing glances at all year—have been paying attention to him too.

“Uh, thanks,” he finally mutters, pushing his hair back. “I just… read a lot, I guess.”

You hum, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. “You always look super focused in class,” you muse. “Like, intense focus. It’s kinda impressive.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I try.”

You lean in slightly. “So, Mr. Genius, since we’re here—wanna help me with my essay?”

It’s an easy excuse to stay here longer, to keep talking to you, and Sam knows it.

But he’s definitely not going to say no.

“Yeah,” he says, a real smile tugging at his lips now. “Yeah, I can do that.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[kisses4reid]

convenient | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - studying while working at a convenience store is easier that thought when a regular happens to be a genius.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

warnings - school work, that always scares me. they’re the same age!!! early 20s. mention of condoms.

edit - bc this is getting so much love, i’m opening a taglist for part 2!!! just comment or put in a req to join the ‘convenient’ taglist 🫶

the chime of the door didn’t phase you, the creaks and squeaks of the store slowly becoming one with you. flipping onto the next page of your biology textbook, something that was unnecessarily expensive, you shake your hand to get rid of the cramp you slowly became aware of.

it was only when a wave of man’s cologne and a plastic bag stood in front of you that you ripped your eyes off of your books.

he was tall, skinny, had long(ish) hair and looked amazing. there wasn’t really anything else to say, other than that the thin smile he displayed toward you made you smile back.

“just these for today?” you ask, fixing your posture and pushing some loose strands back to their place behind your ears.

“yes, thank you.” he says, voice as timid as his appearance. it was a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him as his long fingers slip through his wallet to find a debit card. “have a good night.”

your eyes return to your textbook as you go to erase an answer you had previous written, obviously wrong.

“the heads of the phospholipid bilayer are hydrophilic, not phobic.” he says. it surprised you, making you return to his gaze slowly before realising you should probably reply instead of staring at the man.

“oh- yeah, thanks. i caught that it’s just, i guess i’ve been staring at the same words for so long i can’t differentiate them.” you give a small fake laugh as he nods, giving you a long look before coughing and leaving promptly. he leaves with his bag, and his hands fiddling with each other.

you can barely focus after that. customers come and go, and although you’ve only been doing the late shift for a week, this encounter with the unknown man couldn’t leave your mind. the way he dressed, his smell, his voice and how he corrected you (which would totally annoy you usually). you hoped he would return.

and he did. three days later, this time even later than the last.

you were stuck in a dark purple sweater, the aircon in the store blasting cold air that you were too lazy to fix. and although the air flipped pages of notes and questions, you were still stuck in a trance.

the blasting aircon blew a wind of mens cologne this time, it smelt like wood. your eyes glanced up from your books and trailed the familiar man, noticing how he was reusing the plastic bag from days before.

he returned to the checkout with apples, a 3 minute cannelloni, and a bag of coffee. he was now the one trailing you, “where did Latrice go?” you look up, chuckling a bit,

“Latrice is getting paid by her daughter-in-law to babysit the twins,” you reply, surprised you were willing to tell him so much information. he could be a stalker for all you know. or just a regular, obviously that’s way more likely. “trust me, i miss her as much as you do. $14.98.”

he nodded with a small smile and sliced his card down the side of the card reader.

you searched for him now, only after two encounters you were already craving some sort of human interaction at work. usually you avoided it since the only other ‘regulars’ were old men and mean teenagers. you had switched to writing a biology report on your computer, the sound of the keyboard almost covering the sound of the door bell.

a bag of apples, a 2 minute lasagne, a bag of coffee, and a banana muffin.

“big night?”

“uh- what?”

“you got a banana muffin. i thought you were starting to become predictable.” you bagged his things as he chuckled, looking over you and your laptop. you noticed only because you were also looking at him, “biology report. wanna read it?” you joked, but he didn’t catch that part.

now he was behind the register, sat on your wheelie stool reading and editing your report while walking you through everything he was changing. you didn’t understand most, but you were just happy to stay around him. you weren’t even scared of Old Alan, the guy who only buys cucumbers and condoms. nobodies ever asked him, don’t think anyone wants to know.

“what’s your word limit?”

“3500.”

“only 3500?” he gave you a raised eyebrow, voice getting slightly higher. he coughed, “sorry, that’s nearly impossible.”

you sigh, “i know… i’m y/n by the way. thought you should know who your helping cheat.”

“i’m not helping you cheat, i’m just… editing,” he hit backspace a few times with a lowered bottom lip, “my names spencer.”

you smiled and crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. spencer. yeah, that sounded nerdy enough.

pt. 2

[chogiwow]

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

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

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k | part 3 - 21.2k

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

a/n: part 3 is hereee ! and apparently ! there's gonna be one more part :'D bc i can't write for shit w/o making my characters go through emotional hell

seventeen.

life goes on, as is bound to.

you still wake up at six every morning, rushing to get ready because you prefer to dawdle in bed for half an hour before realisation strikes that you’re going to be late again. you still alternate between cereals and toast, a simple breakfast, before you catch the bus to your work.

it's a routine you’ve followed for months now, and you’re finally settling into it.

work still kicks your ass, but you get through it. 

somehow, though, something has changed. the night at the observatory had been the catalyst to this.

it’s subtle at first. the way jake acknowledges you more, the way his gaze lingers for just a second longer when you pass by his office. the way his notes keep coming – little comments, little jokes, little facts about the universe that make you pause and smile before you tuck them away in your drawer.

like the slow drift of galaxies, expanding ever so slightly over time – so gradual that no one on earth would ever feel it. the kind of change that isn’t obvious until you stop and measure it, until you realize the stars aren’t where they used to be. that’s what this feels like. that’s what you and jake are becoming.

it’s in the way he lingers by your desk a little longer than necessary after handing you a report.. it’s in the way your name sounds when he says it – less clipped, more like a thought spoken aloud, like he was already in the middle of thinking about you before he even called you.

the universe is always changing, he told you once. expansion isn’t a choice, just a consequence of existence. even if you tried to hold everything still, the shift would happen anyway, quietly, inevitably.

maybe that’s why you don’t fight it. why you let these moments unfold, pretending not to notice the way his shoulder nearly brushes yours when you stand too close at the coffee station. or how his gaze lingers just a second longer when he thinks you’re not looking.

but it’s not just at work.

somewhere along the way, he’s started integrating himself into your routine in ways that don’t feel intentional, yet keep happening anyway.

like how you keep running into him at the coffee machine in the morning, a barely-awake jake muttering something about how caffeine is the only thing keeping him alive, while you groggily nod in agreement. or how, somehow, without ever planning it, you both always seem to leave work around the same time, walking to the bus stop together in companionable silence, the city lights stretching out ahead of you.

and then, there are the lunches.

you don’t know when those became a thing. it started with that one lunch invitation – one that you thought was an exception, a random occurrence. but then it happened again. and again. and now, it’s just… part of the day.

"are we getting lunch?" he asks you casually one afternoon, not even looking up from his screen.

you pause, caught off guard. "uh, i guess?"

he hums, nodding, like that settles it.

and just like that, it’s a thing.

there are conversations, too – ones that go beyond deadlines and reports. ones where you learn that jake likes books about astronomy, not so big on fiction. that he’s been working on a research paper in his free time, though he never lets you see it. that he still thinks about his mother’s cooking when he’s stressed, though he rarely has the time to make anything himself.

and in turn, you tell him things, too. about your family. about how you used to excel in your art classes, how this job had been a way to repay student loans but you were starting to enjoy it. about the little bakery you stop by every friday after work because their pastries remind you of home.

he listens. really listens.

you don’t know when it happens, but one day, you wake up, go about your morning routine, and realize – jake sim is a part of your life now.

and it feels… weirdly normal.

so it's easy to pick up on cues now. it's easy for you to discern the frown on his face when he’s thinking about a complicated calculation or what to eat for lunch.

it started small.

at first, you didn’t even notice the way jake had started paying attention. you were too used to being the one who did the noticing, who made sure he was okay, who subtly adjusted things in his life so that he could function without running himself into the ground.

but then, there was the first time.

it had been one of those days where you just wake up feeling tired, like some age old fatigue settling in your bones. you had been running on four hours of sleep, your brain foggy and sluggish, a dull headache pressing at your temples as you tried to focus on the report in front of you. it was late, and most of the office had emptied out. the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound accompanying the rapid clicks of your keyboard.

and then, out of nowhere – a cup of tea materialises on your desk.

you blinked at it, then up at jake, who was standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“i heard peppermint tea is good for headaches,” he said simply. “figured you could use something.”

you stared at him, trying to process the gesture. jake wasn’t the type to do things like this – at least, not before. he accepted help, sure. he let you fuss over him when he got too caught up in work, too lost in his thoughts to remember to eat or drink water. but this? this was different. besides, how had he even figured out you were coming down with a dull pounding in your head?

still, you took the tea, murmuring a quiet, “thanks,” as you wrapped your hands around the warmth of the cup.

the next time, it was an umbrella.

you had forgotten yours at home on the one day it decided to rain, and just as you were mentally preparing yourself to brave the storm, jake appeared beside you at the entrance, wordlessly opening his umbrella and tilting it over you.

you looked at him, startled.

“what—”

“i’m heading out anyway,” he said, as if that explained everything. “might as well walk you to the station.”

you didn’t argue. you weren’t sure you could, with the way your chest tightened at the thought that he had noticed – had thought about you, even in passing.

then, there were the snacks. the ones you mentioned liking once in a conversation weeks ago, the ones you’d find in the break room with a note in his messy handwriting that read, for when you forget to eat.

the way he started subtly shifting schedules around so that you wouldn’t have to stay too late. the way he made sure your favorite tea was stocked in the kitchen, even though you never asked.

and then, there was today.

you were having one of those days. the ones where everything felt like too much – too loud, too fast, too overwhelming. the emails were piling up, your head was throbbing, and every little thing was grating on your nerves. you just wanted to finish your work and go home.

jake seemed to sense it before you even said anything.

you barely had time to react before he was pulling you away from your desk, leading you toward the quiet sanctuary of the rooftop, devoid of emails, and computer screens and irritating fluorescent lights.

you let yourself be guided, confusion simmering beneath your exhaustion.

“what—”

“you need a break,” he said simply. how the tables had turned.

he wasn’t wrong, but still – you hesitated.

“i have work—”

“it’ll still be there when you get back.”

the words were firm, leaving no room for argument. and maybe that was what finally made you relent, allowing him to tug you into the dimly lit space where the city lights couldn’t reach, where the stars were endless and infinite above you.

for a moment, there was silence.

then—

“you’re always looking after me,” jake said, voice quieter now. “but who looks after you?”

your breath hitched.

the words caught you off guard, unraveling something deep inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you had been holding onto. you never really thought about it – not in those terms. you were fine, you always told yourself. you managed.

but jake… he had noticed.

and when you didn’t answer right away, he exhaled softly.

“i do,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made your chest ache. “i will.”

you turned to look at him then, only to find that he was already watching you. there was something there, something in the way he was looking at you that made it hard to breathe.

and suddenly, you realize it all happening. the dull thudding against your chest, the beginnings of a tremor in your hands, the way your eyes trembled slightly, unsure of what to do, where to look.

the world hadn’t stopped spinning, the weight on your shoulders hadn’t disappeared, but standing here – beneath an endless sky, with jake’s steady gaze holding yours – you felt something shift.

like the earth’s axis tilting ever so slightly, a small, imperceptible change that altered everything in ways no one would notice at first. but given time, given gravity – eventually, everything would feel different.

eighteen.

jake doesn’t consider himself the petty type. he really doesn’t.

but when you stroll into the office that morning, casually greeting jay with an easy, “morning, jay,” followed by a teasing, “you look like you had a long night,” jake feels something inexplicable twist in his chest. it’s not jealousy. no, that would be ridiculous. it’s just… unfair. unjust, even.

because when you turn to him, all he gets is a polite nod and a warm, “morning, dr. sim.”

dr. sim.

why does that sound so… wrong?

he tries to brush it off, truly. it’s just a name, a title, nothing personal. but all throughout the day, it needles at him, distracting him in the worst ways. he hears it every time you approach him, every time you hand him a file, every time you leave a post-it on his desk with a reminder about a report.

dr. sim, dr. sim, dr. sim.

is that really all he is to you?

jay gets to be ‘jay,’ but he’s stuck being ‘dr. sim?’

he doesn't bring it up right away. that would be ridiculous. childish, even. but by the time the workday is winding down and you’re standing at his desk, waiting for him to sign off on something, he can’t hold it in any longer.

jake clicks his pen a little too aggressively as he signs off on the last document, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. he shouldn’t care this much. he really shouldn’t. but after hours of hearing “dr. sim” fall so effortlessly from your lips while jay gets the privilege of a casual “jay,” he’s had enough.

“you call jay by his first name,” he says, his voice carefully measured as he hands the file back to you.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden statement. “uh… yeah?”

“and me?”

you hesitate, brow furrowing slightly. “you’re dr. sim?”

something about his expression makes you pause, studying him a little closer. he’s looking at you with that unreadable intensity again, the one that makes you feel like he’s solving some impossible equation in his head. you tilt your head, suddenly amused.

jake sighs, setting his pen down. “right, of course. but it wasn’t always ‘dr. sim.’”

you tilt your head, clearly not following. “what do you mean?”

he leans back in his chair, studying you. “you used to call me jake.” well, you had just called him that one time.

at that, your brows furrow. “no, i didn’t.”

jake levels you with a look. “yes, you did. once.”

you still look unconvinced, so he elaborates, voice softening ever so slightly. “it was when my mother was in the hospital.”

something flickers across your face, and oh – there it is. recognition.

jake watches as you straighten, lips parting slightly before you quickly school your expression. “i—” you clear your throat, shifting on your feet. “i didn’t mean to. it just slipped.”

jake quirks a brow. “so it was an accident?”

you look distinctly uncomfortable now, gaze darting to the side as you mutter, “i wasn’t really thinking, that’s all.”

because how the hell are you supposed to respond to this anyway? is he confronting you about calling him by his first name that one time or is he trying to…? no, that would be hoping for too much.

jake exhales through his nose, fighting back a smirk. “well,” he says, reaching for his pen again. “think about it.”

you frown. “think about what?”

he signs off on the document with a final flourish before pushing it toward you, meeting your gaze with something unreadable. “calling me jake again.”

your brain short-circuits. completely malfunctions. “what?”

its like you’ve forgotten how to string together sentences, you talk in mono syllables now.

jake shrugs, oh-so casual. “you already did it once.”

“that was—” you huff, flustered beyond belief. “that was different.”

he tilts his head. “how?”

you glare at him. “it just was.”

jake is grinning now, and it’s so unfair how smug he looks. like he’s won something. “alright, if you say so.”

you don’t press him, nor this abrupt demand for calling him by his first name, simply snatch the report off his desk and exit as quickly as you can, willing the flush in your cheeks to calm down. but the thought lingers in your mind the entire day, stretching into the moments that follow.

the thing is, jake isn’t used to wanting things. he’s always been good at compartmentalizing, at focusing on what matters and dismissing everything else as unnecessary distraction. but this – you – are slipping past his carefully drawn boundaries, making space in places he hadn’t thought to guard.

and it’s not just the way you call him dr. sim.

it’s the way your laughter carries through the office, light and infectious, somehow making the fluorescent lights feel less harsh. it’s the way you scribble little doodles on post-its when you leave notes for him, sometimes of constellations, sometimes of a tiny spaceship floating aimlessly in the margins. it’s the way you frown at your computer screen when you’re concentrating too hard, the way you murmur “please cooperate” to the printer like it has any choice in the matter.

he starts noticing things he shouldn’t.

like how your shoulders tense when you’re stressed, and how you always roll them out absentmindedly when you think no one’s watching. how you tap your fingers against your mug while waiting for your coffee to cool. how you always seem to instinctively seek out the quietest corners of a room, as if subconsciously drawn to spaces where you can just breathe.

jake isn’t sure when his awareness of you started tipping into something more. he only knows that once it did, there was no undoing it.

maybe that’s why, when the workday finally winds down and you’re getting ready to leave, he finds himself blurting out, “i’ll give you a ride home.”

you pause, hand frozen over the strap of your bag. “what?”

he clears his throat, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “you take the bus, right? i can drop you off.”

before you can respond, jay snorts from his desk. “damn. guess my offer to drive you home just got revoked.”

jake shoots him a glare, but jay only grins, visibly enjoying the moment far too much. meanwhile, you shift your attention back to jake, expression unreadable.

“you don’t have to do that,” you say slowly.

“i know.”

you hesitate for another moment before nodding. “alright, dr. sim. if you insist.”

jake stiffens.

you’re teasing him – he can hear it in your tone, see it in the amused glint in your eyes. but still. after everything, ‘dr. sim’ still feels like a wall between you. he opens his mouth, ready to say something, but then you’re already brushing past him, walking toward the exit with an easy, “i’ll meet you outside.”

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face before following you out.

the drive is quiet at first, but not uncomfortably so. the city lights blur past in a steady rhythm, the hum of the engine filling the space between you.

then you shift slightly in your seat, glancing at him. “you really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

jake keeps his eyes on the road. “i know.”

you watch him for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “you’re hard to read sometimes.”

that gets his attention. he flicks a glance at you, eyebrow raised. “am i?”

“mhm.” you tilt your head against the window, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “sometimes i think i’ve got you figured out. and then you do something unexpected.”

jake hums, considering. “like offering you a ride?”

“exactly.” you grin. “it’s very… un-dr. sim-like.”

he exhales sharply through his nose. “right. because i’m just dr. sim to you.”

your grin falters slightly, the teasing air shifting into something quieter. you don’t answer right away, and he doesn’t push. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it just lingers, like something unspoken settling between you.

jake for his part can’t comprehend why he said that. his fingers curl around the steering wheel, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you try not to blatantly stare at his lean fingers. just the thought makes you want to bang your head against a wall because what the actual fuck?

this was not normal.

then again, nothing about this situation is normal. if someone told you a month ago that you’d be sitting in the jake sim’s car while he drove you home… you would have laughed and commended them on their imagination. but now?

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, jaw clenching slightly. he hates that he’s thinking about this. about you. about the way your voice softened just then, like maybe you were considering something you hadn’t before. and he hates even more that he’s noticing things he shouldn’t – like the way you shift in your seat when you’re deep in thought, or the way your fingers play idly with the zipper of your bag.

it’s distracting.

you, in general, are distracting.

he exhales slowly, forcing his thoughts back to the road. he’s good at controlling his emotions – has spent years perfecting the art of keeping things measured, composed, professional. but there’s something about you that makes it difficult. like you’re slowly dismantling his careful walls without even realizing it.

you shift in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space between you feels. the air is charged now, thick with something neither of you are acknowledging outright.

jake swallows. he doesn’t know why he brought it up. maybe because he wants to hear you say his name again. and not just by accident. maybe because he wants to know if it meant anything to you at all. maybe because he’s realizing, with a slow, sinking certainty, that the sound of his own name in your voice did something to him that he can’t quite explain.

you study his profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the dim glow of the dashboard. there’s something different about him in this moment. something rawer, more unguarded. and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you said it again. just to see how he would react.

but then you hesitate.

because you know, instinctively, that if you do – if you let yourself cross that line – there will be no going back.

a few minutes later, you break the silence. “wait—”

jake barely has time to register your alarm before you turn to him, laughing in disbelief. “we don’t even live in the same direction, do we?”

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, resisting the urge to groan. because, no, you don’t. and he knew that. he just… he just didn’t think that far ahead.

you laugh again, shaking your head. “you really offered me a ride without knowing where i live?”

“i—” he exhales sharply, gripping the wheel tighter. “i wasn’t thinking.”

“that’s new.” you shoot him a grin, eyes twinkling. “dr. sim, not thinking things through?”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. there’s no point. he walked himself straight into this one.

eventually, he sighs, fighting the urge to bite his lips because he can feel your stare and it's making him nervous.

“thank you,” you say, “it’s kinda nice to actually sit on my way home.” it's just a joke to you, but this piece of information is new to jake and he’s already filing it away in a cabinet in his mind that he’s subconsciously come to dedicate to you.

jake glances at you, but you’re looking out the window again, city lights reflected in your eyes. and for some reason, his heart does something weird in his chest.

you continue, voice softer this time. “also it’s been a while since i had a quiet drive like this.”

jake doesn’t know what to say to that. so he just focuses on the road, letting the moment settle.

the rest of the drive is quieter, but it’s different this time. less awkward, more… something else. something almost comfortable. like neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

when he finally pulls up in front of your place, you don’t get out immediately. instead, you linger for a second, fingers tapping against your bag. and you take a shot at whatever this was. at whatever this was about to become. good or bad.

jake doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush you, just waits. his hands are still on the steering wheel, but his grip is loose now, relaxed.

you take a slow breath. you don’t know why this moment feels important – like stepping over an invisible line you won’t be able to cross back over. but you recognize the weight of it all the same.

you shift slightly in your seat, turn toward him, and say quietly, “thanks for the ride, jake.”

it’s subtle, the way he reacts, but you see it all the same.

his fingers twitch where they rest. his posture stiffens, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. and then there’s his eyes – warm and dark in the dim lighting, holding yours for just a fraction longer than necessary.

it’s a simple thing, calling someone by their name. but with him, it feels like something more. like offering a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you had been keeping at arm’s length. like letting him step just a little closer, even though you don’t know if you’re ready for it.

jake.

the name lingers on your tongue, settles into the space between you. it feels different from dr. sim, feels different from the careful distance you’ve been trying to maintain. more familiar, more intimate. more dangerous.

you should get out of the car. you should say goodnight and go inside before this shifts into something you can’t take back.

but instead, you linger.

jake doesn’t look away. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t break the moment, just lets it settle the way he does with most things – quietly, carefully, like he’s turning it over in his mind before deciding what to do with it.

and you? you sit there, pulse thrumming in your throat, because for the first time in a long time, you realize you want something you shouldn’t.

the problem is, you don’t know if you’re brave enough to take it.

nineteen.

you don’t call him ‘jake’ all that often.

truthfully, he had half expected you to go back to last name basis with him and you had in fact, but jake quickly learned that it was only when you had to be formal. notifying him about kang’s incoming rounds? he’s dr. sim again. the words are professional, as if drawing a clear boundary between the workday and whatever exists outside of it. but then there are moments where the distinction blurs.

the end of a long shift when you linger in the doorway of his office, hesitation evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. a thoughtful pause before you ask if he’s heading out soon, if maybe you could walk together. and in those moments, he’s jake.

knocking on his door quietly just five minutes before lunch, your head peeking in and your fingers gripping the doorframe, asking him shyly whether you would have lunch together again? he’s jake then. and the way you say it – soft, almost careful – does something to him. it’s the kind of thing he shouldn’t be thinking too hard about, but he does anyway.

because it’s different. there’s a familiarity in it that wasn’t there before. a warmth that seeps in through the cracks of whatever this dynamic is. he tells himself he won’t read into it. he tells himself it’s just a name. and yet, when you brighten slightly at his nod, he wonders if maybe you don’t dislike calling him jake as much as you pretend to.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

doesn’t tease you about the way you seem visibly flustered while doing this. doesn’t push you to pick one, rather lets you do what you’re comfortable with. but it lingers in the back of his mind, a quiet thought he doesn’t quite know what to do with. the realization settles in during the most mundane of moments – when he’s typing out a report, when he’s sipping his coffee, when he’s scrolling through his phone. it clicks, all at once, that you only ever call him by his first name in the quieter, more personal moments. not when you’re in a room full of people. not when there’s an audience. just when it’s the two of you, when the words carry a different kind of weight.

he tries hard not to smile like a lunatic at his screen at the realization. he fails miserably.

jake can feel it – a quiet sort of courage, inching its way into his chest. it’s fragile, tentative, and it crumbles a little every time he watches you move through the world so effortlessly. the way you strike up conversation with department assistants, ask the janitor about his daughter, or pass the cleaning lady a cup of coffee like it’s second nature.

you’re effortlessly kind. not in a loud, performative way, but in a way that’s woven into the fabric of who you are. it’s in the way you remember details most people would forget, how you know which of the interns take their coffee black and which ones are too shy to admit they don’t know how to request time off. it’s in the way you say people’s names like they matter, like they’re more than just faces passing through the halls.

and maybe that’s what unnerves him the most.

because up until now, he’s seen you as his assistant. his colleague, even. the one who hands him charts and keeps his schedule in check, who teases him just enough to throw him off balance but never enough to cross a line. it was easy to keep you in that box, to pretend that was all there was to you.

but now – now he sees you as a person. as someone with a world outside of this building, with people who care for you, who look forward to your presence. he sees the way you brighten around others, how effortlessly you slot yourself into people’s lives, and it stirs something deep in his chest.

jake doesn’t know what to do with that.

he should look away, should focus on the notes in front of him, but his gaze lingers a second too long. because when you laugh at something the receptionist says, when your shoulders shake just a little from the force of it, it hits him – really hits him – that he wants to be someone you laugh like that with.

and maybe that scares him more than anything else.

he feels himself wilting at the simple brush of fingers when you hand him a report, an unintentional graze of arms when you lean over to point something out on his screen. but each time, it lingers. not physically – just long enough to be noticeable – but in his mind, it stays.

he tells himself it’s nothing. but then it happens again.

like when you pass him a coffee one morning, your fingertips skimming against his palm. it’s not supposed to mean anything, but his fingers twitch against the warmth of the cup, and when his eyes flicker up to you, you’re already turning away like nothing happened. like your skin hadn’t just burned into his.

or the time he catches you mid-stumble in the hallway, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you, fingers wrapping lightly around your wrist. it’s brief, over in a second, but he swears he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips long after he lets go.

and then there are the moments that are quieter, heavier.

the ones where you’re physically not there but he’s thinking about you. he’s thinking about you too much.

when he’s in his bed, his body sinking into his comforter, that’s when you strike. when the absence of conversation makes the memory of your voice louder. he replays moments he shouldn’t, imagines responses he never gave, finds himself staring at the ceiling as if the answer to all of it might be there.

and he doesn’t know what to do, what to feel because he’s never done this before. never let himself sit in the weight of emotions like this, never allowed himself to even consider what it would mean if he did. but it’s getting harder to pretend it’s nothing when you’ve made a home in the corners of his mind, settling into places he hadn’t realized were empty.

he’s unsure of what to feel and how much of it he should feel in the first place. because if he lets himself feel all of it, if he acknowledges that this pull toward you is real, then what happens next? what happens if he admits, even just to himself, that he doesn’t mind being in your orbit at all?

because you’re in his orbit now, and somehow, he’s in yours.

and jake – who has never been good at these things, who doesn’t know how to define whatever this is – finds himself wanting to stay there.

so when you willingly reach out to him to stay a while longer, he doesn’t hesitate.

you don't plan it. really, you don’t.

it’s one of those things that just happens – a fleeting thought that slips past your usual mental filter before you can stop it. and by the time you realize what you’ve done, there’s no taking it back.

jake is beside you in the breakroom counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he moves with his usual precision, measured and methodical, the way he does most things. you watch as he tilts the carafe, the dark liquid swirling into his mug, steam curling into the space between you.

you’re not even supposed to be here. you had just come in to grab something quickly, but then jake was there, and then you were making conversation, and then—

“hey, are you doing anything this weekend?”

jake glances at you, his hand still wrapped around the coffee pot. he blinks, as if the question caught him off guard. “uh.” a beat passes. “not really. why?”

you clear your throat, shifting your weight. “there’s a space exhibition at the museum this week. it’s only in town for a little while, and i thought… i don’t know. it might be interesting?”

jake stills.

it’s subtle, but you catch it. the way his grip tightens just slightly around the handle of his mug, the way his eyes search yours as if trying to read into the intent behind your words.

you hold his gaze, waiting for an answer, but the longer the silence stretches, the more you start to regret opening your mouth in the first place. maybe this was stupid. maybe you’re overstepping. maybe he doesn’t actually—

“i’d like that.”

your breath catches. “you would?”

jake nods, setting his coffee down. “yeah.” his voice is quieter now, more certain. “it sounds… nice.”

there’s something about the way he says it that makes your stomach flip. you’re suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the warmth of his presence seems to linger in the space between you.

you offer him a small smile. “cool.”

jake hesitates, then, like he’s considering something. “you really think i wouldn’t be interested in a space exhibition?”

you blink. “i—what?”

“the way you phrased it,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “like you weren’t sure.”

“well, i mean…” you exhale, suddenly flustered. “of course, i figured you’d be interested. it’s just—”

“just what?”

you hesitate. “i wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with me.”

the words hang in the air between you, weighty and unspoken. for a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much. if you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize was there.

but then he smiles.

it’s small, barely there, but you catch it. a soft curve at the corner of his lips, something warmer in his eyes. and for some reason, that look alone makes you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest.

“saturday?” he asks.

you nod. “saturday.”

he picks up his coffee again, taking a slow sip, and when he lowers it, he’s still looking at you. “what time?”

“um.” you scramble to think. “maybe around six? we could grab something to eat after.”

jake hums, considering. “sounds good.”

and just like that, it’s set.

the realization settles in slowly as you go about your day, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. you asked jake to go somewhere with you. outside of work. on a weekend. and he said yes.

it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but somehow, it does, because when saturday arrives faster than you expect, you’re all but a bundle of nerves.

neither of you had called it a date per se, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you had been yearning to call it that.

you tell yourself not to overthink it. you tell yourself it’s just two colleagues going to an exhibition together. nothing more, nothing less.

but then jake shows up looking… well. like that. and you weren’t prepared for this.

he’s waiting for you outside the museum when you arrive, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans. it’s a simple look, but somehow, it makes him seem even more put together than usual. he has his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the entrance before landing on you. he’s changed out of his horn rimmed glasses for a thick black framed one and honestly? it does a number on you.

you’ve always considered him to be attractive, like its a fact at this point, there’s no denying it. but right now, seeing him dressed so casually – a side of him you never could have even imagined – it makes you curl your fingers into a fist, pushing down at whatever churning feeling rises up in your throat straight from the depths of your chest.

jake, for his part, is having a similar moment.

he’s used to seeing you in a professional setting – sharp, polished, always composed. but tonight, under the dim glow of the museum lights, you look different. not in a way that’s unfamiliar, but in a way that makes something in his chest shift uncomfortably.

casual. at ease. like the version of you that exists beyond his orbit. and for some reason, he finds himself wanting to know more about that version.

his gaze lingers a beat longer than it should before he catches himself.

“you made it,” he says, clearing his throat.

you raise an eyebrow. “was there ever any doubt?”

jake huffs a quiet laugh. “no. just making conversation.”

something about that makes you smile. “shall we?”

he nods, and the two of you make your way inside.

the exhibition is stunning.

massive planetary models hang from the ceiling, their surfaces illuminated with soft light. constellation maps line the walls, showcasing the stars in intricate detail. there’s even an interactive section where visitors can simulate what it would be like to walk on different celestial bodies.

jake takes it all in with an expression you rarely see on him – genuine, unguarded wonder.

you watch as he moves from display to display, his gaze lingering on certain exhibits longer than others. every now and then, he murmurs something under his breath, a fact or observation about a particular planet or star system.

there’s a small part of you – an unfamiliar, irrational part – that wants to see him like this more often.

then, at one point, he pauses in front of a model of betelgeuse.

the exhibit is quieter here. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty, just hushed, like stepping into the stillness of space itself.

this part of the museum is quieter, darker. the only illumination comes from the digital projection of the massive star suspended above them, pulsing in slow, rhythmic intervals. every few seconds, a deep red glow spills across the room, washing over their faces, their skin – before retreating into darkness again. it feels like stepping into the void of space itself.

he stops walking without realizing it.

you almost pass him before noticing he’s no longer beside you. when you turn, he’s standing still, hands in his coat pockets, gazing up at the red giant with a look you can’t quite place.

it’s unlike him.

there’s something distant about the way he looks at it, like he’s seeing something beyond the projection itself. the soft flickering light makes the sharp angles of his face seem softer, more open, and for a second, you feel like you’re seeing him – just jake, without the polished professionalism, without the careful restraint.

you hesitate for only a moment before stepping closer.

“you like this one?” your voice is quiet, like speaking any louder would disturb the stillness between you.

jake hums. “betelgeuse is interesting.” his gaze doesn’t leave the star. “it’s one of the largest stars we can see with the naked eye, but it won’t last forever.”

the words linger in the space between you. heavy. measured.

you tilt your head slightly, glancing at him. “what do you mean?”

“it’s nearing the end of its life cycle.”

this time, he does look at you. and for some reason, the moment feels different.

maybe it’s the way the red light reflects in his eyes, making them seem warmer than usual. maybe it’s the way his voice is quieter here, steadier, like he’s sharing something that matters. or maybe it’s just the closeness – how, in this darkened corner of the exhibit, with no one else around, it feels like you and jake exist in your own little pocket of the universe.

“eventually, it’ll go supernova,” he continues. his gaze flickers over your face for a beat too long before shifting back to the dying star above you.

then, softer—“but for now, it’s still shining.”

the words settle over you, quiet and lingering. neither of you move nor speak.

you just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the warmth of him is noticeable in the cool air of the museum. close enough that if either of you shifted even slightly, you’d touch.

the projection pulses again, casting your faces in a deep red glow.

jake is half-lit, half-shadowed, the flickering light drawing out the details of his expression – the faint crease in his brow, the careful set of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly like there’s something else he wants to say but doesn’t.

there’s a stillness in the air. a moment where it almost feels like something should be said, but neither of you say anything. like the silence itself is waiting.

the betelgeuse model pulses one last time before dimming again, but even after the light fades, you still feel it.

twenty.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

the exhibition had been… nice. more than nice. he had enjoyed it more than he expected – not just because of the displays, but because of you. because of the way your eyes lit up when he talked about the stars, because of how you listened, genuinely listened, not out of politeness but curiosity. because for the first time in a long time, he had allowed himself to just be.

neither of you had called it a date. you’d simply invited him, and he had simply said yes.

that was all. at least, that’s what he thought.

until jay brought it up.

“damn, didn’t think you had it in you, sim.”

jake looks up from his coffee, blinking. “what?”

jay leans back in his chair, grinning. “the whole date thing. i mean, i know you’re not the best at this stuff, but you did good. a museum date? classy.”

jake’s stomach twists in a way he doesn’t fully understand.

he doesn’t answer right away when jay asks how the "date" went. he just takes a sip of his drink, lets the word settle in his mind, like if he doesn’t react to it, it won’t hold any meaning. but it does.

date.

jay had said it so offhandedly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

jake huffs. “it wasn’t a date.”

jay tilts his head, unimpressed. “then what was it?”

jake thinks about it for a second too long, and jay’s lips twitch like he’s already won. but jake refuses to entertain this. instead, he says, “just an exhibition. we were both interested in it, so we went. that’s it.”

jay hums, swirling his beer lazily. “sure.”

jake ignores him. or at least, he tries to. but the thought lingers.

he’s still thinking about it that night, staring at the ceiling, the room dim except for the soft glow of his bedside clock. 2:28 am.

jake sighs. turns over. closes his eyes.

it doesn’t help.

jay’s voice is still in his head. so… how’d the date go?

it hadn’t been a date. that much, he was sure of. but then, what had it been?

he tries to be rational about it. you had been the one to invite him. but it hadn’t been anything extravagant – just an exhibition you thought he’d enjoy. that’s what friends do. that’s what coworkers do.

and yet, jake finds himself ruminating about the evening again. the way you had smiled when you saw him waiting outside the museum, the way your eyes had lingered just a second too long. the way you had listened, really listened, when he talked about the stars, about betelgeuse. the way you had looked at him then, in the dim red glow of the exhibit, like you saw something in him that even he couldn’t quite understand.

his stomach twists. groaning, he presses a hand to his face. this was stupid. he was overthinking it. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous.

because the thing is, he can’t remember the last time he spent time with someone like that – just the two of them, sharing quiet conversations, moving through the space together like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe that’s what unsettles him the most. how natural it had felt.

it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

the thought gnaws at him, the edge of something unfamiliar settling deep in his chest.

jake has never been good at this kind of thing – relationships, feelings, whatever this was. he keeps his world structured, predictable. work is work. anything outside of that is just white noise, distant and unimportant. that’s how he’s always operated.

but you? you’re not white noise. you never have been.

jake knows this. knows it in the way his pulse had stuttered – just for a second – when you brushed against him, fingers barely grazing his sleeve. knows it in the way he had caught himself glancing at you, noticing details he shouldn’t. the way your hair caught the faint light of the exhibit. the way your lips had parted slightly when he explained something, as if committing his words to memory.

he groans into his pillow. this was dangerous. he couldn’t – shouldn’t –be thinking like this. shouldn’t be thinking of you well into the depths of the night.

it wasn’t a date. it wasn’t.

jake tells himself that again, but the logic of it is starting to feel shaky, unsteady beneath his feet. because if it wasn’t a date, then why did it feel so different? why did he keep circling back to the way you had lingered at the end of the night, standing just a little too close, hesitating like there was something left unsaid?

and maybe the worst part – the part he’s trying the hardest to ignore – is that some part of him had wanted it to be a date.

the thought startles him. his stomach clenches, his fingers curling into his sheets.

he doesn’t know what to do with that realization. doesn’t even want to acknowledge it fully. because if he does, then what? then everything changes. then he has to start questioning things he’s not ready to question.

so instead, he focuses on the facts.

you had invited him. you had called it an exhibition. you had never said it was a date.

and when jay had said the word, you hadn’t been there to confirm or deny it. so he should leave it at that. let it go. move on.

but he knows himself. he knows this isn’t something that will leave him easily.

and sure as hell, the next morning, it’s still there, lodged in his brain like a splinter. he catches himself watching you more than usual – studying the way you move, the way you talk to others, the way you act around him.

do you see him differently now? have you always?

it takes him another day to gather the nerve to ask.

you’re in the break room when he finally does, stirring sugar into your coffee. he leans against the counter beside you, pretending to be casual.

“so…” he starts, clearing his throat. “the exhibition.”

you glance up. “yeah?”

jake hesitates. “did you… was that—” he stops, exhales through his nose, tries again. “would you have considered that a date?”

something flickers across your face. it’s so quick, so fleeting, he almost misses it. then you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“why? would it have mattered?” you say, teasing.

but jake hears it – the way your voice tightens, just a little. the way your grip on your cup tenses before you force yourself to relax.

he swallows. he doesn’t know what he had wanted you to say, but now, with this, he isn’t sure what to do with it.

you don’t give him a chance to figure it out. “don’t overthink it,” you say lightly, nudging his arm as you pass by. “it was just an exhibition, right?”

and well, you try not to overthink it either. in fact you try not to think about it at all. but you still wonder, would it have been that bad had it been a date?

you know you’re expecting too much of course, neither you nor jake had been close enough before this. sure, the month that had led up to this had been eventful, to say the least. but jake had never shown any romantic interest in you. or anyone, for that matter.

from what you knew, jake wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this. he was meticulous, methodical, everything in his life followed a formula, a pattern. work, research, the occasional gathering he was dragged into. he had routines, predictable rhythms, and you? you weren’t supposed to be part of any of it.

and yet, here you were.

you try to shove the thought away, but it lingers. because despite everything, despite your better judgment, you still wonder.

you replay the moment in your head – the hesitance in jake’s voice, the way he had carefully chosen his words. he had been thinking about it, too. maybe not in the way you wanted, but enough for him to ask. and that alone was dangerous, wasn’t it? the fact that he had considered it at all.

you take a deep breath, willing yourself to stop spiraling. it was just an exhibition. it wasn’t a date. jake had never given you a reason to think otherwise.

but the thing is – you don’t think you would have minded if he had.

the thought sits heavy in your chest as you go about your evening, but you ignore it. you go home. you change into more comfortable clothes. you eat dinner. and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you text jay.

which is how you end up here – sitting across from him at a bar, nursing a beer, and feeling considerably less fine about everything.

jay watches you, unimpressed. “so let me get this straight – you wanted it to be a date, but when jake asked if it was a date, you said no?”

you groan, knocking back another sip. “it sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“it is dumb.”

you glare at him. “it’s not that simple, okay? he looked—” you struggle for the right word. “weird. like he was waiting for me to say the wrong thing.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “and you thought the wrong thing was saying yes?”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “i don’t know. i just… i didn’t want to make it worse.”

jay studies you for a moment, then shakes his head. “you two are ridiculous.”

you shoot him a glare, but there’s no real bite to it. “it’s not that simple.”

jay scoffs. “no, it actually is. you had the chance to be honest, and you chickened out.”

you open your mouth, then close it. because as much as you hate to admit it – he’s right.

you had wanted it to be a date. and when jake, hesitant and uncertain, had asked if it was one, you had shut him down before he could even decide what he wanted to hear. because the truth? the truth was terrifying.

because if it had been a date, if jake had agreed, if jake had thought of it that way too – then what? what would you have done with that knowledge?

jay raises an eyebrow. “are you afraid jake would treat you different if you had told him it was a date?”

you stare down at your beer. “…i don’t know.”

you feel a bit ridiculous right now. like you were back in college, worrying over your crush noticing you and talking to your girlfriends about it.

jay sighs, shaking his head. “you know, for someone who started this whole thing trying to get jake to notice you, you sure are bad at dealing with him actually noticing you.”

you let out a dry laugh. “yeah, well. i didn’t expect to fall for him in the process.”

jay stills. you blink, realizing what you just said.

and then you exhale, pressing your fingers to your temple. “god.”

“you like him,” he repeats plainly, voice cutting through the noise of the bar.

there’s no teasing lilt, no smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he’s not mocking you. he’s just stating it like it’s a fact, like it’s something as obvious as the beer bottle in your hand or the way your fingers are tightening around it.

and maybe you should lie. maybe you should deflect, laugh it off, pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. because you’re exhausted. because there’s no point in pretending anymore.

“yeah,” you murmur, setting your bottle down. “i do.”

jay doesn’t react right away. he just leans back, tilts his head like he’s trying to piece something together. “and?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, shaking your head. “and what?”

jay gives you a look. “and what are you going to do about it?”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “nothing. what the hell am i supposed to do about it?”

“you spent all that time trying to get him to notice you,” jay says, propping his elbow up on the table. “and now that he has—”

“it’s not like that,” you interrupt, voice tight. “that was just—”

“a way to get under his skin?” jay lifts an eyebrow. “sure. but now?”

you don’t say anything. because now? now it is different.

now, you’re here, drowning in the weight of it, feeling like an idiot because you had let yourself hope. because you had wanted to call it a date. because when you had looked at jake in the dim glow of the exhibit, something had settled in your chest, something real and terrifying, something that had whispered, this is it.

you don’t shy away from it. you don’t deny it. but you also feel like a dumb teen with a crush, stomach twisting with something close to regret. because now that you’ve admitted it to yourself, you can’t take it back. you can’t pretend it was never there.

you look down at your hands, fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. “i don’t know what to do with this.”

jay exhales, leaning back. “you don’t have to do anything right now. but you should stop lying to yourself.”

silence stretches between you. heavy. unspoken. but something has shifted, set in stone.

and it’s not just the realization that you like jake. it’s the fear that it won’t matter.

jay watches you for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “you ever think that maybe… you’ve always liked him?”

your head snaps up. “what?”

he shrugs. “maybe it’s not that jake’s suddenly reciprocating, but that you’ve always had feelings for him, and now that he’s acting different, you’re finally noticing.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “bullshit. jake didn’t even want to call it a date.” you tip your bottle toward him, your mouth twisting bitterly. “reciprocate my ass.”

jay leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “just because he couldn’t call it a date doesn’t mean he didn’t want it to be one.”

you shake your head. “don’t do that. don’t sit here and try to make excuses for him. if he wanted it to be a date, he would have said so. it’s that simple.”

jay is quiet for a long moment. then, softer, “is it?”

you hate the way your throat tightens. the way your chest aches. because you don’t know the answer to that. because part of you knows that jake is different. that maybe it’s not as simple as him just not wanting it.

but that doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t say it. that he hesitated. that he left you to sit with that disappointment, with the weight of knowing you had wanted something more than he did.

so you don’t answer. you just grab your beer and take another drink, staring down at the table like it might give you the clarity you so desperately need.

jay doesn’t push any further. he just sits back, watching you, like he’s waiting for you to come to your own conclusion.

and you do.

the realization settles in your chest, heavy and unyielding.

you have feelings for jake. you have had feelings for jake. and maybe you’ve been trying to ignore them, to mask them as something else, but they’ve been there all along.

and now? now, you don’t know what to do with them.

twenty-one.

what do you do when you have feelings for someone you’ve just realised you’ve had feelings for a long time? what happens when you realise that the crush had secretly migrated into full blow ‘i like this person’ zone?

you do what any rational person would do when faced with undeniable, terrifying feelings for someone you weren’t supposed to fall for.

you avoid him.

it’s not obvious at first – or at least, you hope it isn’t. you still do your job, still interact with him when you have to. but you stop lingering after work. stop waiting by his office door with some offhand excuse just to talk to him. stop initiating conversations that aren’t strictly necessary.

jake notices the shift before he even fully understands it. the way you talk to him, the way you look at him – it’s different. not in a way that anyone else would catch, but jake isn’t anyone else. he’s spent too much time watching, listening, knowing exactly how you move through the world. and right now? you’re moving away from him.

not completely. not obviously. but in the way that matters.

you don’t linger after work anymore. you don’t stop by his office just to make some offhand comment about something completely unrelated to work. you still talk to him, still answer when he calls, but it’s all business now. and it’s throwing him off more than he cares to admit.

he tries not to overthink it. maybe he’s imagining things. maybe this is just how things are supposed to be. but then, he finds himself hesitating before he knocks on your office door one afternoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“hey, uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “lunch?”

you glance up from your desk, looking at him for a beat too long. and for a second, something flickers across your face – something that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t understand. but then, just as quickly, you smile.

“oh,” you say, then offer him an apologetic smile. “i can’t today. we’re going out for ms. heo’s birthday.”

jake blinks. “ms. heo?”

“from the assistant team,” you explain. “we’re all grabbing lunch together. it’s kind of a thing we do when someone’s got a birthday coming up.”

he doesn’t know why that surprises him. of course you’d have your own circle in the office, people who weren’t just him and jay. but the realization still sits uncomfortably in his chest, like something he should’ve known but never really considered until now.

“oh, right,” he says after a beat. “that makes sense.”

you hesitate for a second, almost like you’re about to say something else, but then you just give him a small wave before turning back to your work.

jake doesn’t go back to his office right away. instead, he watches as you leave with the others, watches the way you laugh at something someone says, watches the way you move so effortlessly in a space that suddenly feels completely separate from him.

and it hits him.

maybe you and him exist in two different worlds. maybe he’s only just now realizing it.

and that should be the end of it. but then, purely by coincidence – because of course, that’s all it is – he ends up at the same restaurant later that afternoon. it has nothing to do with the fact that he had asked you where you would be going. and it has nothing to do with the fact that he had dragged jay there despite the latter’s protests about how he had a report to file urgently.

jake tells himself he’s just here for lunch. that the fact that you’re sitting a few tables away, surrounded by your coworkers, is purely incidental.

jay, however, is not buying it.

“you’re the worst liar i’ve ever met,” he mutters, stabbing at his food with little enthusiasm.

jake doesn’t respond. he keeps his gaze on his own plate, like that might somehow stop his ears from picking up the sound of your laughter, the easy cadence of your voice as you talk to the others.

it’s strange.

he’s so used to seeing you in his space – his office, his schedule, his orbit. but here, surrounded by people who move through the world with you instead of just passing through it, you seem… different. freer, somehow. more yourself in a way that jake isn’t sure he’s ever seen before.

and it unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“dude,” jay says suddenly, dragging him out of his thoughts. “are you seriously considering it?”

jake frowns. “considering what?”

but jay just tilts his head in your direction. and that’s when jake realizes – somehow, at some point, he had started to stand up.

his pulse jumps. he hadn’t even thought about it. it had been instinctual, a decision made before his brain had even caught up to it.

he hesitates. this is a bad idea. he knows that. and yet, before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving, already making his way to your table.

the chatter quiets as he approaches. a few of your coworkers exchange confused glances, clearly just as thrown off by his presence as he is.

you look up last. your expression is unreadable.

jake clears his throat. “ms. heo.”

she blinks. “uh—yes?”

he exhales. no turning back now. “happy birthday.”

silence. and then,

“oh!” ms. heo recovers quickly, her surprise melting into a polite smile. “thank you, dr. sim!”

jake nods. “enjoy your lunch.”

and with that, he turns and walks off, forcing himself to keep his pace even, his shoulders squared.

by the time he reaches his table, jay is staring at him, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. jake doesn’t say anything as he picks up his fork. he doesn’t have to.

because now, after everything, after weeks of trying to make sense of this – he finally understands one thing: you aren’t the only one confused.

you on the other hand, are mildly confused. for a moment, nobody says anything and then, it’s like the entire table collectively short-circuits.

“did dr. sim just—?”

“what the hell was that?”

“wait, how did he even know?”

you barely hear them over the sound of your own thoughts, still stuck on the fact that jake – dr. jake sim, notorious for barely remembering his own birthday – had gone out of his way to wish ms. heo a happy one.

you snap out of it when ms. heo turns to you, wide-eyed. “was that because of you?”

“i—” you shake your head, just as baffled. “i have no idea.”

because really, you don’t. sure, jake has always been a little softer than people give him credit for, but this? this was unexpected.

and it was…it was sweet.

maybe too sweet, considering you’ve spent the last few weeks trying to convince yourself that none of this meant anything. that jake only saw you as his assistant, that you had just misread things, that any warmth between you had been incidental at best.

but now, here he is, going out of his way to do something thoughtful – something he had no reason to do.

and it lingers. the way his voice had sounded, a little quieter, like he wasn’t sure how it would land. the way he hadn’t even looked at you, not really, before walking off like he was escaping.

you shake your head, pushing the thought away.

later, when you pass by the dessert counter on the way out, you pause.

jake doesn’t like sweets. you know that. you’ve heard him say it a dozen times before. but when your hand moves before your mind can stop it, when you find yourself paying for an extra slice of the coffee cake, something that’s not too sweet, you tell yourself it’s just a small thing. just a thank you.

nothing more.

you don’t give it to him right away. instead, you leave it on his desk, tucked neatly in a small paper bag, the note attached reading simply:

for the birthday wishes.

and then you go about your day as if you haven’t just done something completely out of character. as if you haven’t just spent far too long deliberating over whether or not to leave the note at all. it’s ridiculous. you don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. it’s just a piece of cake.

except, when jake finds it, it doesn’t feel like just a piece of cake.

he stares at the bag for a long moment, fingers brushing over the note, the simple handwriting somehow making his chest feel inexplicably tight. he knows exactly who it’s from. knows exactly why you left it. and yet, when he opens it to finds the dessert – something just sweet enough but not overly so – he finds himself hesitating. because it’s from you. and for some reason, that means something.

so he doesn’t hesitate this time before approaching you in the hallway, the small paper bag in one hand, the note pinched between his fingers. you’re balancing a stack of folders, mid-step toward your office, when you hear him clear his throat.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he says after a moment, picking up the note between his fingers. his voice is quiet, almost careful.

you force a shrug, suddenly very interested in the pile of folders in your arms. “it’s just coffee cake. thought you might like it.”

jake studies you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to make sense of something. then, instead of setting the bag aside like you expect him to, he opens it, peeling back the paper to reveal the neatly packed slice inside. the scent of coffee and caramel drifts into the air between you.

you watch as he hesitates, then picks up the small fork tucked beside the container. you don’t think he’s actually going to take a bite – he’s made his distaste for sweets well known – but then, to your complete and utter shock, he does.

he takes a bite before he can overthink it. the taste is rich, the coffee flavor strong, just the way he likes it. and maybe he should’ve expected it, but there’s something about the fact that you remembered, that you even thought to pick something he might like, that makes his stomach twist in ways he doesn’t entirely understand.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just chews thoughtfully, expression unreadable. then, finally, he swallows, clears his throat, and glances at you. “it’s good.”

you blink. “you don’t have to lie.”

“i’m not.” he looks down at the cake, then back at you, almost like he can’t believe it himself. “i actually… like it.”

something strange and warm curls in your chest. you don’t know what to do with it. don’t know what to do with the way he’s looking at you right now – like you’ve somehow caught him off guard, like he doesn’t quite understand how you’ve managed to do that.

you clear your throat, shifting the folders in your arms. “well, good. wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

jake nods, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t move to put the fork down. he takes another bite, slower this time, and you realize with a start that he’s enjoying it. not just tolerating it. actually enjoying it.

the thought makes your stomach do something odd.

you take a step back, needing to put some distance between you before you start reading too much into things. “i should—um—i have some things to file. so…”

jake nods again, this time a little more distractedly, his gaze dropping back to the cake. “yeah. sure.”

you turn before he can say anything else, before you can let yourself linger, but as you leave, you hear the quiet scrape of his fork against the container, another bite taken.

the warmth in your chest lingers long after you’re gone.

as for jake, he doesn’t know what to make of it either. not yet. there was the whole 'date' fiasco before all of this.

the cake was a small thing, a simple thank-you, nothing inherently significant. and yet, as he stares down at the empty container on his desk, the lingering taste of coffee and caramel on his tongue, he can’t shake the feeling that it meant something more. that you meant something more by it.

he thinks about the way you looked at him, the way your voice had been just a little uncertain when you’d given it to him. thinks about the way you’ve been lately – present, but distant. still here, still doing your job, but something is different. something’s changed.

and he doesn’t know why it unsettles him so much.

jay finds him like that, still staring at the empty container like it might give him answers.

“dude,” jay says, sliding into the chair across from him, “i thought you didn’t like sweets.”

jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “i don’t.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “right. so that’s why you demolished that cake like it personally wronged you?”

jake scowls but doesn’t argue. he can’t. because jay is right, and they both know it.

jay studies him for a long moment, then leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “you know, for two of the smartest people in this office, you and y/n are really, really dumb.”

jake frowns. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

jay sighs dramatically. “it means you’re both dancing around whatever this is instead of just dealing with it like normal human beings.”

jake stiffens. “there is no ‘this.’”

jay just looks at him, unimpressed. “uh-huh. sure.” he gestures to the empty container. “tell me, would you have eaten that if it came from anyone else?”

jake doesn’t answer, because the truth is, he wouldn’t have. he knows it. jay knows it.

he wants to argue. wants to tell jay he’s wrong. but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. because something is changing, shifting, and he’s only just starting to realize it.

and it terrifies him.

because for the first time in a long time, jake thinks he might actually want something more. and he has no idea what to do about it.

twenty-two.

the first sign that something is off is the way jake is gripping his pen.

you notice it immediately when you step into his office, armed with a thick folder of notes for his upcoming conference. usually, he is composed, methodical – his precision extending even to the way he holds a pen, fingers relaxed yet firm. 

so when you see him hunched in his office one evening, a week before a big presentation, you can tell he’s stressed. his fingers are flying across his keyboard, typing in equations and theories as fast as he can.

it's one of those conferences where young researchers present their proposals for research. it's something jake has been working on the entire year – even before you came – and it's finally descending on him.

you linger by the doorway for a second, watching him. he hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on whatever calculations are running wild in his head. his brow is furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. his fingers hover above the keyboard for a second before he exhales sharply, leaning back and rubbing his temples.

he’s exhausted. you can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his usually neat hair is mussed, tangled in soft waves, as if he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

“dr. sim?”

his head snaps up at your voice, and for a brief second, something in his eyes flickers – something tense, something uncertain. it’s rare to see him like this, so unguarded, so unlike the astrophysicist who always seems to have the entire universe mapped out in his head.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, stepping closer. “are you nervous?”

jake exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “no,” he says, too quickly to be believable. then he pauses, scowling slightly before adjusting his glasses. “…maybe.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “maybe?”

he leans back, gaze flickering toward the papers spread across his desk. the conference is in two days – a huge opportunity, one that most scientists dream of. but instead of excitement, there’s only frustration etched into his features. “it doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “i’ve presented research before. i’ve written papers, given lectures – none of this is new to me.”

you tilt your head, watching him closely. he’s clearly overthinking this, spiraling in his own thoughts, which is unusual. jake never second-guesses himself. he never doubts.

but this time, something’s different. and for some reason, it bothers you.

enough that you move before you can think, reaching for his wrist. “okay, that’s enough.”

jake stills.

you tug at his hand, pulling him away from the desk. he doesn’t resist, though his expression is a mixture of confusion and intrigue as you guide him to stand up.

“step away,” you say firmly, steering him toward the window. “you’re overthinking.”

jake narrows his eyes. “i don’t—”

“you are.” you cut him off, leveling him with a look. “you’re spiraling, and you don’t even realize it.”

and then he looks at you. properly. he lets his heavy eyes rest on you, tilts his head slightly to match your height.

you’re too aware of him. it’s unbearable.

the way his fingers twitch against the desk, the way his jaw tenses, the way his throat moves when he swallows – you hate that you notice. hate that your body reacts to every little thing, hate that your heart stumbles over itself like some lovesick fool.

but none of that matters right now. because jake is spiraling, and you are the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

so you shove it all down. you tighten your grip on his wrist – not enough to startle him, just enough to be steady. to make sure he feels you there.

“step away,” you say, voice even, controlled. the exact opposite of how you feel inside. “breathe.”

jake exhales sharply, eyes flicking to yours. he hesitates, searching for something in your expression, and for one excruciating moment, you think he might see it – see the way you’re coming undone just being this close to him.

his jaw tenses, and for a second, you think he might argue. but then he lets out a breath, slow and measured, and glances at you. “…what do you suggest, then?”

you hesitate, then steel yourself. “you listen to me.”

his brow raises slightly, but there’s something amused in his gaze now, as if entertained by the fact that you’re taking charge.

you ignore it.

“i know you,” you continue. “i know that you hate failure, that you analyze everything until it’s perfect. but you need to stop treating yourself like an equation to solve, dr. sim. you’re—” you falter slightly, but then push through. “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

silence.

jake blinks at you, clearly caught off guard.

your heart hammers against your ribcage, but you don’t back down. “you don’t need to prove anything,” you say, voice softer this time. “not to anyone.”

for the first time since you entered the office, jake looks genuinely speechless.

you hesitated for only a moment before stepping beside him, reaching out to gently press a hand against his shoulder. the warmth of him seeped through the fabric of his dress shirt, and at last, you felt the smallest shift beneath your palm.

he exhales. “i need to get this right. the entire thesis hinges on this one equation and it’s just – it’s not clicking.”

you bit your lip, watching the tight set of his jaw, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to ward off an oncoming headache. you weren’t a scientist, and you certainly weren’t an astrophysicist. there was nothing you could do to help him solve the problem weighing him down. but you could pull him out of his own head – if only for a little while.

so you smiled, aiming for lighthearted. “okay, but have you considered that your brain might just be staging a rebellion? like, maybe it’s on strike until you feed it something that’s not data?”

jake let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. still, he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “i appreciate the concern, but i can’t afford to waste time.”

you hummed. “and what if i told you a break isn’t a waste? what if i told you that, statistically speaking, stepping away from a problem can actually improve problem-solving efficiency?”

that did make him look at you. a single brow arched, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “that so?”

“yeah.” you nodded solemnly. “saw it in an article once. probably written by someone much smarter than me.”

and just like that, the moment shifted.

the teasing lightness in your voice didn’t quite reach your eyes either, and jake noticed. he always noticed. something flickered across his face – something unreadable, something soft – as he turned slightly to face you. “you say that a lot,” he murmured. “like you don’t think you’re smart.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i mean… i work with people like you. people who spend their lives studying the universe, making discoveries that change the way we see the world. compared to that, i just… remind you of meetings and make sure you don’t skip meals.”

jake’s brows drew together, his expression darkening slightly. “that’s not—”

but you weren’t done

“jay said you didn’t really see me at first, you know. and i didn’t hate that. i mean, why would you? you’re brilliant, jake. you look at the stars and actually understand them. people like me? we just look up and think they’re pretty.”

silence stretched between you. heavy. uncomfortable. real.

jake stared at you, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. you didn’t realize it, but you’d just gutted him. there was something about the way you spoke, the way you brushed it off like it was nothing – as if you genuinely believed your own insignificance. it made something tighten in his chest, something he didn’t know how to name.

you meant more. more than your job. more than your standing in society. and jake – who had spent his entire life grounded in logic, in facts and equations – wanted to tell you that. wanted to tell you that, in this universe, you meant something.

that maybe, to someone, you meant everything.

his throat felt tight. he swallowed, trying to push past it. “that’s not true.”

you looked up at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice.

“you’re wrong,” he said, firmer this time. he leaned forward, eyes locked onto yours. “understanding the stars doesn’t make someone brilliant. i spent my whole life looking up, trying to figure out what’s out there, but you see what’s in front of you. you remind people to eat. you remind me to eat. you make sure i don’t get lost in my own head. that’s not nothing, y/n.”

you stared at him, lips parted, words caught somewhere between your mind and your tongue. you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all.

jake wasn’t sure why this mattered so much to him. he wasn’t sure why the thought of you belittling yourself made his chest feel like it was caving in. but as he sat there, watching the way your eyes softened with something uncertain, something almost hopeful, he realized—

he wanted to be someone who saw you. really saw you. and he was starting to hope, achingly, desperately so, that you saw him, too.

“when was the last time you ate?” you say, changing the subject and hoping against hope that your cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.

jake glances at his monitor as if the answer might be there. “…lunch?”

“that was six hours ago.”

at that, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “yeah. i lost track of time.”

you already figured as much. without another word, you set the small paper bag you brought onto his desk. he looks at it, then at you, puzzled.

“i stopped by that bakery after work,” you say, not quite meeting his eyes. “figured you might need something.”

there’s a pause.

“you went all the way there?” his voice is quiet, almost unreadable.

you shrug. “it’s friday.”

jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at the bag before carefully pulling it toward him. he opens it, and the scent of fresh pastries immediately fills the space. his shoulders loosen slightly.

“it’s the coffee cake i got you last time, you seemed to like it.” please someone, make the ground crack open and swallow you whole/

“…thanks,” he murmurs. then turns away as if physically trying to shield himself.

you nod, pretending to busy yourself by scanning the contents of his desk. there are notes everywhere, covered in equations and scattered diagrams, a barely-touched cup of coffee off to the side.

“is this for your conference?” you ask, gesturing at the mess.

jake sighs, sitting back in his chair. “yeah. the presentation is next week, and i still need to finalize my model. it’s a mess.”

you glance at the numbers on the screen. “you say that like i can’t already tell.”

he huffs a quiet laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot. i’ve been working on this for months, and if i screw it up now—” he exhales sharply. “i don’t know.”

you watch him for a second, weighing your words. then, without thinking too much about it, you sit on the edge of his desk.

“you won’t screw it up,” you say simply.

jake looks up, surprised. “you sound pretty confident.”

you tilt your head. “because i’ve seen how much you care about this. and i’ve never seen you half-ass anything. so, yeah. i’m confident.”

something shifts in his expression.

it’s subtle, but you catch it – the way his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. like he wasn’t expecting you to believe in him so easily.

a beat of silence passes. then, his gaze flickers down, like he’s trying to hide something. “you have too much faith in me.”

“maybe,” you say, watching him carefully. “or maybe you just don’t have enough in yourself.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the only sound in the room is the faint hum of his monitor and the city buzzing outside the windows.

then, slowly, his fingers tighten around the paper bag in his hands. he nods once – more to himself than to you.

“…i should eat.”

you take that as your cue to leave, pushing off his desk. “yeah. you should.”

you don’t expect him to say anything else, so you’re already halfway out the door when his voice stops you.

“hey.”

you glance back.

jake hesitates for a second before meeting your eyes. there’s something softer there, something unspoken.

“…thanks,” he says again, quieter this time.

you don’t reply, just give him a small nod before slipping out. and as you walk away, you feel it – that shift, that quiet realization.

something between you and jake sim is changing.

and there’s no stopping it now.

it’s a thought jake finds himself pondering upon too, when it's too late and all the lights in the office have gone out except his own and few stragglers, probably pulling all nighters like him.

his eyes hurt, squinting at his screen all day. if you had been here, you would have probably forced him to take some eye drops. it makes him let out a small laugh which dies as soon as it falls off his lips.

since when did he start thinking of what you would have done?

a quiet sigh escapes his lips. honestly he should have seen this coming. but here’s the thing – jake’s not good with feelings. well, he can’t be a judge of that entirely, mostly because he never tried. he’s never dated, never been in a relationship before, never even had a crush. and now that there’s an inkling of those feelings starting to rise up on him, he’s rightly confused.

jake exhales, leaning back in his chair, eyes trained on the ceiling. he should get back to work. he needs to get back to work. but his thoughts keep circling back to you – the way you just knew he hadn’t eaten, the way you told him he wouldn’t screw this up like it was a fact rather than a possibility.

the pastries sit untouched on his desk. he should eat. that’s what you’d tell him. that’s what he had promised you.

so he does.

the first bite is soft, a little too sweet – just like the memories it brings back.

because it’s friday, and you went all the way there, to get him your favorite pastries. it’s like he’s slowly stepping into you orbit, getting a taste of your life. what you like, what you eat…. and he’s never had this before. never had someone think of him like this.

jake sets the pastry down carefully, staring at it like it holds answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. he can’t be imagining things, right? this feeling creeping up on him – this warmth, this tension that makes his fingers twitch whenever you’re near.

but what is it? what is this?

he scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated. damn it.

he hates not knowing things. he hates uncertainties, hates dealing in emotions when logic has always been his safest place.

so maybe he is overthinking it. maybe this is just you being nice, because that’s who you are. you care about people. this is just who you are.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. he glances back at his screen, at the blinking cursor waiting for him to continue his work, but his mind is already far, far away.

and then he sees it.

the note is small – just a simple sticky note pressed under the cardboard box, written in your handwriting. the ink is slightly smudged, probably from your fingers. jake stares at it longer than he should. he had almost missed it

“betelgeuse is still shining. you’ll get through it too!”

his stomach does something weird, a strange, unfamiliar pull tightening at his ribs. it’s like…it’s like someone suddenly opened a jar of butterflies within that erupted out all at once.

it shouldn’t be a big deal. it’s just a note. just like the dozens he’s left you over the past few weeks – facts about galaxies, black holes, the andromeda-milky way collision – but this one is different.

because it’s from you. because you thought about him. because you left it for him in return.

because you listened to him. and you remembered.

his grip on the note tightens. damn it.

jake has spent years understanding the mechanics of the universe, memorizing equations that map out the way things move, how things change. but this? this thing blooming in his chest – this warm, unfamiliar ache that lingers long after you’ve left – he has no formula for this.

no equation, no logical explanation.

just the undeniable, inescapable fact that you are getting under his skin. and for some reason, that thought sits uncomfortably in his chest.

for some reason, it feels too familiar.

jake thinks about the way his world has subtly, almost imperceptibly, started revolving around you. how your presence has become a fixed point in his orbit. the quiet check-ins, the shared lunches, the notes, the way you listen when he talks about the universe like you actually care. the way you look at him sometimes, like he’s someone worth looking at.

it was slow. a gradual shift. like a planet caught in a gravitational pull stronger than its own. he hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t noticed the way he kept looking for you in a room, the way his mood lifted at the sound of your voice, the way he found himself wanting to make you laugh just to hear it again.

but now? now it’s undeniable.

because the second he sees that note, the second he realizes that you left it there because you know him – know how he’d find it interesting, how he’d read it and think of you – something in his chest collapses.

a free fall. a point of no return.

jake grips the note tighter, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.

shit.

twenty-three.

jake doesn’t throw the note away.

he should. he should crumple it up, toss it in the bin, move on like it’s just another piece of paper. but he doesn’t. instead, it sits on his desk, half-hidden under a stack of equations and research notes, but never gone.

and maybe that’s why, over the next few days, something shifts.

it’s subtle at first.

monday, you bring him coffee. not on purpose – not really. you just had an extra one, you said. leftover from a run you made with a coworker. jake takes it without thinking, murmuring a quiet thanks. he doesn’t even realize until later that it’s exactly how he likes it.

wednesday, you’re in the break room at the same time. he doesn’t even mean to say anything, but somehow, you’re talking. about his presentation, about the stress, about how he’s barely sleeping. you listen like it matters. you tell him, very simply, “you’re going to be fine.” and for some reason, it sticks.

friday, you pass by his office when he’s too in his head to notice much of anything – until you pause in the doorway. you don’t step in, don’t linger too long, but your voice is steady when you say, “don’t forget to eat.”

and he doesn’t.

it’s nothing big. nothing dramatic. just… small things. but jake notices them. he notices you. and by friday night, when he finds himself staring at that damn note again, he realizes—

you’ve been there. all week. a quiet presence, slipping into his orbit before he even knew it was happening.

and for the first time, maybe ever, jake doesn’t mind.

scratch that, he stopped minding a long time ago. he stopped minding the day he had snapped at you and you had made yourself sparse to him. your little note had just been a nail in the coffin, the final act before he had fully realised the extent of his feelings.

the problem is, he doesn’t know feelings. he knows of them, but it all circles back to him being abysmally clueless on how this stuff works. does he just tell you? or are you supposed to figure it out by yourself?

jake doesn’t tell you.

not because he doesn’t want to. not because the thought hasn’t crossed his mind a hundred times over the past week, every time he sees you or hears your voice or finds another piece of you lingering in his space. no, he doesn’t tell you because he genuinely has no idea how to.

it’s a frustrating thing, realizing something but having no clear answer for what comes next. he’s spent years solving equations, mapping out trajectories, following strict logic to find the right answer. but this? this isn’t logical. there are no equations for this. no step-by-step process he can follow. no set reaction to plug into a formula that will tell him what to do.

and it’s driving him insane.

by saturday night, he’s overthinking so hard that his brain refuses to function properly, so he does what he always does when he needs a break – he texts jay. which is how he finds himself at a quiet bar, sitting across from his best friend while nursing a whiskey he barely remembers ordering.

jay watches him, unimpressed. "are you going to actually drink that or just stare at it until it evaporates?"

jake huffs but takes a sip. it burns in a way that should ground him, but his mind is still tangled elsewhere. jay catches the way his brows pinch together, the way he keeps fidgeting with the rim of his glass.

he smirks. "so. you wanna tell me why you've been acting weird for the past week?"

"i haven’t been acting weird."

jay raises a brow, unimpressed. “you just spent the last five minutes sighing at your drink like it personally wronged you.”

jake exhales sharply, shaking his head. "it’s nothing. i just... i don't know."

jay leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, clearly entertained. "oh, this is gonna be good. go on.

“jay, it’s just... how do you know when something's different?”

jay blinks. “different how?”

jake exhales. “like… when someone just—” he gestures vaguely. “—gets into your head. but not in a bad way. just – suddenly, they’re there. and you don’t know when it started, but you know it’s not going away anytime soon.”

jay tilts his head, considering him for a long moment. and then, he snorts.

jake glares. “what?”

“nothing. it’s just—” jay shakes his head, amusement flickering across his face. “man, this feels like déjà vu.”

jake frowns. “what does that mean?”

jay only shrugs, but there's something knowing in his gaze. something infuriating. “nothing. just keep going.”

jake scowls but does, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know, dude. it’s just…you know how you can watch something fall into place in real time? like, it’s not sudden, it’s just a shift, slow and inevitable?”

jay hums. “yeah. i do.”

jake huffs out a humorless laugh. “yeah? and what do you call that?”

jay takes a sip of his drink, eyes glinting over the rim. “you tell me.”

jake doesn’t answer, just frowns at the table, running his thumb over the condensation on his glass. his thoughts have been a mess ever since you left that note – ever since you started feeling less like an anomaly and more like a constant.

and it’s not just the note. it’s the way you notice things, the way you always make sure he eats, the way you listen when he talks about space like it means something to you. it’s the way you looked at him that night in his office, like he was someone worth believing in.

jake shifts uncomfortably, gripping his glass. “i don’t know,” he mutters.

jay sighs. “you do know. you’re just refusing to say it out loud.”

jake looks away. he knows what jay wants him to admit, but there’s something about it – about the weight of acknowledging it – that makes his chest feel tight.

jake exhales, pressing his fingers against his temples. “i just don’t get it,” he mutters.

jay tilts his head. “get what?”

“this,” jake gestures vaguely, frustration bleeding into his voice. “how people do it. the whole – liking someone, being in a relationship, whatever.”

jay watches him for a second, expression unreadable. “you mean… how people fall in love?”

jake tenses. the word feels heavy, pressing against his ribcage like something sharp. “i don’t know if it’s that,” he says, and it’s the truth. “i just – how do people bank on feelings like that? they’re not stable, they change all the time. how do you trust something that’s basically unpredictable?”

jay’s quiet for a long moment. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more thoughtful. “not everything is an equation, jake.”

jake exhales sharply. “yeah, i figured that out the hard way.”

jay doesn’t laugh. instead, he studies jake carefully, and then, as if piecing things together, his gaze turns knowing. “this isn’t just about her, is it?”

jake stills. and suddenly, his mother’s voice rings in his head; ‘don’t be like your dad, jake. don’t push people away.’

jake grips his glass tighter. he hates this part – the part where everything circles back to the one thing he never wants to think about.

jay leans forward slightly, like he already knows. like he’s seen this before. “it’s about your dad, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “it’s not—” he pauses, jaw tightening. “it’s not about him.”

he clenches his jaw, stares at the table. he knows he should let it go, but the words spill out before he can stop them.

“i just don’t get how people do it,” he mutters, voice lower now. “how they just decide to trust someone. to be with them. like it’s that easy.”

jay hums. “it’s not easy.”

jake looks up, brows furrowing as if begging to understand whatever this was.

jay shrugs, swirling his drink. “it’s not easy. and yeah, sometimes feelings change. sometimes they don’t last. but sometimes, they do.” he pauses, then adds, “sometimes, they’re the only thing that does.”

jake doesn’t say anything, just stares at his drink.

jay exhales. “you ever think maybe that’s the whole point? that people choose to believe in it, even when it’s uncertain?”

jake clenches his jaw. “and what if they’re wrong?”

jay tilts his head. “what if they’re right?”

jay watches him for a long moment, then leans back. “look, man,” he says, more casual now. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. but if you’re waiting for some kind of certainty – some mathematical proof that tells you this is safe – you’re gonna be waiting forever.”

jake doesn’t answer, just stares at his drink.

jay sighs, but there’s no frustration in it this time – just something almost fond. “you like her,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

jake doesn’t answer. he just exhales, jaw clenched, grip tightening around his glass like it’s the only thing tethering him to the present. because if he lets himself think – really think – he’ll have to admit it: that it’s not just about liking you. it’s about what comes after. about how people leave. about how things change. about how he spent years watching his mother hold onto something that was never coming back, watching her tell herself if i try harder, if i love more, he’ll stay – and how none of it had mattered in the end.

because sometimes, love isn’t enough. and jake has never been the kind of person to bet on something that fragile.

jay watches him, expression unreadable. he’s quiet for a moment, letting the weight of jake’s silence settle between them. then, with a sigh, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“you know,” jay starts, voice even, “for a guy who spends all his time solving impossible problems, you sure make this one more complicated than it needs to be.”

jake huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s humorless, empty. “that’s the thing, jay,” he mutters. “this is impossible.”

jay raises a brow. “how do you figure?”

jake shakes his head, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “because—” he stops, jaw working, frustration curling in his throat. “because she’s her,” he finally says, like that alone should explain everything. “and i’m me.”

jay just blinks. “wow. that sure cleared things up.”

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “she’s… she’s good, jay. she believes in things. in people. she thinks the best of them, even when they don’t deserve it.” his voice dips lower, almost bitter. “even when i don’t deserve it.”

jay doesn’t respond immediately, just watches him, waiting.

jake exhales, shakes his head. “and she’s smart – god, she’s so smart. not just in the way i am, not just formulas and logic and equations. she understands people. she sees them.” he huffs out a humorless laugh. “she listens to me talk about space like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, like any of it matters, and i know that she sees something in me that i don’t. that maybe no one else does.”

jay tilts his head, watching him carefully. “and that scares you?”

jake scoffs, but it’s too sharp, too forced. “of course it scares me.” he clenches his jaw. “because what if she’s wrong?”

jay sighs. “let me get this straight,” he says, slow and deliberate. “you’re saying she sees something in you that no one else does, that she thinks you’re worth believing in—" he lifts a brow. “and that’s the problem?”

jake clenches his fists. “she called me brilliant.” his voice is quiet, almost small. “the most brilliant man she’s ever known.” he swallows hard. “she believes in me.”

jay tilts his head. “and?”

jake exhales, voice hollow. “and i don’t.”

jay stills.

for once, he doesn’t have a quick remark, doesn’t shoot back with a knowing smirk or a snarky comment. he just looks at jake, really looks at him, and it makes something in jake’s chest tighten, makes him want to take it all back before jay can say anything.

but jay just exhales. “okay,” he says after a beat. “say you’re right.”

jake blinks. “what?”

“say you’re right,” jay repeats, shrugging. “say she does see something in you that you don’t. say she thinks you’re brilliant, that she believes in you when you don’t believe in yourself.” he lifts his brows. “what then?”

jake doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t even know why the question makes his stomach twist.

jay leans forward, eyes sharp. “are you saying she’s wrong?”

jake presses his lips together.

“because if you are,” jay continues, “then you’re saying she’s not as smart as you think she is. you’re saying she doesn’t know you at all.” he pauses, lets it sit. “but we both know that’s not true.”

jake swallows. he hates this. hates how easily jay gets under his skin, how he takes things jake can’t even put into words and lays them out in front of him, undeniable.

jay watches him for a long moment. “you know what i think?” he says finally. “i think you’re so used to proving yourself with numbers and theories and things that make sense, that you don’t know what to do when someone just… believes in you. no proof, no equations. just you.”

jake tenses. he hates how much that makes sense.

jay shakes his head, softer now. “and i think that scares the hell out of you.”

jake exhales sharply, staring at the table. “you make it sound so simple.”

jay snorts. “oh, it’s not. it’s the farthest thing from simple. but that’s the thing, jake.” he leans back. “people don’t believe in you because it’s logical. they don’t care about how many degrees you have, or how many papers you’ve published, or how many theories you can prove.” he tilts his head. “she doesn’t believe in you because of those things. she believes in you, period.”

jake clenches his jaw, the weight of it all pressing into him, heavier than he knows what to do with.

jay watches him for a long moment before sighing. “you really think she’d waste her time on someone who wasn’t worth it?”

jake flinches.

jay shakes his head. “then maybe the real question is—" his voice dips, steady, almost quiet. "why don’t you?"

and that is the one question jake doesn’t have an answer for.

jake grips his glass tighter. the ice has melted now, whiskey diluted and forgotten. but he’s not really looking at it. he’s looking at nothing, eyes unfocused, as jay’s words echo in his head, looping over and over until they settle like lead in his stomach.

maybe he does have an answer.

but if he admits the truth – if he lets himself acknowledge that he’s the only one standing in his own way – then he has to face everything else, too. the quiet belief that he’s not enough. that no matter how much he wants you, how much you linger in his mind, it doesn’t change the fact that you are you and he is him. that you are warm and bright and brilliant, and he is… jake. just jake.

a man who is scared to believe in something good because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold onto it.

the thought weighs heavy, pressing down on his ribs, and before he can second-guess himself, before he can think at all, he’s pulling out his phone.

jake barely registers jay muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. the moment he’s gone, the absence is almost too much. like his thoughts, which had been held back by the steady presence of his best friend, finally push through the floodgates, drowning him whole.

your phone buzzes against your nightstand, the unexpected call lighting up your screen. you blink at the name flashing across it.

dr. jake sim.

your stomach flips. jake never calls. he barely texts. if he needs something, he emails. the fact that he’s calling you – past midnight, no less – has you scrambling to answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hello? dr. sim”

there’s silence, then a low exhale. and then—

“why do you call me that?”

his voice is gruff, lower than usual, edged with something unreadable. you frown, shifting upright in bed. “call you what?”

“dr. sim,” he mutters, as if the words themselves irritate him. “told you to call me jake.”

his voice is rough – low and gruff in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. but it’s not the usual sharp-edged jake you’re used to. it’s looser, unguarded. and… is that the faintest hint of a slur in his words?

you blink. he sounds… off. not angry, not exactly, but different. looser. and that’s when it clicks.

"wait – are you drunk?"

a heavy sigh, followed by the sound of something shuffling in the background. "m’not drunk. just – thinking. about space. about the way everything moves, how nothing stays still. it’s all just—" he exhales, long and slow. "cosmic entropy."

you blink. "...what."

"everything’s always changing," he murmurs, voice dipping lower. "expanding, shifting, breaking apart. that’s the nature of the universe. you can’t stop it. can’t predict it. and yet… people still try. they believe in things staying the same, believe in things lasting." he scoffs, the sound almost bitter. "how do they do that?"

you sit up a little straighter, heart hammering. he’s never called you before. he barely even texts. and now he’s on the phone with you, drunk, rambling about entropy and permanence and—

"jake," you start carefully, "where are you?"

"bar." a pause. "jay’s in the washroom."

of course he is. you press a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. "okay. do you need me to—"

"i just don’t get it," he interrupts, voice dropping into something almost too quiet, too raw. "how can people trust something so uncertain? how do they just… believe?"

your throat tightens. you don’t know what to say to that, don’t know how to answer a question that sounds so much bigger than just theoretical physics. so instead, you latch onto the one thing you do know.

"jake," you say again, softer this time. "do you want me to come get you?"

he doesn’t respond right away. and for a moment, you think maybe he’s drifted off, lost in whatever spiral of thoughts led him here in the first place.

"no," he says, quiet but firm. "just… stay on the phone. just for a bit."

your breath catches. but you don’t hang up. instead you stare at your phone, half expecting the call to drop any second, but it doesn’t. instead, jake keeps talking, voice low and gruff, words a little slurred but still oddly deliberate.

“i mean it,” he says, like it’s the most important thing in the world. “i told you to call me jake.”

you blink. “you’re literally drunk right now.”

“so?” he huffs, and you can hear the faint clink of ice in his glass, like he’s still holding his drink. “that doesn’t change anything.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between frustration and the undeniable amusement bubbling in your chest. you have no idea how you ended up here – half-asleep in your pajamas, curled up on your couch, listening to your boss slash co-worker slash not-so-secret-crush spiral into some kind of drunken existential crisis.

“this is so weird,” you mutter to yourself.

“what’s weird?”

“this. this whole situation –  you calling me. you never call me.”

there’s a pause on the other end, just long enough for you to wonder if you said something wrong. then—

“you never call me either.”

that throws you off. you shift on the couch, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “i—well, yeah, because…you’re you.”

jake exhales, slow and deliberate. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you open your mouth, then close it again, realizing you don’t actually have a proper answer. because what are you supposed to say? that he intimidates you? that half the time, you don’t even know where you stand with him? that despite all that, he somehow manages to take up space in your mind like he’s carved out a permanent place there?

instead, you say, “you just – don’t seem like the type to want people calling you all the time.”

another pause. then, softer this time, “maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

your breath catches in your throat. your brain stalls completely. and jake – oblivious, drunk, or just too far gone to care – keeps talking.

“you ever think about the cosmos?” he murmurs. “like, really think about it? how we’re just – these tiny, insignificant specs in a universe that doesn’t even know we exist?”

you stare at the ceiling, trying to steady your pulse. “that’s…a little depressing.”

“nah,” jake hums. “it’s kinda beautiful, isn’t it? the fact that we’re here at all. that somehow, out of all the possible outcomes, we exist at the same time, in the same place.”

you swallow. something about the way he says it – low, thoughtful, like he’s on the verge of some grand realization – makes your chest feel tight.

“…jake,” you start, but before you can say anything else, there’s some muffled noise on his end, followed by a familiar voice groaning something that sounds like, “oh my god.”

you recognize it instantly. “jay?”

“yeah, it’s me,” jay sighs. “please tell me he’s not talking your ear off about space.”

you glance at the clock. “he might have been.”

jay groans again. “of course he was.” then, directing his attention away from the phone, “dude, i leave for two seconds and you’re out here drunk dialing her?”

jake mumbles something in response, but it’s too quiet for you to make out. jay sighs again, more exasperated this time. “alright, i’m cutting him off. sorry for…whatever this was.”

you can’t help but laugh. “it’s fine. take care of him.”

“oh, don’t worry. he’s not living this down.”

you hear a faint protest from jake, but the call cuts off before you can catch what he says. you stare at your phone for a moment, heart still racing, brain still scrambling to process everything that just happened.

jake had called you. drunk. talking about the cosmos. and…maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.

you drop your phone onto your lap, pressing your face into your hands.

yeah. you were so not getting any sleep tonight.

twenty-four.

jake wakes up to the worst headache of his life. his skull feels like it’s been cracked open and stuffed with static, his mouth is drier than the sahara, and worst of all – there’s a deep, bone-chilling sense of dread sitting heavy in his chest.

he groans, shifting onto his back, trying to force his brain to function past the pain. the details of last night are foggy, blurred at the edges like a half-remembered dream.

he remembers the bar. he remembers jay. he remembers whiskey.

and then his eyes snap open. oh, no.

he remembers a phone call. he remembers your voice.

“shit,” he rasps.

from somewhere in the room, jay makes a noise – amused, awake, too awake for this hour. “good morning to you too, casanova.”

jake groans again, draping an arm over his eyes. “what did i do?”

jay doesn’t answer immediately, which is bad. jay loves rubbing things in his face, so if he’s holding back, it means he’s screwed. really fucking screwed.

jake forces himself up, barely able to sit without his head spinning. “jay,” he says, voice rough. “what did i do?”

jay is grinning. he’s too pleased, sipping his coffee like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “dunno, man,” he says, tilting his head. “why don’t you tell me?”

jake stares at him. then, cautiously, he checks his phone.

the call log is there. 13 minutes. what the fuck did he say…

he exhales sharply, gripping his phone tighter. “okay. so, i called her. what did i say?”

jay just shrugs, far too casual. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

jake nearly lunges across his bed. it does not help that the twenty four hours of agony that follow are pure, undiluted hell.

jake spends all of sunday trying to recall details from the call. some parts come back in flashes – something about the cosmos, something about his name. something about… maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you...

which – yeah, that part alone is enough to make him consider moving to another continent. because what the hell was he thinking? he’s not the kind of guy to get drunk and call someone? especially not someone he likes. or maybe he is, since he’s never liked anyone before you.

by sunday evening, jake is halfway convinced he’s destroyed the only real connection he’s ever had that wasn’t based on logic or academia.

he doesn’t go outside. doesn’t even open his blinds. the sunlight feels too loud.

every time he remembers a new detail from the call – your voice when you answered, the soft laugh in the background, the way he apparently said your name like it was a lifeline – he sinks deeper into his mattress and contemplates erasing himself from the space-time continuum.

he googles how to fake your own death in the 21st century and immediately regrets it.

he briefly considers texting you. something casual. maybe: hey. sorry if i was weird last night. or just. weird in general.

he doesn’t send it. instead, he stares at the open and empty text box for ten whole minutes before deleting it and throwing his phone across the room like it’s personally responsible for ruining his life.

by monday morning, he’s more nauseous than he’s ever been in his life – part embarrassed, part anxiety, all nerves. he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he looks as terrible as he feels. (he does.)

jake is running on approximately two hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and the sheer willpower not to combust.

he makes it through the front doors of the lab with his head down, his headphones in, and his hope clinging to the desperate idea that maybe, by his sheer will of manifestation – you’re running late today.

you are not. because of course you’re not. you're always on time. of course.

you’re halfway down the hallway, looking just as composed and steady as always, clipboard in hand, hair pulled back in that way that should not make his heart stutter but absolutely does.

jake stops walking. like, fully halts.

you look up just then – because the universe has no chill – and your eyes meet his.

it’s maybe a second. maybe less. but it’s enough. because jake short-circuits.

he forgets how to move, how to blink, how to breathe. you don’t smile, but your expression softens, and it’s so much worse. because there’s something unreadable in your gaze. something curious. something almost fond.

jake panics. he looks away so fast it should cause whiplash and fumbles with his keycard like it personally offended him.

you don’t say anything. you just keep walking.

and jake? jake shuffles sideways like he’s trying to blend into the drywall. his fingers tremble as he finally swipes in, and the second he’s inside his lab, he shuts the door and leans against it like he just outran a tsunami.

from the other side of the hallway, your heart is beating somewhere near your ears. because what the hell just happened?

jake looked like he saw a ghost. or like he was the ghost. and you? you weren’t even trying to be weird, you just looked at him. like a normal person. and he—

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your clipboard tighter, silently begging the floor to open up and swallow you whole. because yes, jake is usually awkward, but he’s never… nervous.

not like that. not like he’s the one with a crush now.

jake lasts approximately three minutes in the lab before he realizes he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown.

because all he can think about is your face when your eyes met his. not shocked. not annoyed. just… soft. warm. the kind of look he’s only seen you give the stars when you’re studying the simulation or looking at the readings he forgot to be proud of until you pointed them out. it’s the kind of look that ruins him.

his brain is running a mile a minute, trying to reconstruct the pieces of last night’s call. he knows he said too much. knows he was rambling. he remembers – faintly – your voice saying “dr. sim,” and how that had cut through the haze in his head like lightning. he’d practically growled at you for it. told you to call him jake. not asked. demanded, more like.

he groans, dragging a hand over his face as he leans against the cool metal table, hoping the shame will physically leave his body.

he should say something. apologize. pretend it didn’t mean anything. but what if you pretend it didn’t mean anything? what if you smile like usual and tease him about being drunk and call him “dr. sim” again and laugh – and mean nothing by it? what then?

because jake doesn’t think he can take it. doesn’t think he can survive being the only one who’s still stuck on what he said. on what he meant.

especially now that he knows it’s you. it’s always been you.

you, meanwhile, are doing a very good job pretending to be normal. you’re even answering emails. smiling at coworkers. nodding politely as if your entire brain isn’t short-circuiting every time you replay the sound of his voice from last night. that low, unfiltered, almost serious tone when he said your name. when he muttered things you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear. things that didn’t sound like drunken nonsense so much as buried thoughts slipping past the guard he always kept so firmly in place.

yeah, you expected him to pretend nothing happened. but you did not expect to look at you like you’d caught him in a secret he didn’t know how to hide anymore.

but as the day continues, you’re unsure of what’s going on. because it already begins with jake nearly bolting in the opposite direction when he catches a glimpse of you turning the corner. it’s too early, he hasn’t had coffee, and he’s already nursing a headache that refuses to fade.

but as the day drags on, it becomes painfully obvious that it’s not. it’s you.

he spends most of the morning ducking behind doorways and acting like he’s suddenly deeply fascinated by spreadsheets he’d normally ignore. you’re around, of course – you always are – but it feels different today. jake can sense the difference in how his heartbeat spikes when he hears your voice, how his gaze flickers toward the hallway every time there’s movement, hoping and dreading in equal measure that it’s you.

the worst part? you’re trying. he sees it in the way you glance his way, the way you linger by the break room longer than usual, clearly waiting for a chance to talk. and jake? he wants to. god, he wants to. but every time he’s just about to walk over, something gets in the way.

first, it’s a department head asking for a last-minute update on his research. then, it’s a scheduling conflict about the upcoming conference that pulls him into an impromptu meeting. by the time he escapes, it’s already lunch hour – but you’re not in your usual spot.

he waits, telling himself you’re probably just running late. then he tells himself you’re probably eating at your desk. then he tells himself to stop being pathetic. he doesn’t eat either.

the afternoon is even worse.

every time he crosses paths with you, it’s like a scene designed to test his patience. you’re walking one way, he’s being pulled the other. you open your mouth to say something, but a colleague interrupts. he steps forward to greet you, but someone calls your name. it’s like the entire universe has conspired to keep you two from talking.

by 4 p.m., he’s convinced the day is cursed. the only moment he gets any semblance of peace is when he steps into the lecture hall to prepare for his keynote talk at the upcoming conference. it’s quiet. the kind of quiet that usually calms him.

it doesn’t work this time.

because now that he’s alone, his mind is a mess of what-ifs. what if you’re avoiding him? what if you regret picking up the phone? what if you remember more than he does? what if you think he’s an idiot?

what if you don’t feel the same way?

he rubs his hands over his face and stares at the empty auditorium. he’s supposed to be reviewing his slides. instead, he’s imagining the way you’d sounded that night – half-confused, half-soft, calling him dr. sim until he’d grumbled for you to use his name.

and the way you’d said it like it meant something. he wants to believe it still does.

but he doesn’t get to linger in that thought. another knock at the door. another set of questions. another missed moment.

the office is quiet.

it’s late – most people have already gone home, and the hallways have settled into that strange, liminal hum that only exists when the world is caught between work and rest. jake’s still in his office, slumped in his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, the hum of his computer casting faint blue shadows across his desk.

he should be exhausted. he is exhausted. but his mind refuses to slow down.

you’d looked at him differently today. not in a bad way, not cold or distant, but like you were waiting for something. like you expected something from him. and jake had felt that expectation like a weight in his chest, crushing and confusing and impossible to shake.

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

all day, he’d meant to pull you aside. at lunch, when you passed by his desk. at four, when you bumped into him in the hallway. even just ten minutes ago, when he watched you gather your things with a smile too polite to be anything real.

he didn’t say a word.

because the phone call – that damn phone call – had changed everything and nothing all at once.

he doesn’t remember all of it. just enough. your voice calling him dr. sim. the way his stomach flipped even then.and then the part that keeps ringing in his ears, soft and slurred and unmistakably honest: "maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you."

jake groans, burying his face in his hands. he’s never going to live that down.

but the worst part – the part that won’t leave him alone – is that he meant it. still means it. and if he’s honest with himself, he’s probably meant it for a while.

the conference. that’s where this started, didn’t it?

you were the one who told him he could do it. when he was spiraling over deadlines and expectations, when he was ready to pull the plug on the entire presentation and lock himself in his office forever, you were the one who’d looked him dead in the eye and said, “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

he’d scoffed at the time. maybe rolled his eyes. but he’d remembered it. he still remembers it.

and now, the thought of going to that conference – the one he’d only agreed to because you pushed him to – feels… wrong, if you’re not there.

he turns, slowly, letting his gaze drift toward the narrow window in his door. you’re still here.

sitting at your desk, a little slumped over your laptop, frowning in that way you do when you’re too focused to blink. your glasses are slightly askew, your hair a little messy, and jake thinks, without meaning to, how easy it would be to step outside right now. to knock on your desk, to ask you.

but not as his assistant – as something else.

he swallows hard, fingers tightening into fists on his lap. because here’s the thing: he doesn’t want to mess this up. he doesn’t want you to think the invitation is out of guilt or obligation or some weird post-drunken-embarrassment overcompensation. he wants to ask because he wants you there. because maybe he wants to hear your voice in his ear when he’s standing backstage. because maybe – he wants to see what it’s like to have someone like you beside him. for real.

and maybe, for once, he doesn’t want to be afraid of what that means.

his eyes fall back on the small bag by his desk, where the neatly printed schedule for the conference sits, tucked between scribbled notes and a half-eaten protein bar. he pulls it out slowly, flipping it open.

three days. two presentations. one person he wishes was going with him.

jake breathes out, slow and deep. he’s making a decision.

this time, he’s going to do it right. not by accident, not drunk, not in some cryptic metaphor or half-baked excuse. he’s going to ask you. properly. without hiding behind science or sarcasm.

he’s going to ask you to come with him – not as his assistant. not as a colleague. but as the one person who’s believed in him more than anyone else. as the person he can’t stop thinking about. as the one he’s scared to lose.

and if you say no – if you look at him with that confused expression and ask what the hell he’s talking about – then at least he’ll know. at least he’ll have tried. but if you say yes…

jake peeks out the door one more time, watching as you stretch and glance at the time, probably packing up soon. he lets himself smile; small, tired, hopeful.

if you say yes, then maybe the stars are aligning after all.

[fourorchid]

“Obedient Thing”

— Chapter 1 —

Description: The monotony of your day to day life as a lab assistant is suddenly interrupted upon meeting Viktor, a researcher at the academy, who has a gaze that pulls you apart and knows exactly how to piece you back together. His voice, his actions—they’re dizzying, frustrating—but madly addictive. Curiosity and happenstance seem to render you incapable of avoiding him as you come to terms with the newfound feelings he’s unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) stirred within you.

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 (here)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

— Viktor x fem!Reader | ~2.1K —

Disclaimer: I wrote this on a whim as an introduction to a plot I came up with for a Viktor fic and I’d love to continue it if people are interested! I wouldn’t call myself a writer by any means and this is also my first attempt at writing something of this nature—but regardless, I hope you enjoy ~

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The low-hanging glow of dusk casts soft shadows across the street as you walk towards the academy. You go over what Jayce had asked you to pick up from the lab—his two notebooks and the instrument filled with your latest experiment’s data.

“I’m sorry, I ran out of time and the numbers need to be recorded in the books before testing on Monday—would you mind grabbing them and doing it over the weekend?”

You recall Jayce’s voice asking sweetly over the phone—a voice you quickly realized is very hard to say “no” to. You told Jayce you were exhausted and would get it tomorrow but he insisted you retrieve them now. “Please, just to be safe,” he pleaded. Although you were unsure how Jayce managed to overlook this—and how his oversight landed on you to resolve—ultimately, you obliged.

So now you find yourself at your place of work, walking up the two flights of stairs that lead to the lab on what was supposed to be a relaxing Friday evening after a long week.

This was the life of an assistant—rather tedious, being at someone else’s beck and call, and more often than not you’re treated as an afterthought. But it was stable and predictable, so you deem the trade off fair.

Your heels click as you walk up to the familiar door. You plunge your key into the handle before realizing the latch was already unlocked. With a soft turn of the knob, you enter the lab. The sun has now nearly set providing little light from the window. Your eyes quickly move to a different source of light coming from the work bench deeper into the room. A lithe figure sat working, turning promptly at your entrance. His features were sharp, his gaze inspecting but not necessarily with judgement as he moves to face you.

“Hello—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still here. I just need to grab something,” you explain politely.

“Of course,” He replies. His voice is deep with a subtle accent, his tone formal.

You move to Jayce’s desk and begin sifting through the piles of notes and research. After multiple minutes, you realize you cannot seem to find the notebooks he mentioned. Even with Jayce’s usual messiness, locating something was never this difficult. You let out a soft huff in confusion. The other man turns to look at you recognizing the sounds of frustration all too well.

“What is it that you are looking for?”

As he speaks, you are unsure whether he wants to be helpful or if he’s trying to figure you out—maybe both.

“Oh, um—Dr. Talis asked me to pick up a few notebooks—but I, uh, can’t seem to find them,” your tone is perplexed as you return to shuffling through his desk.

The man stands up from his spot, leaning on the cane in his hand. He takes a second to process before speaking again.

“One red and one blue?” He takes a guess referencing the exact notebooks you are looking for. “Yes, those are the ones—have you seen them?” you ask as you continue your futile search.

His footsteps on the floor are echoed by his cane as he walks a few paces closer.

“Jayce had them in his hand when he left earlier,” he replies, his tone matter-a-fact but also questioning.

You turn to look at the man, entirely lost. Something about Jayce’s request starts to feel…off.

“Really? That can’t be right,” you say, confusion settling on your face as you return your focus to the mess of papers and books on the desk. The man let out a deep exhale as he brought his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose—seemingly having come to a realization.

“But it is,” He affirms with a soft sigh, dropping his arm back to his side.

“Maybe he forgot then,” you try to understand but something’s not adding up.

“I’m afraid he did not,” The man takes a few steps closer now standing behind you as he continues to clarify in a way that only leaves you with more questions. “He knows he didn’t leave them here.”

You turn, leaning your back against the rumpled desk to observe the man as he speaks in breadcrumbs. You feel like you’re missing the piece of the puzzle that completes the picture—and the man standing in front of you seems to have it.

“Are you saying he just sent me here to haze me?” You joke but your delivery remains reserved.

“No, no, Jayce is not cruel—just meddlesome,” the man cocks his head to the side, his expression curious as he scans your features.

“He wanted you to find something else—” the man connects the dots for you, his tone deep and a bit gravelly as he speaks, “—to find me.” He finishes, unamused with the prospect. Viktor recounts the subtle grin on Jayce’s face earlier as he had told him he would be working late through the evening, the man’s reaction suddenly making more sense now.

You are utterly lost. “Why?” You respond, unsure of what Jayce’s motive would be for sending you to the lab under false pretenses just to see this man that you don’t even know. “What would he be trying to accomplish in doing so?” you add skeptically.

“He is trying to play matchmaker, is what he’s doing.” The man answers simply. You don’t know how to respond. You chuckle nervously at the thought.

“I’m sorry—and why would he do that?” You pause before adding, “Did you know about this?” Your tone is a bit more standoffish and accusatory than you intended due to your revelation at being manipulated. At this point you just want an explanation, niceties be damned.

“No, I assure you, I had nothing to do with this—” the man gestures with his free hand between you and the notebook-less desk. “But he has mentioned you to me before on a few occasions—seems to think we would be ‘good together,’ so to speak.” The man in front of you is unfazed and straightforward as he explains, “And thinks he’s helping when he’s most certainly not.” He taps his cane against the floor softly as he readjusts his tall frame against it. His eyes slowly travel over you, taking in your appearance and your demeanor as he finishes speaking.

“I’m sorry—I’m not sure what to say,” you admit with a dry, halfhearted laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The man’s gaze makes you feel as though you’ve been placed under a microscope—exposed and waiting.

“It’s quite alright, really. You didn’t know, it’s Jayce who should apologize for such a ludicrous plan.” He breaks from surveying you, returning to look at your face as he responds casually.

There’s a beat of tense silence as you still are registering what this man in front of you has revealed. The conversation at hand is beyond small talk and you realize you still don’t know his name.

“I don’t even know your name,” you admit, still a bit miffed but your tone is weaker than before. An almost imperceptible smile makes its way across the man’s face as he seems to find your reaction intriguing.

“It’s Viktor,” his voice is deep and smooth as he answers. His eyes almost seem to glow in the dimly-lit lab; intimidating yet inviting at the same time. They narrow as he appraises you.

“How old are you, Miss y/n?” Viktor muses, his eyes never leaving yours as he awaits your response.

You know you aren’t obligated to stay and entertain this conversation—you could just excuse yourself politely now having cleared up the misunderstanding; but something about the man in front of you compels you to stay. You find it frustrating and a bit concerning but curiosity—as it often does—gets the best of you.

“24,” you reveal, a bit unsure where this new line of questioning is headed. A faint look of surprise flits over Viktor’s features as he hears your answer. “Why, how old are you?” You return the question.

“35.” he states simply.

“Oh, um—that’s a decent age difference,” you point out now more unnerved. “Why would Jayce try to set you and I up together if he knew that?”

Viktor seems to know the answer but isn’t sure how you will take it. He takes a few steps closer to you again, stopping just a couple feet from where you stand, his gaze fixed on you.

"It's because I prefer a certain...type." Viktor offers a vague explanation that leaves you on the edge.

“What? Younger?” You ask, slightly horrified by the notion. A small chuckle rumbles through Viktor’s chest as he clarifies. “No, not exactly,” he chooses his words more carefully as he continues, “It’s more about the kind of….personality I tend to go for.”

The room begins to feel warmer, you do your best to ignore the feeling. “Which is?” you try to get him to be more specific.

He looked you over slowly before deciding whether or not to tell you.

"Submissive."

He spoke the word carefully but with intent, clearly not wanting to make you uncomfortable but also testing the waters.

You swallow as the word reaches you—not exactly what you were expecting.

“Oh really?” you scoff softly, “Is that the impression I give off?” your tone becomes defiant. The corners of Viktor’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in an understated display of amusement.

Suddenly, he leans forward making up for the height difference between you two as he gently places his free hand under your chin, tilting your face up slightly so he could make eye contact as he speaks.

"Well, don't be so sure. I have a pretty good eye for these things." His voice is a coaxing and low rumble as he speaks.

You find yourself unsure of how to respond, clearly more affected by Viktor’s action than you expected as you feel heat crawl up your neck. His touch sends a shockwave through your body of…anxiety? excitement? frustration? desire? You can’t quite tell—all you know is that whatever it is has you unable to think straight. You avert your gaze for a moment of reprieve. Viktor gently pulls your chin up as he speaks firmly.

“Look at me.”

Despite your better judgement, you find yourself having a hard time disobeying. Before really registering it, you return your gaze to Viktor’s. You feel the same sensation as you did earlier; exposed and expectant as he studies you.

He smirked, noticing the change in your expression when you returned to look at to him. He held your chin for a few moments, his eyes locked on yours as he spoke again.

"There you go. That's better."

The low warmth of his voice as it vibrates from his chest with subtle praise causes your heart rate to jump. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes again, as if memorizing each feature individually.

Suddenly, you feel Viktor remove his hand from your chin. He takes a step back to allow you to regain your bearings. He observes you closely, taking note of your body language and flushed appearance. You feel your breathing has become a bit shallower now too. A hint of satisfaction washes over his features at what he’s managed to make of you from such a simple gesture.

"It's as I thought." He affirms, crossing his hands over the top of his cane. He let his eyes run over you again, studying the way your chest visibly rose and fell as you breathed.

All at once, the stretching walls and tall ceiling of the lab somehow manage to feel suffocatingly small. Your cheeks burn and you wish nothing more than to be able to come up with something clever to quip back, but the synapses in your brain have been short-circuited and rewired.

You let out a wavering breath as you finally find your ability to speak.

“Well, it’s getting late—I should be going.” Your voice is flat and sterile as you try to compensate for how affected you still feel. Viktor, seemingly having returned to his earlier demeanor as if none of that just happened, speaks nonchalantly but the look in his eyes betrays something more intense.

“Of course, of course,” he nods cordially, “I apologize for Jayce’s…antics.”

You nod, accepting Viktor’s apology on Jayce’s behalf—ugh, Jayce—you feel your jaw tighten as you make a mental note to confront him about this nonsense later. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you.

“Goodnight, Viktor,” you say, your voice taut as you move to leave the lab. You feel his eyes trace your movements as you walk out the door.

“Goodnight, y/n.” Viktor replies, his voice low as your name rolls off his tongue in an almost purr.

You swiftly close the door to the lab behind you. At the click of the latch, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

As you walk back home, you are left with the sound of your tense breathing and a headache’s worth of thoughts swirling in your head. You can’t help but replay the interaction over and over again as you try to make sense of the feelings it had stirred within you.

A switch had been flipped—one that you didn’t quite understand, let alone know existed in yourself.

All you do know is who flipped it.

The man in the lab with a calculating gaze and a velvet-wrapped voice. The man who can see things others don��t, who has a penchant for pushing the envelope—whose name was Viktor.

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[adoredawn]

✧˖° — adventures in babysitting

pairing: joe goldberg x fem!reader

type: imagine (1.6k+ words)

requested: no

summary: joe and love decide to get a babysitter for henry after dottie’s breakdown. who would’ve thought she'd spark joe's interest?

warning(s): one-sided pining (-ish). rushed plot / dialogue. no use of y/n.

note(s): not my gif. not my divider. this takes place during season 3! i’ve seen sooo little joe love on here, so i thought i’d write some! i haven’t written a full fledged fic in nearly 4 years, so please bear with me while i try to regain my skills. reblog & comment if you enjoyed it / want a part 2!

adoredawn’s masterlist

“if you want to make some calls to any previous parents i’ve worked with, there are some cell numbers i can give you,” you said with a smile, looking between the husband and wife before you. you sat opposite them on a plush loveseat as they were side-by-side on their gray sofa adorned with decorative pillows.

“oh that doesn’t seem necessary, we’ve heard great things.” love grinned as she patted joe’s knee lovingly. “cary and sherry just could not recommend you enough!”

you giggled and shook your head, smoothening out your summer dress. “i did have my hands full with those twins, that week and a half was a wild one…”

there was an uncomfortable silence. the house was eerily quiet for a toddler to be living in it, though it was his nap time. your eyes drifted down to what trinkets littered their coffee table. coasters, a book on home décor, and toddler toy keys.

as you had walked in earlier, you noticed their home was eerily clean. a family portrait of the three was already hung in a hallway and other pictures were framed on bookshelves and end tables. their home was modern, yet vintage at the same time. it felt like a showroom, but one you could call home.

you could feel their eyes on you, studying you, as you gazed around their home.

joe cleared his throat and sat up straighter, love looked at him expectingly and you mimicked his movements, snapping out of your thoughts. “so… how soon can you start? how’s your schedule?”

you opened your mouth to answer, reaching beside you to grab your purse and look at the calendar on your phone, but a cry rang from upstairs.

love sighed, “sorry about that, i guess nap time’s over! i’ll go get him and we can introduce you.” she sprang up from her seat and made her way up the staircase, glancing back once to eye joe.

joe watched as his wife traveled up the stairs to soothe their toddler, and as he turned back to look at you, he caught your stare. you momentarily forgot what he had asked, flustered. “oh-uh, well i can start as soon as you need. i’m available all week really. i’m taking a break from school for a semester.”

joe seemed to perk up, and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “huh, what’re you studying?”

“education, with a focus on advanced literature in secondary education”

he licked his lips and you couldn’t help but watch. your hands balled into fists in your lap, crescent moons forming in your palms from your nails digging in.

“you enjoy reading?” his voice buzzed lowly with curiosity and you nodded softly.

“mhm, i plan on being a high school teacher or a professor once i graduate.” you paused, looking behind joe at the staircase, and wondering what was taking love so long. you shook your head slightly, focusing your attention back on joe, trying to remain cool. “do you read?”

“i do. i was a bookstore manager for some time.”

“really? that must’ve been fun-“

“here he is, say ‘hi’ henry!” love came down the stairs carrying henry on her hip. joe turned and watched them both come down, reaching for henry once love had sat beside him again.

you waved at little henry, and he barely paid you any mind, focusing on his mother and father. love turned him around to sit facing you, where you could see that his white pajama onesie was covered in blue moons and yellow stars.

“henry, say ‘hi,’ bubba!” love encouraged him, grabbing his arm to wave at you, causing you to smile and wave back. she looked up from him, to you, a serious look on her face. “do you want to hold him? he’s not very fussy around newer people.”

you hesitate, looking back and forth between love and joe, as if asking for permission, even though love has already granted it. meanwhile henry babbled, spitting drool over his onesie. “sure sure, i’ve got him,” you said confidently.

you stood and bent over the coffee table separating you from the couple, reaching for their toddler. as love passed him to you, henry giggled, flailing his legs and flapping his arms while he’s in the air, causing the three of you to also begin laughing.

you felt joe watching you as you held henry, and you tried your best not to return any glances, wanting to maintain your focus on henry.

you sat back on the loveseat, bouncing henry on your lap a few times. “hey, henry, how’re you doing, buddy? i’m gonna be your new babysitter.” you tell him your name, chanting it as you point at yourself a few times. he looks at you and smiles, grabbing at the bottom hem of your dress and tugging.

you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched as you had henry in your lap. of course you were being watched, you told yourself. joe and love just wanted to make sure they would be leaving henry with someone who knew what they were doing. and you very much did.

after a few minutes of holding henry, he began to stretch his arms out, pleading to go back to his parents. you held him back safely as he whined and yearned to reach the other side of the coffee table.

joe grunted an “i got ‘im,” before he walked over to you and picked henry up off of your lap, his hands brushing yours. you felt a pang in your heart as you touched, but squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore it.

once joe got a hold of him, henry began to shriek. joe tried to calm him down, patting his back and rocking him side to side, but he didn’t let up. love quickly got up from her seat and took henry from joe, patting his back.

“it’s okay, forty, it’s okay, momma’s here…” love soothed him, and whispered “sorry!” she sat back on the couch, trying to calm him down.

joe ran a hand through his hair, frowned, and sighed. you watched him with a frown, and he caught your gaze, to which you stood and stuck out your hand. “it was really great to meet you you both.”

joe took your hand in his and shook, smiling softly at you. “it was nice meeting you, miss... i’ll walk you out.” you blushed lightly as he recalled your name and turned to love and squeezed her shoulder goodbye. she muttered a soft “bye” and you rubbed henry’s back and said bye to him as well.

joe kissed love on the cheek as she settled henry down and followed behind you. you reached for the doorknob, and joe followed suit, his fingers brushing against yours again. they lingered for a second, and you turned to look up at him as you retreated your hand.

he smiled gingerly as he grabbed hold of the knob and twisted the door open. you’re both greeted by the gorgeous california sun and birdsong and you take a step outside. you turned, expecting to say your final goodbyes, but joe followed you out.

“thank you, again, for coming out to see us and meet henry. i assume love already gave you our numbers?” he asked as he closed the door behind him. he leaned against the door frame with both hands in his pockets and quickly looked you up and down.

you nodded, “yeah, it was no problem. and she did. do you have mine?” you began pulling your phone out of your purse before joe spoke.

“yes, i can send you a text to make sure it’s the right one?”

before you could agree, joe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and began typing. soon enough, you heard a familiar ding! from inside your purse, and went to read the message:

Hello, you.

you smiled, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “i’ve got it, thanks.” you turned away to leave before stopping abruptly. joe had already turned to leave as well, and faltered as you came back. “sorry, uh, i was just wondering when would i be starting?”

joe stuck his tongue in his cheek, in thought for a moment, and you took this time to fully drink him in. he had one hand in his pants pocket, the other rubbing his chin. his dark curls fell perfectly over his forehead, and you wanted to brush them away to get him to look deeply into your eyes. his gray sleeves hugged the curve of the muscles on his arms so right, that you nearly melted at the thought of being trapped in them.

you couldn’t be thinking like this, you scolded yourself. you'd never suddenly gotten this rush of feelings when meeting someone before. he’s happily married with a kid that you’ll be taking care of. get. it. together!

“how about monday? i’ll be home for a few hours, and i don’t think love would mind if i stay and show you henry’s schedule.”

you nodded eagerly, “absolutely, just let me know when to get here. thank you, again, for having me!” you waved goodbye as you trekked down their concrete walkway and to their white picket fence toward your car. you covered your eyes from the sun and once you made it to your car, you searched for and waved at joe from across the street.

joe waved to you and watched as you settled into your vehicle. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until your car had driven out of his sight, eager for the weekend to fly by and see you on monday.

[bitchinbarzal]

Operation mom & dad | M Boldy

summary: jade is determined to get her mom and dad back together.

The roar of the crowd echoes through the Xcel as Matt takes the ice, his number bold on the back of his jersey. You watch from the stands, Jade perched on your lap, her tiny hands clapping wildly.

“Daddy’s the best, right, Mommy?” she asks, turning her bright green eyes up at you.

You smile, ruffling her soft brown curls. “Of course he is, baby.”

It’s always been like this. You and Matt—co-parenting effortlessly, supporting each other despite the past. Your friends tease that you’re just pretending to be broken up, that no exes should get along this well. But the truth is, you and Matt have a rhythm. A history. A love that never really faded, even if things didn’t work out the way you once planned.

But if there’s one person determined to change that, it’s your daughter.

Attempt #1: The Forgotten Jacket

It starts small. Too small to suspect anything at first.

One night, after dropping Jade off at Matt’s place, you get a call just as you’re pulling into your driveway.

“Mommy!” Jade’s voice is serious, like she’s on an important mission. “You forgot your jacket at Daddy’s!”

Your brows knit together. “Are you sure? I don’t think I—”

“You did,” she insists. “You have to come back. Right now.”

With a chuckle, you turn around and drive back. When you get there, Matt is standing in the doorway, holding his hoodie.

“She meant this,” he says, amused. “Pretty sure this has been in my closet since before she was born.”

Jade beams between you, looking way too proud of herself.

“You should keep it, Mommy,” she chirps. “It smells like Daddy.”

Your face heats, and Matt rubs the back of his neck, clearly unsure how to respond.

“Uh, thanks, J,” you mumble, clutching the hoodie to your chest as you leave.

It smells like cedar and something familiar. Like home.

Attempt #2: The ‘Oops, There’s Only One Bed’ Trick

On a weekend trip to Chicago for one of Matt’s away games, you and Jade stay in the same hotel.

Everything is fine—until you realize that your perfectly booked two-bed room has somehow turned into a single king-sized bed.

“The team told me they asked for two beds,” you tell the front desk, exasperated.

The receptionist frowns. “Your daughter told us you wanted one bed. I am so sorry we have nothing else available”

Your head snaps toward Jade, who grins, completely unrepentant.

“Jade—”

“It was worth a try,” she shrugs.

Matt arrives moments later, taking in the situation with a smirk. “Guess I’m sleeping on the floor.”

But when Jade starts fake crying—“We can all share! It’s a big bed!”—you both cave, lying stiffly on opposite sides.

Still, sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to Matt’s arm draped over your waist. And instead of moving away, you let yourself sink into it—just for a moment.

Attempt #3: The School Art Project

Parent-teacher night at Jade’s school is usually straightforward. You admire her work, chat with her teacher, and call it a night.

Except this time, her teacher greets you and Matt with a knowing smile.

“You have to see what Jade made,” she gushes, leading you to a table filled with colorful drawings.

There, in bright crayon strokes, is a picture of you, Matt, and Jade—holding hands, a big red heart above your heads. The words MY FAMILY are scrawled in crooked letters at the top.

You glance at Matt. He’s staring at the drawing, something unreadable in his expression.

“She talks about you two all the time,” the teacher says warmly. “How much she loves when you’re all together.”

Matt looks at you then, his blue eyes softer than you’ve seen in years.

And your heart stumbles.

Attempt #4: The “Oops, We Missed the Game” Move

One evening, as you’re supposed to take Jade to Matt’s game, she starts complaining of a “tummy ache.”

You fuss over her, canceling your plans, but by the time puck drop comes around, she’s suddenly perfectly fine.

“Jade…” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Were you really sick?”

She bats her lashes innocently. “I just thought Daddy would come check on us if we didn’t show up.”

You sigh, settling in to watch from the couch.

After the game you were tidying up when the door rings.

It’s Matt.

“You okay?” he asks, concern evident in his face “Saw you weren’t at the game.”

You exchange a glance with your daughter, who looks way too smug.

“We’re fine” you murmur.

Matt looks like he wants to say something more, but instead, he just ruffles Jade’s hair and stays for a while.

And you don’t mind. Not one bit.

The Breaking Point

It happened suddenly. A long shift at the hospital, a reckless driver on the road, and before you know it, you’re lying in a hospital bed instead of standing beside one.

You’re mostly fine—just a concussion, a few bruised ribs—but when you finally open your eyes, the first thing you see is Matt.

He’s sitting in the chair beside you, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. He looks exhausted, his usual steady composure cracked wide open. His hair is a mess, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times, and there’s a crease between his brows that only deepens when he notices you stirring.

“Y/N.” His voice is raw, barely above a whisper.

You try to smile, but your ribs protest at the movement. “Hey, Matty.”

He exhales sharply, his whole body seeming to uncoil as he leans forward, his hands hovering like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he should.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmurs. “I got the call in the middle of practice, and I just—” He drags a hand down his face, exhaling harshly. “I thought— I don’t even know what I thought. I just knew I had to get to you.”

Your heart clenches. “I’m okay,” you reassure him softly. “Just a little banged up.”

But he doesn’t look comforted. If anything, his jaw tightens, his hands clenching into fists.

“You shouldn’t have been alone” he says after a moment “I should’ve been there.”

His words make something ache deep inside you, something that’s been lingering for far too long.

“Matt…”

He finally reaches for your hand then, threading his fingers through yours. His grip is firm, steady, like he needs to feel you to believe you’re still here.

“I can’t do this anymore” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightens. “Do what?”

“This” He gestures vaguely between you, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles. “Pretending like we’re just co-parents. Like we don’t still—” He stops himself, inhaling deeply before meeting your gaze “Like I don’t still love you.”

The words settle between you, heavy and fragile all at once.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.

“Matt…”

He shakes his head, his grip tightening. “No, just— just let me say this, okay? I thought we were doing the right thing, staying apart. I told myself that over and over again. But every time I see you, every time we’re together with Jade, it feels like I’m right back where I’m supposed to be. And tonight, when I thought—” He swallows hard. “I can’t lose you, Y/N. I don’t want to spend another second pretending like you’re not my home”

Tears sting your eyes. Because God, you know. You’ve always known.

Your life without Matt has never really been a life without him. He’s always been there, steady and sure, woven into your every day. And maybe you were both too stubborn or too scared to admit it before.

“I love you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped”

A tear slips down your cheek, and Matt reaches up to catch it with his thumb. His hand lingers, his palm warm against your skin.

You lean into the touch, exhaling shakily “I love you, too.”

The relief that washes over his face is immediate. And then he’s kissing you—soft at first, careful, like he’s afraid you might disappear. But when you pull him closer, fingers tangling in his hoodie, it deepens into something more—something familiar, something new, something that feels like coming home.

A tiny gasp from the doorway makes you break apart, and you both turn to find Jade standing there, eyes wide with delight.

“Are you kissing?” she asks, her little hands pressed to her mouth.

You laugh breathlessly, swiping at your damp cheeks. “We are”

Jade lets out an excited squeal and bolts down the hall. “GRANDMA! GRANDPA! DADDY AND MOMMY ARE IN LOVE!”

Matt groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “She’s never gonna let us live that down”

You grin, threading your fingers through his hair. “Probably not”

He pulls back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that means we have to make it official, huh?”

Your heart swells.

“Yeah” you whisper. “I guess we do.”

And as he kisses you again,you know, without a doubt, that you’ve finally found your way back home.

[milunalupin]

❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know… if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”