#we just want them to have a good time for once

[creamflix]

IF I WAS A BAD BITCH, I'D WANNA F★CK ME TOO!  ၄၃   gojo satoru x female reader x (female?!) gojo satoru 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. threesome featuring m & f gojo. dom! gojo(s), sub reader. bisexual reader. slight cnc/dubcon. marathon sex. fingering. voyeurism + cucking. spanking. humping. finger-sucking. the big three: praise, humiliation and degradation. jealousy-fueled and dare i say competitive sex. oral (f. giving & receiving, m. giving and receiving). p in v, creampies. hair-pulling. clit slapping. overstimulation, mind break. doggy (backshots woohoo!), chain link, tower bridge. lots of aftercare and a happy + crack ending (thank you flix)

happy (early) birthday to the honoured dick one. the strongest in bed. i know his birthday is in december but i needed u all to read this right now. so enjoy nine thousand three hundered words of filth, from me to you, with all the love possible <3. i wrote female gojo with @/owwllly's version in mind, so please show them your love xx this has been my fav threesome fic to write!! dedicated to my pookie daph aka @curtins - there will be a part two !! there will be a part two !! there will be a part two !!

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ series masterlist

"so you're telling me... this happened because you couldn’t mind your business?" you deadpan, arms crossed as you stare at two very identical gojo satoru’s in your living room. one of them is busy fiddling with infinity while the other is lounging on your couch like she owns the place — wolfcut, tight black turtleneck, and a smirk that could rival the original's arrogance.

“technically, i was minding my business,” the og gojo protests, leaning back against the wall with his usual, unbothered grin. “baby, ’s not my fault the curse decided to spice things up and give you, like, a bogo deal on me. you're welcome, by the way."

"bogo?" you repeat, staring at him blankly. "buy one, get one? 'toru, this isn’t a trip to the mall — this is a problem."

“problem?!” the female gojo pipes up, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “babe, this is a blessing. look at me — don’t i just scream perfection?” she runs her hands dramatically down her torso, pausing to cup her very impressive pair of tits. “and these? way better than whatever he’s working with.”

“hey!” the og gojo snaps, looking genuinely offended for once. “my pecs are great! they’re sculpted by gods!”

“oh please.” she waves him off, smirking. “you can bench press all ya want, but nothin' competes with these.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache brewing. “great. now there’s two of you and you’re already competing with each other. this is exactly what my therapist warned me about.”

"your therapist doesn’t even know her," og gojo interjects, before muttering, "probably thinks i'm better."

“knows me?” the female gojo raises a brow, mimicking his exact tone. “honey, i am you — just hotter and with better hair.”

“oh, please, my hair is iconic —”

“only ‘cuz i have it now —”

“okay, shut up, both of you,” you groan, cutting through their bickering. “are we just ignoring the fact that this situation is insane? one of you is going to have to fix this. preferably him,” you gesture to your boyfriend, “because i’m sure as hell not trusting the version of you who discovered boobs for the first time an hour ago.”

"that’s fair,” female gojo shrugs. “i got distracted for a good ten minutes.”

“ten?” og gojo snorts. “please, i bet you’re still distracted.”

“better than looking like an overgrown snow cone —”

“that’s it!” you snap, cutting them off again. “you’re both sleeping on the floor until this gets fixed!”

they stare at you, identical smirks creeping onto their faces. the synchronization is downright creepy.

“what?” you snap.

“you mean we can’t sleep next to you?” female gojo teases, batting her eyelashes dramatically. “oh, baabbyy, don’t be like that. we’ll make it work. one on each side, warm and cozy…”

“dream on!” you yell, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at both of them.

despite your protests, you eventually settle into bed, burying yourself under the covers in hopes that sleep will somehow make this bizarre situation feel a little less insane in the morning. your boyfriend is sulking on the couch — he’s got that kicked puppy look down to a science, complete with dramatic sighs and pointed glances your way every time he fluffs the pillow. you ignore him. you deserve this break.

or at least, you thought you did.

the bed dips behind you, and you freeze, already knowing who it is before she even opens her mouth.

“hey,” female gojo whispers conspiratorially, her voice a softer, almost sultry version of your boyfriend’s usual annoying tone. “girl’s night, right? let’s talk about feelings and, like… skincare or whatever. isn’t that what girls do?”

“go back to the couch,” you mutter, trying not to sound as mortified as you feel.

“oh, come onnn,” she presses, shifting closer. “i’m technically you now. you, me, and him — we’re a team. solidarity and alla that.”

“team or not, you’re still satoru,” you grumble, rolling over to glare at her. “and you’re supposed to be fixing this, not playing barbie dreamhouse with my sanity.”

she gasps, clutching her chest as though you’d just gravely insulted her. “barbie dreamhouse? wow, honey, that’s just rude.”

you sigh, already exhausted, and roll back over, resolutely closing your eyes. “goodnight.”

except she doesn’t leave.

instead, she shuffles even closer, slipping under the covers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“what the hell are you doing?” you ask, voice muffled by your pillow.

“it’s called cuddling. girlhood, babe. embrace it.”

you groan, but it’s drowned out by the warmth of her pressing against your back, her arm draping over your waist like she’s done this a hundred times before. the touch is familiar — too familiar — but also distinctly… different. softer, almost delicate, but with that same satoru confidence you’ve grown used to.

you’re about to relax when — oh.

oh no.

that’s definitely her tits pressing against you.

“seriously?” you mutter, feeling your face heat up as you shift uncomfortably.

“what?” she hums innocently, though you can practically hear the smirk in her tone. “they’re natural, by the way. in case you were wondering.”

you roll your eyes so hard they might fall out of your head. “get off me.”

“nah. you’re comfy.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you love it,” she whispers, cuddling closer, her breath warm against the back of your neck.

meanwhile, from the couch, your boyfriend groans dramatically. “wooww, guess i’m not needed anymore! don’t mind me, just a lonely man being replaced by his better half!”

you groan louder this time, burying your face in the pillow. “i hate both of you.”

“you’ll get over it,” female gojo chirps.

you’re not so sure.

you drift into a restless sleep, but it’s not long before something — someone — pulls you back into a groggy haze. at first, you think it’s just the weight of her arm slung over your waist, the kind of innocent touch you’ve grown used to from satoru, only now softer, smaller. 

but then you feel it: nimble fingers ghosting the waistband of your shorts, brushing against your skin with maddening lightness.

your eyes snap open, and before you can twist around, you hear her chuckle — a low, almost predatory sound.

"eaasy, babe," she whispers, her breath hot against your ear as she burrows closer, her chest flush against your back. "don’t wanna wake him, do you?"

your heart skips a beat, half from the sensation of her lips brushing the shell of your ear, half from the realization that your boyfriend is right down the hallway.

“what the hell are you doing?” you hiss, your voice barely audible, but it only makes her grin wider. you can’t see it, but you can feel it in the way her teeth graze your neck, her nose nuzzling against your skin.

“just havin’ a little fun,” she murmurs, her fingers dipping slightly lower, teasing. "you’re sooo uptight. ’s cute."

“stop,” you whisper, though your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. you’re painfully aware of every point of contact — her fingers, her chest pressed against you, the way her legs tangle with yours like she’s been doing this forever.

“oh, come on,” she purrs, lips trailing a featherlight path up your neck. “you can pretend to hate this allll ya want, but she’s kinda telling a different story, babe.”

your breath catches as her fingers toy with the waistband of your panties, and you bite your lip to stifle a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“shhhhh,” she teases, her voice dripping with amusement. “don’t wanna wake him. imagine the tantrum he’d throw.”

“'toru,” you snap in a whisper, barely managing to keep your voice steady, “you’re impossible.”

“she is impossible,” she corrects smugly, emphasizing the distinction. “and you love it.”

you squirm, trying to shift away, but it only earns you a low chuckle and a firmer hold around your waist.

“relax,” she coos, her fingers retreating just enough to drive you insane. “’m just here to keep ya company. whether that means getting a rise out of you or, y’know... edgin’ this pretty lil’ pussy for the rest of the night? your call.”

you swallow hard, caught between indignation and the way her touch sets your nerves on fire.

“make your choice, babe,” she whispers, her voice playful but laced with a dangerous edge.

“just try not to moan too loud. wouldn’t wanna give him ideas.”

you close your eyes, torn between cursing her and praying she doesn’t stop.

this night just got so much longer.

your brain is waging the ultimate war, a full-on battlefield of ethics versus… whatever this situation even is.

is it cheating if it’s your boyfriend’s hot female counterpart? technically, it’s still satoru, right? like, some weird multiverse loophole you could maybe rationalize later when guilt comes knocking. 

but right now, the only thing knocking is your resolve, which is hanging by a thread as those nimble fingers dance along your clothed slit, teasing just enough to drive you to madness.

you bite down on your lip, a mix of frustration and need building as she leans in closer, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "you’re thinkin’ so loud, honey. wanna share with the class?”

“shut up,” you hiss, squirming as her fingers dip a little lower, just brushing the edge of your clothed clit.

she laughs softly, the sound rich and teasing, as if she’s enjoying how much you’re struggling. “ohhh, ya gonna give in, aren’t cha?” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “ya so cute when you’re pretending to resist.”

your breathing hitches as she presses her palm against your clothed cunt, her fingers tracing delicate, torturous circles. it’s enough to make you curse the heavens for whatever cursed logic landed you here but also enough to make you moan softly despite yourself.

“fuck it,” you mutter under your breath, the words more to yourself than to her, and you stop fighting, letting her fingers dip inside your panties.

her grin is unmistakable — so much like satoru’s but with an edge of mischief that’s uniquely her own. “there she is,” she whispers, and her fingers find your clit, circling it with the kind of precision that makes your whole body tense.

“jesus christ,” you gasp, your hand shooting out to grip the sheets as she keeps her pace slow, deliberate, almost cruel in its teasing.

“nah,” she chuckles, her lips brushing against your neck, “just satoru. but you can scream my name later if ya want.”

you stifle a groan, your mind racing between indignation and the hot, electric sensation pooling low in your stomach.

“careful,” she teases, voice low and smug. “wouldn’t wanna wake him, would you? unless…” she pauses, fingers pressing a little harder, “...you want him to watch.”

you choke on a mix of a gasp and a protest, twisting slightly to glare at her, but the sharp look you’re going for is lost in the haze of heat clouding your brain.

“you’re the worst,” you manage to whisper, though it lacks any real bite.

“and yet, here you are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “enjoying every second of it.”

she’s not wrong, and that realization alone might kill you.

you never thought you’d find yourself in a situation like this — not that you were opposed to the idea. women were great, truly a gift to the world.

but how many people could say they were being finger fucked by their boyfriend’s female counterpart? it was such a specific, cursedly unique predicament that you almost wanted to laugh.

almost.

if you weren’t too busy biting back a moan as her fingers worked you with an infuriating rhythm.

the obscene sounds were soft, but in the quiet of the room, they echoed like a symphony of sins you’d be reckoning with later. and when her other hand pressed against your lips, fingers tapping lightly, you didn’t even hesitate.

you took them into your mouth, sucking with enough fervor to have her humming appreciatively behind you.

“oh, you’re full of surprises,” she purred, her tone dripping with amusement. her nails — surprisingly manicured and oddly elegant — scraped against your tongue, and you felt a shiver crawl down your spine. “never took ya for someone with an oral fixation. should i be jealous of him?”

you glared up at her weakly, but it only made her grin grow wider.

“no need to get all pouty, baby,” she teased, pulling her hand away with a wet pop! before dragging her nails down the side of your face in mock affection. “you’re already givin' me plenty of attention.”

“you’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, your voice muffled by a moan as her fingers curled inside you just right, hitting a spot that made your legs tremble.

“and yet, here you are,” she countered smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “suckin' my fingers like you’re starved for it. but don’t worry pretty, i’ve got plenty to give.”

“oh my god,” you groaned, torn between mortification and the unbearable heat flooding your veins.

“close enough,” she chuckled, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers continued their relentless, torturous pace. “but you can scream that louder later. just remember to keep it down for him, yeah? wouldn’t wanna give him a heart attack.”

as if on cue, you heard your boyfriend shift on the couch down the hallway, groaning in his sleep.

her grin pressed against your skin, smug as ever. “looks like we’re on a time limit. better make it count, babe.”

it’s almost like she wants to be caught.

you can feel it in the deliberate pace of her fingers, the smug curl of her lips pressed against your ear, and the way her voice dips just low enough to make you think she’s daring him to walk in.

what’s he gonna do, anyway? accuse you of cheating? on him?

with him?

the thought’s absurd, hilarious even, if not for the way your brain is too scrambled to dwell on it.

“you’re so tense,” she purrs, her tone that perfect mix of teasing and filth, her fingers quickening their pace with a precision that’s downright sinful. “relax, ma. you’re doing so well f’me.”

“sh-shut up,” you hiss, though it lacks conviction, your voice shaky and edged with desperation. the familiar, blinding heat in your stomach coils tighter, threatening to snap as her movements grow more deliberate.

but she doesn’t shut up — of course, she doesn’t.

“awww, don’t get shy on me now,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear as her lips ghost along your jawline. her words spill out like poison dipped in honey, filthy and deliberate.

“you’re sooo close, aren’t ya? can feel it, babe. you’re twitching around my fingers. think you’ll cum before he wakes up?”

you choke on a whimper, your head spinning as her words sink deep into your hazy mind. the wet, obscene shlick, shlick sounds of her fingers working you only makes it worse, the sound bouncing off the walls and mocking any remaining shred of dignity you have left.

“don’t fight it,” she coos, nipping lightly at your earlobe. “you wanna cum sooo bad. just do it, babe. be a good girl for me.”

the knot in your stomach pulls impossibly tight, her voice the final push as she angles her fingers just right, and you’re gone.

you tremble, your hands gripping the sheets like a lifeline as your release crashes through you in waves so intense that you’re outright whimpering. the sound spills out before you can bite it back, and she takes full advantage, her fingers slowing just enough to draw it out, prolonging your undoing.

“thaaat’s it,” she hums, satisfaction dripping from her voice. “good girl.”

you gasp for air, your body slack against hers as she finally pulls her hand away, leaving you boneless and dazed.

“see?” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, her tone still annoyingly smug. “told ya'd like it.”

before you can snap back, you hear a groan from the hallway — your boyfriend stirring on the couch.

“oops,” she whispers, her voice featherlight but laced with mischief as she leans closer to your ear. “think he heard that?”

⋆˙⟡ —

gojo was not having it.

being sentenced to the couch while he — or she — got to hog your warmth? outrageous.

what kind of half-assed excuse was "girl’s night" anyway? he was the epitome of versatility! gender fluidity incarnate! hell, he’d rock a pair of heels better than most and still kick ass.

he rolled onto his back with a huff, staring at the ceiling and debating his next move.

screw it. he wasn’t about to let himself — herself — win. this was his girlfriend, damn it.

with a frustrated groan, he dragged himself off the couch, trudging down the hallway. barefoot and irritated, he rehearsed what he’d say as he barged in, fully intent on dragging her ass out and reclaiming his rightful spot in your bed.

but the second he opened the door, all those thoughts evaporated.

his jaw dropped, his cerulean eyes widening behind the curtain of his disheveled hair.

there you were, his sweet, pliant girlfriend, lying there with your head tilted back, cheeks flushed, and lips wrapped around fem gojo’s fingers.

and the smell — fuck, the smell of you hung thick in the air, so sweet and heady it made his knees damn near buckle. it hit him like a freight train, and with it came a mix of emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle: shock, irritation, a twinge of jealousy, and, much to his own annoyance, arousal.

“are you serious right now?” his voice rang out, low and sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room.

you froze, your eyes snapping open as you turned to look at him. fem gojo, on the other hand, smirked, her fingers lazily slipping out of your mouth with an exaggerated pop!

“oh, hey,” she drawled, utterly unbothered by his presence. “took ya long enough.”

“what the hell is this?” he gestured vaguely at the two of you, his gaze bouncing between your guilty expression and her smug one.

“girl’s night,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone so casual it made his eye twitch.

“girl’s night?” he repeated, his voice climbing an octave. “girl’s night doesn’t include —” he waved his hands, “ —whatever this is!”

“reelaxx, dude,” she cooed, sitting up slightly but still keeping one possessive hand on your thigh. “you’re overreacting.”

“overreacting?!”

you flinched at his tone, but she didn’t budge, only grinning wider.

“jealous, are we?” she teased, leaning back into the pillows like she owned the place. “don’t worry, there’s plenty of her to go around.”

his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “you think this is funny?”

“a little,” she admitted, cocking her head. “but it’s fun when you’re mad.”

he stormed over to the bed, yanking the covers off with dramatic flair.

“get out,” he demanded, pointing toward the door.

“make me,” she challenged, her grin growing downright wicked.

oh, that was it.

“fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “you wanna play games? let’s play.”

in one swift motion, he was crawling onto the bed, caging both of you in with his presence. his gaze flicked to you, burning and possessive, before turning back to her.

“you started this,” he growled, “so you better keep up.”

she raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “oh, i’ll keep up.”

you swallowed hard, caught between their clashing egos and the growing heat simmering between the three of you.

this was about to get very interesting.

his hand clamps around your neck before you can even register what’s happening, yanking you into his lap like you weigh nothing. the surprised squeal that escapes your lips is muffled instantly as his mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss so sloppy, so overwhelming, it leaves you gasping. his tongue dominates yours, hot and unrelenting, and you barely have time to catch your breath before he pulls away, his next words like a slap to your dignity.

“you’re such a fuckin' mess,” he growls, his free hand coming down sharply on your ass with a loud smack!, the sting sends a jolt through you, and your body involuntarily arches against him. “lettin' her get her hands allll over you like a desperate little slut.”

you whimper, the sound earning a low, derisive laugh from him as he lands another smack!, his hand squeezing the soft flesh just to watch it jiggle.

“you like that, huh?” he sneers, his grip tightening around your neck just enough to make your head spin. “bet you’re fuckin' soaked, aren’t cha? letting anyone who’ll touch you have a go. pathetic.”

“not anyone,” fem gojo pipes up from her spot on the bed, her voice laced with amusement. “just me. well, technically you. so you’ve only got yourself to blame, babe.”

he shoots her a glare, his lips curling into a snarl, but she doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. in fact, she looks downright entertained, one hand lazily palming her tits through her shirt, her grin smug as she watches the scene unfold.

“don’t mind me,” she says, her tone light and teasing. “’m just enjoyin' the view. gotta say, though, you’ve got good taste.”

you shudder at the low hum in her voice, your face burning as her gaze flicks to where your body presses against his, her smirk deepening.

“shut up,” he snaps, his hand sliding down to your hip to yank you harder against him. “this is my show now.”

“oh, by all means,” she chuckles, leaning back on her elbows as her fingers toy her nipples. “don’t let me stop you. though, technically, this is still me giving her what she wants.”

he growls, his grip on you tightening as he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes narrowing. “you’re mine,” he hisses, the words like a brand against your skin. “doesn’t matter what fucking form i’m in. you get that?”

you nod weakly, your body trembling as his other hand lands another sharp smack! to your ass, drawing a coo of delight from his female counterpart.

“good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours before claiming them again, rough and punishing.

“now, let’s see if you can prove it.”

“oh, this is getting good,” fem gojo says with a delighted laugh, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she settles in to watch the show — completely unbothered and clearly relishing every second of it.

⋆˙⟡ —

you’re losing it. outright losing it.

it was bad enough when gojo insisted on doing you in front of the mirror, forcing you to watch as he destroyed every last shred of your dignity.

but this? this was next level.

having someone else watch — and not just anyone, but the female version of him, sitting there with that same smug smirk plastered across her face as she enjoyed the show — this wasn’t on your bingo card for the year.

and yet, you couldn’t lie to yourself. the heat pooling between your legs was unmistakable, your slick soaking through the fabric of your panties and seeping onto his clothed crotch. the mess you were making was evident, each grind against him creating an obscene wet sound that seemed to echo in the room.

“oh, babe,” fem gojo moaned, her head tilting back as her hands finally slid under her shirt, teasing the plush swell of her chest. “are ya sure you’re not doin' this f'me? ‘cause this is better than any mirror show.”

“shut it,” male gojo snapped, his lips pulling away from yours, a string of spit connecting you as he shot her a glare. “you’re lucky i haven’t kicked your ass out yet.”

“please,” she purred, rolling her nipples between her fingers with a soft moan, her smirk growing wider. “you’re not kicking me out of anything. besides —” her gaze flicked to you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, “ — she doesn’t seem to mind me being here. do you, pretty?”

you whimpered, the humiliation and arousal swirling together in a heady cocktail that made it impossible to think straight.

“answer her,” male gojo growled, his hand sliding down to grab your ass, forcing you to grind harder against him. “or are you too dumb to use your words?”

“i — i —” your voice broke into a soft moan, your hands clutching his shoulders for support as you buried your face in his neck, unable to meet her eyes.

“look at you,” she cooed, her voice dripping with amusement. “such a good girl, falling apart like that. and here i thought you were the composed one.”

“don’t get used to it,” male gojo bit out, yanking you back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and commanding. “you’re mine, got it? doesn’t matter if it’s her or me watching. you’re still only ever gonna fall apart for me.”

“you’re so possessive,” fem gojo teased, her voice laced with mockery as her hands continued their lazy exploration under her shirt. “'s cute, honestly. but you can’t deny it’s a little hot watching her fall apart like that.”

“you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he snapped, but the irritation in his voice was edged with something else, something darker, like her words were getting to him too.

“oh, i know when,” she said with a sultry grin, her fingers tweaking her nipples with a sharp intake of breath. “but where’s the fun in that?”

you gasped as his hips jerked up against you, the friction sending another wave of heat through your already overstimulated body.

“don’t get any ideas,” he growled, his attention snapping back to you, his grip tightening on your hips. “you’re not done until i say you are.”

“god,” fem gojo moaned softly, her hands sliding down her cunt as she watched you both. “if this is how you treat her in front of me, i can’t imagine what you’re like when you’ve got her all to yourself.”

her words only seemed to spur him on, his lips crashing into yours again, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before he pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth.

“don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “we’ll make sure she knows exactly what it feels like to belong to both of us.”

the promise in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, and the look in fem gojo’s eyes made it clear she had no intention of being a passive observer for long.

clothes hit the floor — or in your case, were outright shredded by your boyfriend’s impatient hands. the sound of ripping fabric and your startled gasp barely registered over the muffled curses coming from fem gojo, who was too distracted fumbling with her own shirt, her needy arousal making her hands clumsy.

“damn it,” she muttered under her breath, finally managing to toss her shirt aside. “you’d think i’d be good at undressing myself by now.”

“could’ve fooled me,” male gojo quipped with a sharp grin, not even glancing her way as he manhandled you into position. “i could’ve stripped you in two seconds flat.”

“yeah, yeah,” she shot back, rolling her eyes as her shorts hit the floor. “maybe i wanted to take my time.”

he didn’t reply. instead, his hands clamped down on your waist, and before you could even process what was happening, you found yourself being flung off his lap. you landed on your stomach, a surprised cry escaping your lips as your face ended up inches away from fem gojo’s already glistening cunt.

the sweet, heady scent of her arousal flooded your senses, making your head spin.

“oh?” she cooed, leaning back on her elbows and spreading her legs a little wider, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “is this your way of apologizing? putting her in prime position f'me?”

“shut up,” male gojo snapped, his voice sharp as his hands gripped your hips again, pulling them up so your ass was in the air. “she’s here to learn who she belongs to.”

“sure,” fem gojo said, clearly unconvinced as her fingers trailed teasingly along the inside of her thighs. “and if she just so happens to learn how to make me feel good in the process, well, that’s just a bonus, hm?”

you whimpered, your mind spinning as you tried to ground yourself, but the sharp snap of your boyfriend’s hips against you derailed every coherent thought.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he hissed, his pace unrelenting as he pounded into you from behind. “ya so quiet now. where’s all that pretty whinin' you were doing earlier?”

“h-her mouth’s busy,” fem gojo chimed in with a laugh, her hand sliding into your hair to guide your face closer to her. “or at least, it should be. come on, ma. show me what ya got.”

you hesitated, your face burning with a mix of humiliation and arousal, but a sharp smack! on your ass from male gojo left you gasping.

“don’t keep her waiting,” he growled, jealousy dripping from every word as his nails dug into your skin. “you were so eager to let her touch you before. let’s see how you like being used.”

“god,” fem gojo moaned softly as your tongue tentatively flicked over her slick folds, the taste of her flooding your senses. “she’s so good, isn’t she?”

he scoffed, his thrusts growing harsher, each one making your body jolt forward against her. “she’s good because i made her that way,” he bit out, his voice low and possessive. “don’t forget who she comes back to every night.”

“we’ll see about that,” she teased, her fingers tightening in your hair as her hips rolled against your mouth. “if she keeps this up, she might be spending a few more nights with me instead.”

“over my dead body,” he snarled, his hand reaching around to toy with your clit, the rough circles of his fingers sending shockwaves through your body.

you whimpered against her, the vibrations drawing a shuddering gasp from her lips.

“oh, fuck,” she moaned, her head tilting back as her free hand slid up to tweak her nipple. “you’re gonna make me cum, babe. keep goin' —don’t stop.”

male gojo’s hand tightened on your hip, his rhythm faltering slightly as he let out a low, guttural growl.

“she’s not coming for you,” he spat, leaning down until his chest was flush against your back, his breath hot against your ear. “she’s coming because of me.”

“whatever you need to tell yourself,” fem gojo panted, her voice laced with amusement and ecstasy as her hips bucked against your face. “but we both know who she’s really falling apart for right now.”

your thoughts were spiraling. absolutely spiraling.

how the hell were you supposed to explain this?

my boyfriend’s giving me the most insane backshots of my life while i’m eating out the female version of him.

except… she wasn’t just “him” anymore. she was her, right? so does that make her your girlfriend? was it cheating? was it some weird alternate-universe poly thing?

“ugh, no time to think,” you muttered under your breath, your words muffled as you dragged your tongue along fem gojo’s slit.

“what’s that, sweetheart?” fem gojo purred, her hand tightening in your hair as her thighs quivered under your grip. “don’t stop on my account. you’re doing so good.”

“oh, don’t stroke her ego,” male gojo snapped, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust that had your entire body jolting forward, your face pressing impossibly closer to fem gojo’s dripping cunt. “she’s not that good yet.”

“jealous much?” fem gojo teased, her voice lilting and smug as she rolled her hips against your mouth. “she’s got me riiight on the edge, babe. maybe you should let her focus instead of barking orders like you’re the only one who matters here.”

“focus?” he sneered, leaning down until his chest was pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear. “she’s too busy falling apart to focus. look at her — her hands are shaking.”

you whimpered at his words, your hands trembling as you tried your best to keep fem gojo’s thighs spread wide.

“awwww, baby,” she cooed, her fingers stroking your hair gently, a stark contrast to the vulgar praise spilling from her lips. “don’t listen to him. you’re doing amazing. so eager, so pliant — just like i knew you’d be.”

“pliant, huh?” male gojo growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “is that what you think this is? you think she’s here for you?”

“she’s here for both of us,” fem gojo shot back, her smirk widening as she tugged your hair, forcing you to look up at her. “right, babe? tell him how much you like making me feel good.”

you tried to answer, but the words were swallowed up by a moan as male gojo’s hand snaked around to rub tight, merciless circles against your clit.

“she doesn’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low and dark, laced with jealousy. “her body’s doing allll the talkin'. look at the mess she’s making.”

“maybe that’s because you’re being so rough,” fem gojo said, rolling her eyes even as her thighs trembled against your face.

“or maybe —” her voice dropped, dripping with faux sweetness as her smirk turned wicked, “ — it’s 'cause she likes me better.”

that set him off.

with a low, guttural growl, he pulled you back sharply, forcing you to arch against him as he slammed into you with a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“say it,” he demanded, his voice rough as his fingers dug into your hips. “tell her who you belong to.”

“oh, don’t make her choose,” fem gojo said, her tone mockingly sweet. “she’s doin' so well for both of us. aren’t cha, babe?”

you whimpered, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form a coherent response, and she laughed, low and sultry, her fingers sliding along your jaw to tilt your slick-covered face up.

“poor thing,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “don’t worry. you don’t have to pick. we’ll just take turns.”

male gojo’s hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to meet his blazing gaze.

“no,” he growled, his jealousy boiling over as his hips snapped against yours. “she’s mine.”

“ours,” fem gojo corrected, her voice smug as she ran her tongue along your flushed cheek, laughing when he snarled in response.

“dream on,” he spat, his possessiveness evident in every word, every movement, every sharp thrust.

and you? you were somewhere in the middle of it all, lost in the overwhelming heat of them, the push and pull of their jealousy, their praise, their relentless need to claim you.

⋆˙⟡ —

the room at two in the morning was a symphony of chaos and filth, the soundtrack of your life choices. gojo’s low muttering against his breath, some mix of cocky praise and jealous snarling, occasionally punctuated with a sharp smack! to your ass. your muffled whimpers and gasps as your face stayed buried between fem gojo’s legs, and her breathy, high-pitched praises as she tugged on your hair like she owned you.

“thaaat’s it, babe,” fem gojo cooed, her fingers tightening in your hair. “s'good f'me, aren’t cha? suuccch a good girl.”

wait, hold on. fem gojo pulling your hair? wasn’t that supposed to be a boyfriend gojo thing?

before your brain could unravel that disturbing yet arousing conundrum, she yanked hard, pulling your face impossibly closer. your nose pressed rudely against her clit, and the sudden pressure had her legs trembling around your head.

“oh — fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whimpered, her usually smug voice cracking as her hips bucked involuntarily.

and then it happened.

you barely had time to process her thighs clamping down around your ears, muffling everything but the obscene sounds of her unraveling. warm liquid gushed against your lips, your chin, even dribbling down your neck, as fem gojo outright squirted.

“oh my god,” you thought, frozen in shock even as your boyfriend’s hips snapped sharply into yours again, jarring you forward for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

“holy shit,” male gojo muttered, his voice equal parts awe and irritation as he caught sight of his counterpart’s unrestrained climax. “you fuckin' squirted? that’s my thing!”

fem gojo, still coming down from her high, let out a breathless laugh, her legs falling limp as she sprawled back on the bed.

“looks like your girl’s a fast learner,” she teased, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

“learner, my ass,” he shot back, a sharp thrust making you moan against fem gojo’s overstimulated folds. “i trained her to be this good.”

“uh-huh,” fem gojo drawled lazily, running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “then why’d she just make me squirt first? sounds like she’s got a natural talent you couldn’t teach.”

“shut up,” he growled, his pace picking up as he slammed into you harder, clearly trying to reassert dominance.

you, meanwhile, were somewhere between mortification and pride.

first time eating someone out, and they squirted. that was definitely going on the mental highlight reel of your life — even if it was your boyfriend’s female counterpart.

you figured you might as well keep going with fem gojo. after all, your boyfriend had the stamina of a goddamn bull and a petty streak longer than your to-do list. no way he was letting you off easy after everything tonight.

lucky you, though — he’d also trained you well enough to cum at the same time as him. how lovely.

…ignoring the fact that your current position was utterly humiliating. your back arched up so prettily, your face now smooshed between fem gojo’s outrageously, illegally hot rack.

“suck,” she demanded, her voice dripping with the same playful authority you usually heard from your boyfriend, but with a distinctly feminine lilt that had you shivering.

“oh, don’t act like you’re in charge,” gojo snapped from behind you, his thrusts growing sharper as if to punctuate his annoyance. “you’re just here for the ride.”

“and you’re here throwing a tantrum,” fem gojo shot back, her smirk evident in her tone as her hands pressed you deeper into her chest. “you’re the one that left her unsupervised.”

you barely registered their bickering. your head was swimming, lost in the overwhelming heat of fem gojo’s body and the relentless rhythm of your boyfriend behind you. your tongue flicked over her hardened nipple, drawing a satisfied gasp from her lips as she arched into you.

“good giirrl,” fem gojo purred, her fingers threading through your hair again, keeping your face buried against her. “you’re learning so fast.”

“don’t praise her for that!” gojo barked, his voice tinged with frustration even as he groaned, his hips snapping against yours. “she’s mine, not yours, so quit actin' like ya got a claim on her!”

“if she’s yours, then why’s she so eager to listen to me?” fem gojo teased, her breath hitching as your tongue swirled around her sensitive nipple.

“you wanna see who she listens to?” he growled, leaning over you as his hand snaked around your waist, his fingers circling your clit in quick, punishing strokes.

that did it. the tension coiling low in your stomach snapped, and you came with a muffled cry against fem gojo’s chest, your whole body trembling as pleasure washed over you.

at the same time, gojo’s hips stuttered against yours, his grip tightening as he groaned through gritted teeth, spilling into you with one last deep thrust.

the room fell silent except for your ragged breathing and fem gojo’s low chuckle as she trailed her fingers through your hair.

“aww,” she cooed, her voice dripping with amusement. “looks like we both won, huh?”

“we?” gojo barked, glaring at her over your back. “you’re lucky i didn’t kick your ass out of this bed halfway through.”

“lucky?” she repeated, her smirk widening as she leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “please, babe. i’ve got her attention. you’re just here to keep things interesting.”

gojo had had enough. sure, he’d made you see stars, made you fall apart on his dick like he always did. and yeah, he’d just had his own finish, but that didn’t matter.

he was greedy. always greedy.

his icy blue eyes darted to fem gojo, still lounging smugly with that shit-eating grin plastered across her pretty face. oh, he hated seeing his own smugness reflected like that.

“alright,” he huffed, running a hand through his disheveled hair before cracking his neck. “you wanna play games? fine. hold her for me.”

“oh?” fem gojo purred, clearly intrigued, though she raised an eyebrow. “what’s this now?”

“don’t ask questions, just do it,” he snapped, his tone sharp but impatient.

to your surprise — and maybe horror — fem gojo complied, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back against her chest, locking you in place.

“good,” gojo muttered, his gaze dropping to your already trembling body. his lips quirked into a devilish smirk as he cracked his knuckles.

“now, sweetheart,” he said, his voice saccharine and low as he leaned down to meet your wide-eyed gaze, “you’re gonna give me six more. f'good luck. for my six eyes. makes sense, right?”

“s-six?” you stammered, your voice barely audible as you squirmed in fem gojo’s hold.

“don’t pass out before number three, okay?” fem gojo chimed in, her breath tickling your ear as she pressed a playful kiss to your temple.

“oh, she won’t,” gojo assured her, his tone all cocky confidence as his fingers found your oversensitive clit, circling it slowly, almost mockingly. “i’ve trained her too well for that.”

“you’re insane,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his movements picked up, sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body.

“and you love it,” he shot back, grinning as your hips bucked involuntarily.

“she’s already shakin',” fem gojo mused, her hands holding you firmly in place as you writhed in her grip. “think she can even make it to six?”

“she’ll make it,” gojo said confidently, his fingers dipping lower to press inside you.

you let out a strangled moan, your body arching against fem gojo as she held you tighter.

“one down,” gojo teased as you convulsed around his fingers, your first orgasm ripping through you with humiliating ease.

“just five more, baby,” fem gojo cooed, brushing her lips against your ear. “think ya cunt can handle it?”

you didn’t have the breath to answer, already lost in the haze of pleasure and anticipation as gojo smirked down at you.

“don’t worry,” he murmured, sliding his fingers out only to replace them with his cock, the stretch sending your mind reeling.

“we’ve got allll night.”

⋆˙⟡ —

the first rays of the sun filtered into your room, casting soft golden streaks across the absolute battlefield that was your bed. clothes were long forgotten, scattered along with the remnants of your once-organized collection of sex toys — all strewn haphazardly on the mattress and floor, evidence of what you’d been subjected to.

but you couldn’t exactly reflect on the mess, not when your mind was lost in the fog of overstimulation.

your body dangled limply in fem gojo’s strong, steady arms, her breath warm against your ear as she held you upright. your head lolled back against her shoulder, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your boyfriend once again set a punishing rhythm with his hips.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice rough from hours of exertion but no less smug. “what number are we on now?”

you tried to answer, you really did, but all that came out was a broken, incoherent moan, your voice cracking as your legs trembled helplessly.

“what was that?” fem gojo teased, her laughter soft and melodic as she adjusted her grip on you, her fingers brushing over your slick, sweat-dampened skin. “i think she lost count. did we hit six or are we on nine?”

“definitely nine,” gojo declared, grinning as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “but she can’t keep up. guess i’ll just have to count for her.”

you whined, barely able to lift your arms, let alone argue.

“poor thing,” fem gojo cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as her lips trailed along your neck. “bet her brain’s all mush now. aren’t ya, pretty?”

you whimpered in response, your body shuddering as another wave of pleasure surged through you, leaving you gasping and clutching at fem gojo’s arms for support.

“look at that,” your boyfriend said with a chuckle, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you closer. “she’s still got some fight in her.”

“for now,” fem gojo quipped, smirking as she nuzzled into your hair.

“but i think we’ve got her for a few more rounds before she taps out.”

“good,” gojo muttered, his pace quickening as his grin widened. “’m not done yet.”

⋆˙⟡ —

you should’ve known better. should’ve known better than to assume fem gojo would let up.

sure, she’d been lounging lazily for a while, playing her role as the smug spectator while her male counterpart relentlessly worked you over. but the thing about gojo — male or female — was that patience wasn’t exactly their virtue.

“y’know,” fem gojo began, her tone as sweet as honey but laced with mischief as she propped her chin on your shoulder, her lips brushing against your ear. “i think we should switch things up for the finale.”

“finale?” you rasped, your voice hoarse and barely audible, every muscle in your body trembling from the sheer exertion.

“yeeaah, finale,” fem gojo purred, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs as she glanced up at her male counterpart, who raised a curious brow. “we’ve been so focused on her. don’t you think it’s time she gives you some love, hmm?”

gojo smirked, catching on immediately. “oh? you’re suggesting somethin'?”

“just an idea,” she said with a shrug, though her grin was positively wicked. “how about she thanks you properly? y’know, with her mouth.”

your head snapped up weakly, eyes wide. “wait —”

“shhhh, sweetheart,” fem gojo cooed, pressing a finger to your lips. “’s only fair, don’t cha think? he’s worked so hard.”

“exactly,” gojo chimed in, already moving to position himself over you, his knees framing your chest as he settled on the bed. “you should thank me.”

before you could protest — or muster the energy to protest — you felt fem gojo’s hands on your thighs, spreading them apart with ease.

“and while you’re doing that,” she murmured, her breath warm against your inner thighs as she lowered herself between them, “i’ll take care of this pretty little cunt. sound good?”

you didn’t even have the chance to respond before her tongue was on you, dragging a loong, languid stripe up your soaked folds that made your back arch off the bed.

“shit,” you gasped, your hands clutching at the pillows beneath your head as your boyfriend smirked down at you.

“open up, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and commanding as he cupped your jaw, guiding you to take him into your mouth.

you whimpered, your lips parting obediently as he slid inside, the weight of him on your tongue making your eyes flutter shut.

“thaaat’s it,” he praised, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate motions. “such a good girl f'me.”

beneath him, fem gojo was working you over with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. her tongue flicked against your clit, her lips wrapping around it to suck softly before diving back down, licking and lapping at you like a woman starved.

“god, you taste so good,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against your folds as she gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place. “i could do this all day.”

your muffled moans vibrated around your boyfriend’s cock, making him groan as he tangled his fingers in your hair.

“fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back as his movements quickened. “you’re gonna make me lose it, baby.”

the combination of sensations — the weight of your boyfriend in your mouth, the relentless pace of fem gojo’s tongue — was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once again.

“don’t pass out on us now,” fem gojo teased, her voice laced with amusement as she felt you clench around nothing, your body trembling violently. “you’ve got one more in you, don’tcha, sweetheart?”

you weren’t sure how you’d survive this, but as your boyfriend’s groans grew louder and fem gojo’s ministrations became even more fervent, you realized there was no escaping it.

you were completely at their mercy, and god, you weren’t sure if you’d ever recover.

the room was chaos, pure and utter chaos. the obscene mix of sounds — gojo’s low groans, your muffled gags, and fem gojo’s pleased hums — was almost too much for your fried brain to process.

you thought you were doing pretty well, honestly. your boyfriend’s usual sarcasm and taunting remarks had been steadily replaced by breathy curses and groans of approval.

“fuck, baby,” he muttered, his hand in your hair guiding you at a steady pace. “you’re so damn good at this — shit, look at you, taking me so well —”

you felt a flicker of pride at that, the kind that came with knowing you were completely wrecking him. but fem gojo? oh, she had other plans.

“aww, don’t forget 'bout me,” she chimed, her voice dripping with amusement as she leaned down, her breath warm against your oversensitive core. “can’t have you hogging all the fun, can we?”

before you could even process her words, her hand came down, a sharp slap! landing square on your clit.

the jolt of pleasure-pain tore a strangled sound from your throat — a sound that unfortunately turned into a gag as your body jerked in surprise, taking your boyfriend deeper than you ever had before.

“holy shit,” gojo choked out, his hips snapping forward instinctively as your throat spasmed around him. “fuck fuck fuck — wait! —”

too late. the sudden sensation was too much for him to handle, and with a low, guttural groan, he came, hot and thick down your throat.

“good — hah — girl,” he panted, his grip on your hair tightening as he rode out his high, his chest heaving. “goddamn — you’re perfect.”

but you barely had time to process his words before your body betrayed you again. fem gojo had taken full advantage of your momentary distraction, her tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring you right to the edge — and then push you right over it.

“there it is,” she cooed as your thighs tensed around her head, her tongue still lapping at you eagerly. “god, you’re so pretty when you lose it.”

and lose it, you did. with a loud cry muffled by the aftermath of your boyfriend’s climax, you came, harder than you ever had before. the intense wave of pleasure ripped through you, your slick gushing out in a way that left both you and fem gojo absolutely stunned.

“well, well,” fem gojo murmured, pulling back just enough to wipe her soaked face with the back of her hand, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “looks like we’re even now, huh?”

gojo’s dazed expression quickly turned smug as he caught his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair. “a squirt for a squirt?” he quipped, his grin sharp as he looked between the two of you. “not bad, sweetheart. i’m almost impressed.”

you groaned, your face burning as you buried it in the nearest pillow, both mortified and completely spent.

“aw, don’t get shy now,” fem gojo teased, leaning down to press a kiss to your thigh. “you did so well. maybe next time, i’ll let you return the favor properly.”

“next time?” you croaked, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“of course,” she said with a wink, already sitting up and stretching like she hadn’t just been part of the most insane night of your life. “you don’t think this is a one-time thing, do you?”

gojo groaned, flopping onto the bed beside you with a lazy grin. “oh, definitely not,” he said, brushing a hand through his hair. “you’re stuck with both of us now, babe.”

and judging by the way they both looked at you — smug, teasing, and entirely too pleased with themselves — you knew you were in for a long ride.

you were done.

like, stick-a-fork-in-you done.

lying there in a dazed mess of tangled sheets and sore limbs, your legs were trembling so hard you swore you could start a minor earthquake. you didn’t even have the strength to bat an eye as male gojo leaned over you, brushing away the strands of hair plastered to your forehead with an almost uncharacteristic tenderness.

“baby, you good?” he asked, a rare note of genuine concern lacing his voice.

“does she look good to you?” fem gojo cut in, lounging nearby with a towel draped over her shoulder. she reached for your pussy tentatively, only for you to weakly swat her hand away.

“don’t you dare.” your voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it still made her chuckle.

“relax, i’m just kidding!… mostly,” she added with a wink, settling back as male gojo shot her a glare.

“she’s off-limits right now,” he said firmly, tossing a bottle of water onto the bed. “here, drink. if she passes out, it’s your fault.”

you groaned, rolling your eyes but still accepting the water with shaky hands. “like it’s just her fault,” you mumbled, earning a sheepish grin from him.

“you’re right, babe,” he admitted, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “but, c’mon. twelve orgasms? i mean, that’s a record, right? a feat of human engineering, honestly.”

fem gojo scoffed, sitting up to stretch. “please, if i wasn’t here, she wouldn’t have made it past six. you’re welcome, by the way.”

“you’re welcome for the stamina training i gave her,” he shot back, sticking out his tongue.

“both of you, shut up,” you groaned, dragging the towel over your face. “my entire body feels like jelly, and if one of you so much as breathes near me, i’m out the window.”

“she’s spicy when she’s exhausted,” fem gojo murmured with a smirk, tossing her head back dramatically. “fine, fine. i’ll behave.”

for now.

male gojo wrapped an arm around your waist, gently pulling you against his chest as fem gojo slid in on your other side. “we’ll take care of you,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“mmm,” was all you could muster, melting into his warmth despite yourself.

“you’re amazing, y’know that?” fem gojo whispered, brushing a hand over your hair. “an absolute goddess. we’re lucky to have you.”

you snorted weakly. “oh, now you’re sweet.”

“only ‘cause you look like you’ve been through a war,” she teased.

male gojo tightened his hold on you, his voice softening. “but seriously, babe. if we went too far —”

“you think?” you interrupted, cracking open one eye to glare at him.

“okay, fair. but we’ll make it up to you. promise.”

fem gojo hummed in agreement, already grabbing a nearby lotion bottle. “massages, snacks, cuddles. whatever you need.”

and for once, they actually seemed serious. no teasing, no ulterior motives — just two ridiculously hot versions of your boyfriend determined to take care of you.

maybe having both of them wasn’t so bad… as long as you kept fem gojo’s hands away from certain places.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164

[classyrbf]

PART 2 OF PRISONER!GETO

prisoner!geto who can’t stop thinking about late at night, getting so worked up and horny, the most horny he’s been in a while. He’s pulling his pants down, closing his eyes while he pictures the way your scrubs clung to your body and showed off your ass. He thanks god he doesn’t have a bunkie or else he’d be in a real awkward position. He purposely gets into another fight a week later, the wound on his lip opening back up. He’s smiling to himself as he gets walked to the infirmary knowing he’ll see you there.

“Not you again,” you sigh.

“Told you I’d see you soon, doctor.” He sits on the small bed, watching as you put on gloves and examine his busted lip. He can tell you’re avoiding eye contact with him, trying your hardest to ignore his stares and slight touches. “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.

You gulp, blinking as you rub the ointment over his wound. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play stupid, but you remember your last conversation so clearly. It makes you nervous. All he does is laugh.

“Come on. I’ll even beg.” He grabs your wrist, slowing pulling it down, a smug smirk on his handsome face. “You telling me you haven’t thought about it once since we last seen each other?” He whispers. He parts his legs, pulling you in between them. And god, you smell so good. So sweet. He could just eat you up right here.

You stand there, unable to form words because as much as you want to say no, you want to say yes. He makes your heart race and your pussy wet. What a sly bastard. With his stupid tattoos, muscles, hair and chiseled face. You hate how much effect he has on you.

“Listen,” he rubs a hand down your waist, “meet me in the supply closet by the showers during lunchtime if you’re really down.” He flashed a smile before standing to his feet and walking out the infirmary. “Bye, bye, doctor.”

Come lunchtime, you walked through the halls of the prison, mentally cursing at yourself. It’s just one time, one time. You bet he won’t even be there, that he’s just playing a stupid joke cause he’s bored with himself. And as you reach out to open the supply door, your heart beats against your ribcage, looking around to find the halls empty. You step in, seeing him leaning against the wall, the faint rays of light allowing you to make out some of his features. “Well, look who it is,” he chuckles. “Came here to help me out, doc?” He walks over to you, trapping you between him and the door.

“Shut up already and let’s get it over with.” You smash your lips on his, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. His large hands grab at your ass, squeezing and groping it as he pushes you against the wall, knocking a few things over. You both pull away, breathing heavily, lips swollen. “We gotta be quick,” you whisper, undoing his jumpsuit while he pulls down your pants.

“More eager than I am, huh?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “Come here.” He bends you over the small wooden table, snatching your panties off and getting a good feel of your ass. His dick jumps, pre cum already leaking from the swollen tip. He’s already so worked up, so ready to feel your wet and tight cunt. “Fuck,” he grunts, running his head over your sopping slit, nudging your clit slightly. “Already so fucking wet.”

He pushes his throbbing tip past your folds, a small gasp leaving your lips when you feel how thick he is. Inch by inch you feel the stretch, you mouth agape as you try and grow accustomed to his size. Geto’s entire body shivers, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you’re sure he’d leave marks. “Ohhh shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. God, it’s been so fucking long since he’s had some good pussy and he can already tell he won’t last long. He finally bottoms out, feeling your walls clench around his length, sucking him in. “My god,” he laughs in your ear. “Lemme just enjoy this feeling—fuckkk—for a moment,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut.

He finally starts moving his hips, feeling his tip press against your cervix with each thrust. With each passing second, he gets faster, fucking your harder and rougher, your pussy has got him in a trance. “Pussy feels so fucking good,” he grips your hips, pulling you back towards him so you can meet his thrusts. One of his hands reach around your throat, gripping it just enough as he pulls you back against his broad chest. “Do you fuck all of your patients or am I just special?” He jokes.

“Mmmm…shut—ah—up!” You cry out, whimpering when he presses up against you, finding a new angle that makes your eyes roll back. “Just keep fucking me,”you say with a raspy breath.

“Doctors orders.” He can feel the way your pussy leaks, your juices dripping down his shaft and make his cock ache like never before. It almost hurts. He hold you tighter against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room. “You take it so well,” he breathes against your skin, pressing wet kisses to your neck. “So fucking well.” His thrusts grow sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. But in the distance, he hears the guards walking down the hall. “Shh, shh, shh.” His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts becoming slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse before hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.

Your eyes squeeze shut, trying your hardest to keep quiet, the guard getting closer and closer. Their keys jingle with each step and their voices grow louder. “Atta girl. You feel how fucking deep I am…shiittt. Keep fucking squeezing me like that—yeah, yeah you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” His brows furrow as he bites down as his bottom lip in attempts to contain his moans, but his abs tense up and his entire body shakes before he’s filling you up, stuffing you with his sticky, hot cum. “No, no, don’t you dare move. Just like thattt, oh yes!” His eyes roll back, still cumming. His pushes his cum deeper inside of you, feeling it leak back out before he finally pulls out.

Geto truly wishes he could’ve had more time with you. His mouth drooling over the mere thought of how you taste, wanting to make you cum on his tongue, but for now he’ll have to settle for this. “You came inside me, asshole!” You pull your pants back up, turning to face him.

“Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He reaches out and stroke your cheek. “Right?”

“Whatever.” You swat his hand away. “Where are my underwear?” You look around the dimly lit room before realizing he was holding them.

“I’ll be keeping these for later,” he swung them in your face before stuffing them in his pocket.

“You’re such a pervert.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You have my cum running down your leg right now.” He places a finger under your chin, tilting it towards him as he leans down and kisses you slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before catching your bottom lip. “Mmm, thank you, doctor.” He smiles before kissing you once more.

You push him off of you, trying to process everything you just did right now. It was so wrong but it felt so right, so good, so intoxicating. “If it makes you feel any better, I get out in six months.”

“No. This was a one time thing.” You place a hand on his chest, shaking your head.

“Was it? Cause I don’t think it was. Not with the way your pussy was squeezing around me. It was almost like she was made for me.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searches yours, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah…it definitely isn’t the last time.”

[euthymiya]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 11 (The End)

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

I could write more, but quite frankly, I think I would kinda drag it out and the first major arc is tied up with a neat little bow! There are definitely be threads left dangling for me to pick up whenever I want to write more about Sky and Azriel, but I think around 50k is a good place to stop for now ❤️

Even the Spymaster of the Night Court paid taxes.

That was the only reason why Rhysand even found out where exactly Azriel‘s home even was.

Azriel’s home was in the outskirts of Velaris, near the mountains. A little lake cabin. Rhys hadn’t even known that Azriel owned it but apparently he did.

Rhys shouldn’t go there. He knew that.

Rhys should be giving his brother space. That was probably the least he owed him. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know Azriel was alright. That he was happy.

Rhys needed to apologise. He needed to make amends…

And Azriel was ignoring him. Mental shields as shored up as they ever had been, shoving back at Rhys at every opportunity…

He had never seen Azriel's mental shields like this before, and it concerned him. He knew Azriel was angry at him, had ever right to be angry,  but Rhys hadn't expected his brother to shut him out so completely.

Reports were still arriving on his desk punctually as always. But Azriel seemed utterly uninterested in actually talking to Rhys. 

It was a small comfort, knowing that Azriel was still working, but Rhysand couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt that had settled deep in his gut. He knew that he had hurt Azriel deeply, and he couldn’t blame his brother for shutting him out.

Rhys wished he could turn back time and fix things, but he had messed up terribly. He knew he had to give Azriel space, but the silence between them was deafening . It was a constant reminder of just how much damage he had caused.

As the days went on, Rhysand found himself consumed by thoughts of what he could have done…should have done… He tried reaching out to Azriel mentally, only to be rebuffed each time. 

Cassian showed up alone for debriefings and if Rhys showed up at the House of Wind for Valkyrie Training, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

So finally…Rhys had enough. So he showed up at that house. 

It was a nice house too, a secluded cabin at a mountain lake. Rhys knew that he wasn’t welcome, not after everything that had passed between them, but he had to see Azriel. 

Rhys raised a hand, knocking gently on the door. He could hear the faint sound of movement inside. Rhysand sighed. He should leave. He knew he should leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

And then suddenly, to his surprise…the door opened. 

“…C…Can I….can I h…help you?“

She was brown haired and short… with deep blue eyes and freckles smattering over her nose.

Rhysand looked at the woman in front of him, taken aback by her appearance. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't a small, curvy, freckled brunette.

"I, uh..." Rhysand stammered, his mind blanking. "I was looking for Azriel." he finally brought out. 

The small female studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Az…Azriel's n…not h…here," she stuttered.

Rhysand's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show. "Do you know where he is?" he asked, desperate for any information.

The female hesitated, biting her lip slightly. She seemed to be contemplating her answer, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she finally looked back up at him, her expression unreadable. "He…He's...o…out f…for t…the d…day," she said finally, not giving him anymore than that.

Rhysand tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so close to his brother, and yet so far away. "Do you know when he'll be back?" he asked sharply.

She nearly flinched away from him at that tone of voice.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but he didn't even get to that. Because some thing with wickedly sharp claws, launched itself at his head with a hissing sound.

Rhysand yelped as the mysterious creature swiped at his face, growling all the while.

"HECTOR NO!" The female shrieked.

Rhysand stumbled backwards, trying to dodge the sharp claws.

Just at that moment, he felt more than he heard his brother's arrival.

Azriel materialized between them with a loud flapping of wings, his siphons blazing. He stood protectively in front of the small female, his expression murderous.

"Hector to me," he snapped. The thing, a cat ...an incredible ugly , murderous looking cat let off Rhys with another growl and slunk back to Azriel's side, heeling like a dog. The woman quickly scooped him up in her arms.

Cassian's laughter washed over him, at that moment, as Rhys was still laying on the ground, bested by a cat .

"Taking down by a cat now, Rhysie?" Cassian asked him with a snort, offering him his hand to gain his feet.

Rhys already knew that he was never going to live this down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Azriel hissed, his voice filled with anger. His wings were spread wide, and Rhysand could see the barely contained ferocity beneath his brother's cold facade.

Rhysand winced at Azriel's harsh tone. He knew he had messed up, and he didn't blame his brother for being angry with him. "I just wanted to see you," he said, feeling small under Azriel's penetrating glare.

Azriel's expression didn't soften at his words. "You had no right," he said sharply. "You can't just show up here unannounced, Rhysand. This is my home, and you're not welcome here. You terrified Sky!"

Sky. Sky. That was the name of his brother's mate...of the pretty brunette that was standing behind him, fussing over her murderous cat.

Rhysand glanced over at Sky guiltily. "I...I'm sorry," he said to her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sky hesitated, before nodding stiffly. Her face remained guarded, her arms still wrapped protectively around the mangy cat. Rhysand couldn't help but notice how small she looked compared to Azriel's imposing form…and the absolute massive cat. 

"I am sorry," he turned to his brother, swallowing. The apology wasn't enough. he knew that. And it wasn't going to fix the fact that Azriel didn't trust him anymore or... *Az. Please.*

"How did you find this house?" Azriel demanded.

"I checked the tax reports," Rhys admitted with a grimace.

Azriel's expression darkened even further, and Rhys braced himself for a reprimand. Instead, his brother let out a harsh, bitter chuckle. "Of course you did," he said flatly. "Just can't stay out of my business, can you?"

Rhysand felt a pang in his chest at the hostility in Azriel's voice. He knew he deserved every ounce of resentment his brother felt, but it still hurt deep to hear it out loud. "I...I was worried about you," he said lamely.”I just needed to see you." he added. "To apologise."

"You don't even realise the lines you keep crossing, do you?" Cassian asked him flatly. "Ever thought about the fact that maybe you should have waited until Azriel was ready to hear you out?

Rhysand winced. Cassian's words struck a nerve, and he knew his friend was right. He had been rash and insensitive in coming here unannounced. "I...I wasn't thinking," he admitted softly.

Cassian shook his head, his expression still stern. "That's the problem, Rhys," he said bluntly. "You never seem to think these days. It's like you're so caught up in your own head that you don't consider how your actions affect those around you."

Rhysand's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. Cassian's words pierced straight through him, and he struggled to find a response. He knew he had been making mistakes, but hearing them laid out so bluntly still stung.

"What do you want?" Azriel asked him flatly. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to apologise," Rhys said weakly. "I...fucked up. I know that. I want to...fix things."

Azriel's face remained impassive, his eyes hard. "You can't just fix things with an apology, Rhys," He said curtly. "You crossed more than one line, and you shattered my trust. Do you really think saying sorry is enough?"

"Az," his mate said softly, her voice quiet. "H..He's blee..bleeding all over our front lawn after my cat at..attacked him. At least let him sit down and give him a healing salve…"

Azriel turned to look at his mate, his anger softening ever so slightly at the concern in her voice. He let out a heavy sigh, before nodding stiffly. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But no more than that."

Rhysand nodded gratefully, relieved that Azriel was willing to let him in, even if only slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I...I really am sorry."

Azriel didn't respond, turning away from him and herded Sky and the murder cat into the house. Rhysand watched him go, feeling a pang of sadness. It was clear that his brother's anger was far from abated, and he knew it would take a lot more than just an apology to mend their fractured relationship.

"Come on," Cassian prodded him up.

The first thing that Rhys realised about the house Azriel shared with his mate was that it was absolutely stuffed full with books. The second was, that Azriel clearly doted on the Murder Cat that got a crystal dish with tuna on it put on the floor before Azriel even went in the direction of the healing salve, which he slapped down on the table in front of Rhysand. .

"I…I am so…sorry," Sky apologised to Rhys, bright blue eyes apologetic. "H…Hector has nev…never done anything like that before, I swear."

Yeah, somehow he doubted that. But he also doubted that it was going to help his relationship with Azriel if he was going to annoy his mate about her beastly cat. The thing had a worse personality than Amren . 

"Don't worry about it," he said, with what he hoped he was a gracious smile. "I think your cat and I just got off on the wrong foot." He looked over at the cat, who was now happily devouring the tuna as if it hadn't just tried to claw his face off.

"Good Boy, Hector," Azriel said warmly.

Rhysand could just stare.

Azriel, the feared Spymaster of the Night Court, was cooing at a mangy cat like a proud parent. He never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"Who knew the Spymaster had a soft spot for cats," Rhysand remarked with a faint smile. Azriel shot him a warning glare, but the sternness was lost at the tender way he was petting the cat. "I am really sorry," Rhys apologised again.

"You said so. Numerous times," Azriel shot back.

Rhysand sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew Azriel was still angry with him, but it was hard not to feel the guilt weighing down on him. "I know," he said softly. "But I want you to know that I mean it. I am sorry, Azriel. For everything."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but Rhysand could see the flicker of sadness in his eyes. He knew his brother was struggling to forgive him, but he hoped that with time, Azriel would be able to find it in his heart to do so.

"I just want to make things right," Rhysand said earnestly. "I miss you, Az. I miss my brother."

"You'll need to decide one of those days," Azriel said sharply. "Am I your soldier or am I your brother?"

Rhysand flinched at the words, feeling the weight of the accusation hit him hard. 

He had always tried to balance his role as High Lord with his relationship with his brothers, but he knew that…that he hadn’t been fair to Azriel for a long time. "You're right," he conceded quietly. "I have been treating you like my soldier instead of my brother, and that's not fair to you."

"You have been treating him absolutely deplorably," Cassian cut him off.

Rhysand hung his head, feeling the weight of his mistakes settling heavy on his shoulders. "I know," he said quietly. "I've been so caught up in my own problems and responsibilities as High Lord that I lost sight of what really matters. And I've hurt Azriel because of it."

"And you stuck your nose in things that are none of your business," Cassian continued. "I get it that you are tired of fighting, Rhys, we all are, but you can't keep conflict out of our family by ordering Azriel to behave in the way you would like him to."

Rhysand winced, knowing Cassian was right. He had been trying to control things, to make sure everyone was safe and happy, but in the process, he had driven a wedge between himself and his brothers. "I...I know," he admitted reluctantly. "I was…I was stupid. I am tired of war. Of fighting. And I was just trying to protect him, but I went about it all wrong."

" Protect me?" Azriel asked him, his voice dripping with disdain. " Protect me from what ?"

Rhysand looked away, feeling the shame rise within him. He knew he had overstepped, and he knew that Azriel was angry with him. "The consequences that would have arisen," he said delicately. He didn't know what Azriel had told his mate...didn't know how much she knew, but she was watching him with an expression on his face, he couldn't quite place.

"Well, I am an adult, Rhysand," Azriel snapped. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Rhys knew that. He knew Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself. But he still felt the need to protect him, to shield him from harm.

"I...I know that," Rhysand said quietly. "I just didn't want to see you get hurt." He glanced over at Azriel's mate, who was still watching him warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being evaluated, judged for his mistakes.

Azriel let out a dry chuckle. "Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" he said bitterly. "You've seen to that already." Rhysand winced at the accusation, knowing that he deserved every ounce of Azriel's anger.

"I know," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry for that. I see now that it was the wrong way to go about it." He looked into his brother's dark eyes, pleading for understanding.

Azriel met his gaze, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Protecting me by making decisions for me is not protecting me, Rhysand," he said quietly. "It's...it's suffocating. It's demeaning."

Rhysand nodded, knowing that Azriel was right. He had been trying to control everything, trying to make sure that nothing went wrong, and he had lost sight of what was truly important. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I am sorry for making you feel that way. It was wrong of me."

Azriel studied him for a moment, before finally sighing. "Just...stop it," he said simply. "No more interfering in my personal life, no more giving me orders like I am one of your soldiers."

Rhysand let out a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I promise," he said earnestly. "I won't do it again, Az. I...I'll respect your boundaries, and I'll never overstep again."

Azriel snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he said gruffly. "And if you do...if you try to control me like that again, I swear Rhysand...it won't end well."

"You'll ha…have He…Hecctor to contend with," Sky said, her voice even.

Rhysand looked over at Hector, who had finished his tuna and was now licking his chops.  Rhys swallowed. "He does seem to be a force to be reckoned with," he said carefully.

Sky gave him a small, tight-lipped smile. "You could say t…that," she said, her tone neutral. Azriel snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he watched his mate. It was the first genuinely carefree sound Rhysand had heard from his brother…in a long time.

Despite the earlier tension, Rhysand found himself smiling too. There was something about the way Azriel looked at his mate, the way he looked...happy, that made Rhysand feel like maybe everything would be alright.

Hector chose that moment to let out a loud meow, his voice sounding like a rusty hinge in the otherwise quiet room. Azriel looked down at the cat, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll get you your second helping, spoiled brat," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice.

Rhysand chuckled, feeling the tension that had been weighing him down lift just a little. Things between him and Azriel weren't repaired yet, they had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.

“They do say the pen is mi…mightier than a sword,” Sky said suddenly. “You treat Azriel like that again and you’ll see just how mighty my pen is.”

Rhysand's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Sky's unexpected threat. It was clear that she wasn't messing around, and Rhys couldn't help but admire her boldness. He glanced over at Azriel, who was trying to suppress a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Rhysand said, trying to hide his amusement. "Though I have to say, I can’t imagine a pen being as terrifying as Hector."

Cassian snorted. “Oh you have no idea,” he muttered

Rhysand's eyes widened in curiosity at Cassian's comment. What on earth did that mean? But before he could inquire further, Azriel's voice broke through.

"Don't worry about it," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Let's just say that you don't want to get on Sky's bad side, especially when she has her writing instruments within reach."

"Duly noted," Rhysand said, nodding seriously. He had a feeling that Azriel's mate was not someone to be trifled with, regardless of how harmless she looked, and he had no intention of finding out first-hand just how mighty her pen truly was.

Hector, having finished his second helping of tuna, let out a satisfied meow before padding over to Sky and rubbing against her leg. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears, smiling as he purred contentedly.

Rhysand watched the scene. He had never seen Azriel so relaxed, so happy, and it made him realize just how badly he had missed his brother. It was a reminder that family was more important than anything, and that he needed to cherish the people he cared about.

“Seems like you aren’t Sky’s favourite,” Cassian drawled.

Azriel snorted. “Nah, I come a distant third behind Hector and the shadows.”

Rhys watched with a swallow as these shadows that he had seen torturing people came over to Sky and twined around her hands. Azriel's words were said in jest, but Rhysand could hear the fondness in his voice. It was clear that Azriel adored his mate, and that the shadows had taken a liking to her as well. Rhysand tried not to let the slight sting of jealousy show on his face.

As he watched, the shadows danced around Sky's fingers, like they were alive and had a mind of their own. Rhys had seen the shadows in action, had seen how Azriel used them to fight and spy, but he had never seen them act this way before. There was a tenderness in the way they twined around Sky that was almost...beautiful.

Rhys turned to Azriel, who was watching his mate with a soft expression on his face. "They seem to like her," he commented, keeping his voice neutral.

"That's an understatement," Azriel said drily. "They're obsessed with her. They won't leave her alone."

Rhysand could see that clearly, but what surprised him more was how comfortable Sky seemed with them. She wasn't scared or even bothered by their presence...

It did make sense he supposed. The shadows were Azriel's weapon, his most trusted companions...that they would like his mate.

Rhysand watched as Sky looked up from where the shadows were wrapping around her fingers, a faint smile on her face. She seemed completely at ease with the strange entities, as if they were just another part of Azriel that she had accepted and embraced.

And it was also a sharp reminder of how much trust Rhys had destroyed through his actions. It was very clear who Azriel preferred, who he trusted more. Who he gravitated towards. Who even his shadows doted on, these strange, creatures that Rhys was quite sure would stop at nothing to keep their master safe.

The realization stung, but Rhys knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had caused this rift between them, he had pushed Azriel away, and now he was paying the price for it. But he was determined to make it right, no matter how long it took.

As he watched Azriel gently brush away a stray strand of hair from Sky's face, Rhys made a silent vow. He would do whatever it took to repair their broken bond, to regain Azriel's trust and respect. No matter how hard it was, no matter how long it took, he would make things right.

***

"You want to talk about it?" Sky asked him quietly, after Cassian ad Rhys had gone. 

She was fine now. Content. No more pulling at the mating bond so harshly and pushing all her fear at him. It had shaved at least a century of his life, to feel that from her when Casisan and him had been sparring and he knew that she was supposed to be safe at home.

He had expected near everything…but he hadn’t expected to arrive to the view of Hector scratching Rhys’s face with all his might. 

Azriel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on him. He wasn't sure if he was ready to put his tangled emotions into words yet, but he also knew that he couldn't keep it all bottled up inside.

"Rhys gave me some orders that I didn't agree with," he said drily. "Stuck his nose in things that he had no business to interfere with. He treated me...treated me like my feelings didn't matter. That I didn't matter....It took a really bad fight on Solstice for this apology to occur," he said with a grimace.

"You don't think he means it?" Sky asked him curiously, turning to look at him.

"No, he does mean it," Azriel said with a sigh. He did believe that. “He wants to fix things. to rebuild trust...And I do want that too. Regardless of how much of an asshole he can be on occasion he is still my brother ."

Sky was quiet for a long moment, watching him intently. Azriel felt the weight of her gaze, knowing that she was analyzing the situation, trying to understand what he was feeling. Finally, she spoke.

"You're worried that he'll disappoint you again," she said softly. "That he'll make promises that he can't keep. That he'll go back on his word and hurt you worse than before."

Azriel's throat felt tight. The words hit him hard, because Sky had put a voice to his deepest fears. "Yes," he admitted. "That'sexactly what I'm afraid of. I want to believe him, I do."

But it was hard to trust Rhys right ow. Especially with Sky. Trusting Rhys with the most important, the most precious part of his life...

"I can loan you Hector whenever he pisses you off again," Sky offered him seriously, and Azriel couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks," he said with a small smile. "I might just take you up on that." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. The scent of caramel and hazelnuts enveloped him, calming his racing thoughts and easing the tension in his shoulders.

"I love you, he whispered into her skin and she hummed. "Regardless of what happens, you  have me," Sky promised him. "I'll be behind you, every step of the way. regardless of whatever you decide."

Those words were like a balm to Azriel's soul. The fear and doubt that had been plaguing him since Rhysand's unexpected visit receded, replaced by a sense of safety and certainty. He held onto Sky tightly.

"I love you too," she murmured, the words barely audible even in the still apartment.

They stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding onto each other.

*I don't think I ever thanked you.* he told the shadows softly as he held his mate in his arms.

The shadows fluttered around him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders like a comforting embrace. They didn't say anything, but Azriel could feel their response. They had been with him through thick and thin, protecting him, guiding him, and never once asking for a word of thanks. And yet, he knew that they understood his gratitude, that they could feel it…

*Thank you for finding her.*

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 2

Part 2 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The strange scent of an unknown female and a... love letter? Warnings: Out of character bat boys? idk but they are happy and brotherly and all is good in this, Mention of illicit affairs (just teasing), Bad injuries, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

The Spymaster had a dirty little secret.

Well, not really. But she loved to tease Azriel by referring to herself as such. 

He always pretended to hate it, but he could never fight the smile he got when hearing her refer to herself as his dirty little secret.

Deep down, he knew she did it just to see that damned smile.

He wasn’t smiling right now though, as he sat in his office after a rather… tiresome mission and got berated by his dirty little secret in question. 

While the conversation wasn’t pleasant, a wave of disappointment hit Azriel as he heard the combined footsteps of the High Lord and his General.

With one last scathing look, she walked into the shadows once more.

“Az! Rhysand and I were… was someone else just in here?” Cassian asked, stopping whatever thought was so important in the moment that both brothers had to interrupt him, but not important enough to finish.

“No.”

“Azriel, we can smell that a female was in here… a rather excited one at that.” Rhysand said, slightly wincing at his word choice.

“Oh my Mother, Azriel is having an illicit affair with an unknown female in his office.” Cassian teased, bouncing on his feet at the excitement the mere idea gave him.

“Yes, Cassian. I found time while finishing paperwork from the two week long mission I went on to have a clandestine meeting with a woman.” Azriel grumbled. He played it off as a ridiculous thing to think, but it wasn’t actually that far from the truth. In reality, she didn’t really give him any time nor warning to find the time to get yelled at by her.

“Who is she? Do we know her? Nesta is going to die when I tell her we caught you post-hot and steamy meeting with a mystery woman.”

“I didn’t mean excited as in aroused, you idiot.” Rhysand said while smacking the back of Cassian’s head. “Is this the so-called best friend? And how did you get someone to winnow in and out of here without being detected?” 

“She didn’t winnow.”

“But her scent starts and ends in this room?” Cassian jumped in, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes.”

Both brothers waited for more information, till they remembered who they were talking to. Rhysand caught sight of the Shadows once more appearing in the room. “Did- did she shadow walk?” That seemed like the only explanation, but how could she have done such a thing without Azriel? She couldn't have been able to unless…

“Please tell me you did not find another fucking Shadowsinger and not tell us immediately.” Cassian begged.

“I didn’t find another Shadowsinger and not tell you immediately.” Azriel replied sarcastically. 

“Wait, so did you or did you not?”

“I didn’t.” He replied truthfully. Not that the two bastards standing in front of him could tell.

Realizing that once again Azriel wasn’t going to give more than he wanted to, Cassian and Rhysand gave up, finally explaining what they had actually come into the room for. 

----

“I swear to you Feyre, Darling. Just smell his office!” Rhysand said as he led his mate, with Cassian and Nesta in toe, to the Spy Master’s office.

He had sent Azriel on a bullshit errand in order to get the two Archeron sisters to experience it for themselves, having not believed either of the two Illyrians. 

Azriel knew it was a bullshit errand, but he also knew he didn’t want to deal with whatever Rhysand was planning on doing without his knowledge. 

“All I can smell is Cassian’s sweaty leathers.” Nesta said, coughing at the smell.

“I just washed them!” Cassian replied defensively. This only made Nesta gag, the smell strong enough to prevail even after a deep clean.

The two began to bicker, Rhysand joining in, as Feyre snooped around, not having had the opportunity to really look around Az’s office before. 

She had been content in her observations, ready to stop the argument about Cassian's eternal body odor, when she spotted a letter in beautiful handwriting.

She couldn’t read the letter, it had been written in a language she had never seen. Just as she began to lose interest, the sign off startled her.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, startling the rest of the occupants in the room.

“What's wrong?” Nesta asked, concerned at the sudden swearing. The vulgarity was normal for the eldest Archeron but not so much with the youngest. 

As Feyre pointed to the letter, Rhysand walked around to look at it, also unable to read whatever language it was written in. 

“Must be from one of his spies. Some kind of thing only they can read.” He reasoned.

“Why would he talk to his spies like this?” She asked, pointing to the ending, reading it out for the other two in the room.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵,

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

A stunned silence filled the room. This was a strangely poetic side of Azriel none of them had ever witnessed. Before any questions could be asked, a crash sounded from the balcony. 

There, the poet in question held his stomach, seemingly trying to stop his organs from falling out. 

—

“How do you feel?” Rhysand asked his brother, finally waking up after a long few days asleep.

“Like death.” Azriel answered, head pounding from the light, even though it was as dark as possible, minus the candle that was lit on the far side of the room inhibited by the rest of the Inner Circle.

“Good. You are an asshole for staying on the brink of death for days straight. You stressed us out enough with your dramatics. I hope you hurt for a little.” Nesta said, trying to hide her relief at Az’s sudden consciousness. 

“It isn’t my fault I was attacked while having to search every art supply store in Velaris for certain paints Rhys wanted for Feyre. Which by the way, Rhysand, don’t exist. So fuck you for that.”

Rhysand grimaced. Feyre sent him a feeling down the bond he knew meant he was in for a lot of berating later. 

“At least you are on the mend. Madja said the poison coating their weapons is what really did you in. Once she found the anecdote you started healing. So, no hard feelings. Everyone is happy now, yes?” Cassian explained, a forced smile on his face as he hoped Rhysand wouldn’t bring up the fact it was his idea to send Az on the impossible paint run. 

“Actually, I have a few choice words for the Shadowsinger.” A new voice replied, startling every single person in the room. Well, all except one.

Azriel groaned in his bed, wishing the headache was worse just so he didn’t have to go through what he knew was unavoidable. 

“You know, we have a rule. No taking what isn’t ours without explicit permission from the other. 500 years is a long time to obey that rule just to throw it out the window.” The mysterious fae female scolded.

The rest of the room was in a stunned silence. Hands on weapons, magic at their fingertips, ready to fight whoever this was the second the shock wore off. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Cassian yelled.

A reasonable question.

The sound made Azriel wince, head still pounding. But it was about to get way worse. 

“My carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

A/n: sooo part 3?

[nerd-party]

ill try to answer them all:

genevieve, and I like it!

Yep! I can't draw but I do acting and singing

Yes unfortunately

be on stage as a job

Will Campos waved at me once

not right now, my legs are too fucked

being overlooked: seen but ignored for someone else who is just as good/worse than me

Barret Wilbert weed

I can sing, do card tricks, and I can walk incredibly quietly (ninja style)

absolutely fucking not, just TRY waking me up before 10am at the weekend

Only for bf/gfs but I am down for a nickname

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA YES

I don't watch shows so I'll list one show and movies: good omens, red white and royal blue, the princes bride

not really lol

Me and my friends from all across my friend groups sitting in an oak tree eighty feet high, smoking weed and passing round a bottle of wine that never emptied. We watched the snow fall and the sun rise and it was literally perfect.

nope

nope again

nope x3

unfortunately I am a social butterfly but I wish I could just be on my own sometimes fr

yep! Never used to be but I guess I'm popular now

bite my nails

I always forget I have mascara on so I rub my eyes and I look stupid- I feel open to attack.

Jon if it's a boy, Elisa if it's a girl, and backup name of Ollie/Yasmin/Jasmine

dont have one but DAMN Andrew Garfield fine

music

Dogs but I do love cats

Literally tumbles my only social. I guess ao3?

@valkzzheart

brother, sister, mum, dad. Pretty standard shit

chocolate 🤤

Yep!

YES I LOVE ROLLERCOASTERS

yep, quite well

I have a. DETAILED PLAN. if y'all want me to tell it exactly lmk and I'll divulge my master plan.

yes, a few

Yep!

Pink/blue!

England!!! TOP BINS MATE OAYYYY

Any musical theatre artist!! Or Conan Gray

yes!! It's a big dream of mine but I don't wanna be super famous

Yes I love dresses but I wish it was warmer where I live so I can wear them more

popular from wicked / astronomy by Conan Gray

talking about it in person yes (especially with parents) online no, actually doing it would be a no

like 12?

Yes I do it all the time, Im in a shooting club

Nope!!

i love horror!!

According to my friends yes and I think I'm good too

one time I got really mad at my parents because I was sent away from the dinner table in my old home so I went upstairs and flushed a whole toilet roll down the bog

pretty exhausted

Yes I was actually

i never used to be able to dance but I can now

Biting my nails again

Yes!! I bleached it just so I could dye it

Blue

ferret

Onstage once yeah but it wasn't my fault (mic cut out, I got made fun of)

Yes!

lots!

My main friend group is GAE 🏳️‍🌈

drama

None

sometimes? It varies

pet sematary (1989) FANTASTIC

Not on TV but in podcasting: Normally 'Ly Oak-Swallows-Garcia-Li-Wilson-Marlowe-Swift-The-Unworthy is just like me fr

need to be at the top and extreme competitiveness I force myself not to think about, plus my extreme feelings about fairness

hiking the mountains and going around the world to beautiful places

If I would never die I would start committing crimes

singing aloud onstage and around the house to practice

who I became friends with would change ASAP and my class too

yes absolutely

Late October

My room with all my DND stuff

Did my singing competition auditions!!

an astrophysicist

A stable career and a consistent home life

I usually speak up, I don't think I have a moment like this

I have to get better at everything.

I feel like that already with how many extracurriculars I'm doing bruh 😭

seeing the sights bro

Houses for me and my friends/family, stable education funds for me, my friends, my kids, my family and all our kids. Keep people safe from bankruptcy

The past, instantly. Live in the 80s and 70s forever

a love of acting and helping others

same one from earlier- hanging with the boys committing crimes!!

The woods would be nice but if get bored. The city

Nope. There's no afterlife. It just ends.

my year 6 teacher was the GOAT

playing Lego with my friend from nursery, Aoife.

Einstein so I can get his last words

I don't really know yet. I've laughed so hard I've cried but it's not the same

that some people are gonna think others are better than you and you just have to deal with that. Favoritism is everywhere and fairness is irrelevant.

Nothing.

kill some people probably /hj

run away/defy authority unfortunately

yes, because no matter what people say, looks matter especially early in life. If youre pretty at school you aren't bullied and people like you. I want to give my kid the best chance. (not saying this is a good thing, I hate this but it's the truth)

idk just kinda happened one day

impending doom and my immense hopelessness and just. General sense of emptiness and failure.

exist.

hey that wasnt 100 you skipped 2!!

100 Questions!

Thought these might be fun? Ask me some and I’ll try(I can’t promise) to get something up for you later! these questions aren’t my own

1. What’s your middle name, and do you like it? 2. are you artistic? 3. Have you had your first kiss? 4. What is your life goal? 5. Do you have any expieriences with a famous person? 6. Do you play any sports? 7. What’s your worst fear? 8. Who’s your biggest inspiration? 9. Do you have any cool talents? 10. are you a morning person? 11. How do you feel about pet names? 12. Do you like to read? 13. Name a list of shows that have changed your life. 14. Do you care about your follower count? 15. What’s the best dream you’ve had? 16. Have you ever kissed someone of your same gender? 17. Do you have any pets? 18. Are you religious? 19. Are you a people person? 20. Are you considered popular? 21. What is one of your bad habits? 22. What’s something that makes you feel vulnerable 23. What would you name your children? 24. Who’s your celebrity crush? 25. What’s your best subject? 26. Dogs or cats? 27. most used social media besides tumblr? 28. best friends name 29. who does your main family consist of 30. Chocolate or sugar 31. have you ever been on a date? 32. Do you like rollercosters? 33. Can you swim? 34. What would you do in the event of an apocolypse? 35. Have you struggled with any kind of mental disorder 36. Are your parents together? 37. What’s your favourite colour? 38. What country are you from/do you live in? 39. Favourite singer? 40. Do you see yourself being famous some day? 41. Do you like dresses? 42. Favourite song right now? 43. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? 44. How old were you when you first got your period? 45. Have you ever shot a gun? 46. Have you ever done yoga? 47. Are you a horror girl? 48. Are you good at giving advice? 49. Tell us a story about your childhood. 50. How are you doing today? 51. Were you a cute kid? 52. Can you dance? 53. Is there anything you do that you can’t remember ever not doing? 54. Have you ever dyed your hair? 55. What colour are your eyes? 56. What’s your favourite animal? 57. Have you ever made a huge fool of yourself? 58. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 59. Do you have good friends? 60. Are you close with anyone of the lgbtq+ group? 61. What’s your favourite class? 62. List all the tv shows you are watching. 63. Are you organized? 64. What was the last movie you saw? Opinion? 67. Which tv character do you relate to most? 68. What are some things that stand between you and complete happiness? 69. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? 70. What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die? 71. What would you do differently if you knew that no one was judging you? 72. If you could start over, what would you do differently? 73. Would you break the law to save a loved one? 74. When was the last time you travelled somewhere new? 75. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? 76. What have you done to pursue your dreams lately? How about today? 77. What did you want to be when you were a kid? 78. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? 79.When did you not speak up, when you know you really should have? 80. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence 81. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life, what would that look like? 82. If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity? 83. How would you spend a billion dollars? 84. If you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future? 85. What motivates you to succeed? 86. What dream that you’ve had has resonated with you the most? 87. Would you rather live in the city or the woods? Why? 88. Do you believe in life after death 89. What teacher inspired you the most? How did they? 90. What’s your fondest childhood memory? 91. If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why? 92. What would you have to see to cry tears of joy? 93. What is the hardest lesson you had to learn in life? 94. What do you think happens after we die? 95. What would you do if you would be invisible? 96. What’s something you can’t do no matter how hard you try? 97. Would you want to choose the sex and appearance of your offspring? 98. How did your first crush develop? 99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it? 100. Do you live or do you just exist?

[moonstruckme]

MAE!!! I'M HERE TO OFFICIALLY SPAM YOUR INBOX WITH REQUESTS (and no you don't have to answer all of them)

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 8K!!!

And first I would like to order a hot cocoa with James Potter and First Snow

Once again, massive congrats, Mae!!! Here’s to even more milestones (and my spam, of course)!

Thank you lovely <33

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 451 words

You’ve been up for hours by the time James rouses. 

You’d woken in the middle of night to peer outside, pulling open the curtains when you saw the snow blanketing your neighborhood. You had every intention of enjoying the peaceful view for a few minutes before you fell back asleep, except the peaceful view proved too exciting for you to drift off again. You’ve been half dozing while you’ve watched, mesmerized, as the pile outside your window has grown and the sun has come up. 

James reaches over and pulls you back into his chest with a warm, sleepy sound. You rub his forearm affectionately. 

His nose nudges behind your ear, cold. “Y’awake?” he mumbles. 

“Mhm.” 

He tugs at your hip, and you roll over, trading one view for another. James’ eyes are squinty and unfocussed the way they always are before he puts his glasses on in the mornings, his dark curls poofy on one side and crushed against his pillow on the other. He draws a line up your side with his palm. 

“It’s early for you, lovie.” 

You smile. You’re so happy your cheeks almost hurt. “It’s snowing.” 

“Oh, yeah?” James props himself up on an elbow to look over you out the window, then turns around to reach for his glasses when he can’t see anything. For reasons unbeknownst to you, watching your boyfriend adjust the bridge with his middle finger will never become less endearing. He blinks, taking in the scene outside. “Woah.” 

“Right?” You’re giddy. “It’s been going for hours.” 

“Looks like it,” James says, but his eyes are on you. He smiles adoringly. You kiss the uptilt corner of his lips on a whim, and it tilts further. “This is weird for me,” he admits. “Usually it’s me who wakes up first and has to try to get you out of bed.” 

“Who says I’m trying to get you out of bed?” 

He cups your cheek, squeezing. “You want to go out in the snow,” he says knowingly. 

You bite down on your lip in hopes of suppressing it, but your smile is unmistakably sheepish. James laughs, kissing you. 

“Give me just a second, angel.” He sits up, raising his arms above him in a stretch. 

“We can cuddle for a while first,” you offer. 

James looks at you. “You won’t be too eager to go?” 

You shake your head mutely. 

“Really? Because I was thinking that if I make cocoa now and let it simmer on the stove, it’ll be hot when we come back in.” 

You throw off the covers, going to find your clothes. “Good point. There’ll be plenty of time for cuddling later.” 

James laughs as he follows you up.

[elodieunderglass]

Having dug out the Unfinished Tales to reference a conversation Tolkien wrote between Gandalf and Pippin (but didn’t publish) I thought I’d share it. Gandalf is talking to Pippin about the history of Thorin’s company, hobbits and why he chose Bilbo.

This is evidence for the grand statement I just made about how Bilbo was intended to be a catalyst that changed his society, and that hobbit society was indeed significantly different after his journey, with large social changes occurring between The Hobbit and Fellowship. But it’s also a very funny passage to me so here it is:

‘And then there was the Shire-folk. I began to have a warm place in my heart for them in the Long Winter, which none of you can remember.

They were very hard put to it then: one of the worst pinches they have been in, dying of cold, and starving in the dreadful dearth that followed. But that was the time to see their courage, and their pity one for another. It was by their pity as much as by their tough uncomplaining courage that they survived. I wanted them still to survive.

(😭😭😭😭. Also the theme of having pity for each other is what redeems both Bilbo and Frodo re: Gollum.)

But I saw that the Westlands were in for another very bad time again, sooner or later, though of quite a different sort: pitiless war.

(This is possibly one reason why this passage didn’t make it to publication - Gandalf shouldn’t have had this much foreknowledge of the upcoming war of the ring.)

To come through that I thought they would need something more than they now had. It is not easy to say what. Well, they would want to know a bit more, understand a bit clearer what it was all about, and where they stood.

(It’s also explaining that Bilbo’s role in Thorin’s company was predetermined both by a more omnipotent Gandalf and by Fate; that Gandalf selected Bilbo to be a social catalyst, to return and provoke hobbit society into a more adaptable, resilient state; therefore increasing their chances of surviving.)

They had begun to forget: forget their own beginnings and legends, forget what little they had known about the greatness of the world. It was not yet gone, but it was getting buried: the memory of the high and the perilous. But you cannot teach that sort of thing to a whole people quickly. There was not time.

(Thus Bilbo was supposed to be changed, and return changed by his journey, to teach his people.)

And anyway you must begin at some point, with some one person. I dare say he was “chosen” and I was only chosen to choose him; but I picked out Bilbo.’

‘Now that is just what I want to know,’ said Peregrin. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘How would you select any one Hobbit for such a purpose?’ said Gandalf. ‘I had not time to sort them all out;

(He is SO funny)

but I knew the Shire very well by that time, although when I met Thorin I had been away for more than twenty years on less pleasant business. So naturally thinking over the Hobbits that I knew, I said to myself: “I want a dash of the Took” (but not too much, Master Peregrin)

(This is brilliant we are always BODYING pippin constantly. NOT TOO MUCH TOOK 👀. We were ROBBED not having this in canon )

“and I want a good foundation of the stolider sort, a Baggins perhaps.” That pointed at once to Bilbo.

(Eugenics! Observing them like laboratory mouse lines! Call him a Charles River BILB/o the way you’re genotyping these poor little bastards for your purposes)

And I had known him once very well, almost up to his coming of age, better than he knew me.

(??? Hiding in the bushes spying or…?)

I liked him then. And now I found that he was “unattached” – to jump on again, for of course I did not know all this until I went back to the Shire. I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd, though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not the one that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master.

(Was it cos he’s gay as fuck, Gandalf)

No, I guessed that he wanted to remain “unattached” for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself – or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him.

(I 100% now and for always love a narrator in a constant state of Just Fucking Lies To Everyone All The Time, Giving Us Nothing, Acknowledging Nothing Including Himself. NOPE NOT PROCESSING ANYTHING TODAY THANKS. WE’RE CLOSED. COME BACK TOMORROW. just A Massive Liar about everything and for what!!! Bilbo Baggins my beloved you were born wrong.)

He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally “gone off ”, as they said in the Shire. There were at least two of his uncles on the Took side that had done so.’

You can see why I love this! And I can see why Tolkien didn’t include it, too. Still very fun passage and near enough to canon to be used if you ever want to.

[cuthechicane]

Full paywalled version of Lando's interview with The Race

Lando Norris recently sat down with The Race's Scott Mitchell-Malm for an exclusive in-depth interview about his 2024 Formula 1 title bid, taking on Max Verstappen and how fans perceive him.

You can read Scott's take on how Lando presented himself on The Race website today, but here's their conversation in full:

The Race: How do you look back on the year so far? Purely from a numbers point of view, you'd surely have taken that at the start of the year. But in terms of how it's played out, is there any kind of sense that there was a bit more on the table, missed opportunities?

Lando Norris: Err…for sure. I think that's quite obvious. Not as many as people think. And I think people in general think it's been a lot worse than what it's been. I think a lot of people think we've been a lot quicker than we have been. So I'm sure a lot of people will disagree with it. But I think those times, it’s a compliment that people think that, because it shows how far we've come. And I'm proud that in those days, whether Singapore or Zandvoort, I've still been the one that's there and making the most of those opportunities when we have a car that's quick enough. 

But there's clearly ones that we've definitely let things go away, which is Silverstone, Canada-ish – I wouldn't say completely. Maybe one or two others. But I think the other ones are the ones that people want to believe were bad for different reasons. Whether it was my starts, and those days when the starts have been ‘bad’ that everyone says, I've generally still been in the top three, four, five of starts. Even on those days. If you look at Barcelona, when I had a 'bad' start everyone says, the best starter in that race was Max. And I think I was like the third or fourth third best starter on the grid. It's just I happened to be next to the guy who got the best start.

The Race: Who wasn't the guy who ended up leading into Turn 1 anyway...

LN: He was the guy who had the seventh or eighth best start! The other one I’d say was a bit more unlucky was Budapest, where my initial start was very good, a tiny, tiny bit too much wheelspin and a downgraded upshift, and that kind of cost me that. So I think it's been better than people have thought. There's definitely been some missed opportunities, that's a fact. But I'm very happy with my whole season. I still feel like I've got a lot out of it. Things have not just gone to plan. Even if you go back to Austria and things like that, a race that I could have been first or second, whichever way around you want to look at it, I ended up with zero points. There's been certain races which have gone away from us. 

The fact that we're still there fighting, I'm pretty happy with the whole season that I had, because it's clear when things do go right, how amazing that they can be.  It's been still a big learning year, even though it's my sixth year and all of this nonsense, I still have to learn how to drive the car in a better way, because I still don't understand it at times. How we have to drive our car has changed a good amount, and I still have to adapt to that. Some days it doesn't suit me, some days it does. So I think it's still been a very good year, and from the outside, I understand why people think it hasn't been. And I completely almost agree with it! But once you know reasons why, of different things, I'm still pretty proud of the season it's been so far.

The Race: There's a difference between how you imagine it being when you get a car that's quick enough to fight every weekend, and then obviously what it's really like. You've learned some things the hard way, so what's that actually been like?

LN: It's been good for me. Whether I'm racing the likes of Lewis a bit more, or Max is probably the best example of all of them...Charles, Carlos, George, to be honest, all the drivers who are up the front because they deserve to be. Thing is suddenly, when I'm racing them, I'm fighting them for a win. So not coming out and doing a perfect job against these drivers, mainly Max in this case, means I win a race or I don't win a race, and therefore it hurts a bit more and it feels like there's a bigger effect to it all. 

There's more criticism or praise, whichever way around. You win, suddenly you have a lot more praise. You do one mistake, you suddenly have a lot more criticism. But I think both are good things, because people either want you to do well or they want to stand out because they want to be someone that criticises you even more. Both are compliments in ways, and I've enjoyed both of them. 

But I've paid the price, more so in terms of a championship point of view, when I’ve not done things to the correct level. And I think there's so many things that have been great, and have been completely up to the standard that it needs to be. A couple of things have not been. And I paid the price for those situations, because I'm going up against, whether it's Red Bull or Mercedes or Ferrari, on top of being strong teams, great drivers. You get punished more at the top when things don't go right than you do when you're more midfield.

The Race: There's a quote from a few years ago about Lewis Hamilton only having to beat his team-mate, in the context of a dominant team. That's exactly not the situation that you've had this year. But in terms of execution, finding out how hard it is to make sure that every single qualifying session, every start, every judgment in the race with the team – what's that been like? Because I can imagine that idea that 'once I get a car that's quick enough, I'll do it'. 

LN: First of all, I would never think that! For anyone who knows me, that's definitely not how I think. But I would say it's as tough as I've imagined because so many things can still easily go against you, even when you have the best car. Make one mistake in a Q3 lap, you're not on pole when you should have been. You don't have a perfect start when the guy who starts P2 does a perfect start, you’re P2 when you shouldn't have been. 

There's been a couple when we were so dominant – like Zandvoort – it doesn't matter if you made the mistakes at the beginning. You can come back through and you can still dominate and easily win a race. But for the majority, when people think we've had the most dominant car ever, those positions [lost] have just been costly positions. I’ve been on pole by three thousandths or five thousandths or two hundredths, and those positions are positions that just stay for the rest of the race. 

But I've always known that – it’s always just the harsh reality of when you're there, and actually you're living that situation, it’s tough to then always be positive for the next race and things like that, and know when things are going to get better. It's been a learning point, still for me, but even for the whole team, whether it's mechanics, because they feel a bit more pressure when we're leading a race compared to when we compared to when we were 10th, or the engineers because the last pole was split by three thousandths, or one hundredth of a second. Everyone wants to play a part in that, but also feels the pressure of it, including me. I think everyone's dealt with it very well.

The Race: We've seen with various drivers, whenever there's a clash with a popular driver, someone ends up getting pelted on social media. But I don't think I've seen a driver with such a negative narrative against them as I’ve seen with you this year...

LN: Yeah, I don’t know why.

The Race: You’ve noticed it as well. How do you feel about that?

LN: I find it…I find it's a little bit weird, because I read all those things. I wouldn't say I'm affected by them, but I do think of them. Do I think it affects me negatively? No. Because I've actually been used to doing that for a while. I've learned how to read things and choose what I want to affect me and almost help me be better or choose what I just want to let slip away, and I just read it for the fact of reading. 

Certain things I’d say I don't understand how people have gotten that perception. And that's when I always just have to come back to the people who know me, know that this isn't the case. And I'm very happy just knowing that as a fact. There’s certain things when I'm like, people think my ego is too big or something, it couldn't be further from the truth - especially when I'm driving. Maybe sometimes I choose wrong words or something, and people somehow use that against me.

But I think there's more and more people in the world just either don't want to listen to the truth and sometimes I think when I say the truth or facts, people just don't want to agree with them, or they want to disagree and kind of prove me wrong. But I find it odd as I feel like I haven't changed. Maybe I have, in certain things. Definitely some things have changed. I definitely don't go around and joke and laugh as much as I used to, and I think people loved that and maybe don't like it as much now I don't do such a thing. But I’ve definitely noticed it, for whatever reason. 

The Race: It's stuff as a driver, not just you as a person. You mentioned the idea you’ve got a dominant car stuff but it’s also your championship credentials and stuff like that. Maybe some people just want to just stick the knife sometimes, in a way that I personally don’t understand.

LN: Neither do I, but it's why like I always say, it doesn't affect me. I see it still as if I know I said something or I've done something wrong, I accept it. I've always been honest with when I've done a good job and done a bad job. So when I know I've done something wrong, or someone tells me I've done something wrong, I'll always accept it and acknowledge that in the right way. But when I know for a fact I haven't, and people kind of make things of it or turn it into something where I have, there’s some kind of stuff I don't understand. Especially the amount of negative stuff I get nowadays, I almost want to say for no reason. 

It puzzles me a little bit. Doesn't affect me in a good way or a bad way. People can have their own opinions. And I'm all up for people having their own opinions and supporting different drivers and not supporting me – I'm very happy about that. But turning things that are not true into what they think are facts is probably stuff that I don't understand as much. And it's confused me a little bit, but I don't think it affects me in a bad way. I do think of it because I'm an overthinker, and I think of all of those things, so I'll question myself about all of it. But I wouldn't say it affects how I go out and drive the next day all of a sudden, or anything like that, which is the main thing. 

I think it's turned into being a bit of a part of… I don’t have to read any of it, you know? So I can also not have social media, but I enjoy it still. It'll still affect me on days, but it's not like it affects how I go racing or anything else, so I don't mind. I just don't like when people have the wrong opinion about me. Because I don't mind people having different opinions, but stating incorrect things is probably the thing that I don't understand, and probably the thing that gets to me the most. But it doesn't affect my day to day life at all. And I'm very happy with the people I have around me, my group.

They're the people who are being more honest with me about when I'm doing well or when I'm not, or whether I'm being a dick, and when I'm not. I prefer people to tell me that, than not to tell me that. The reason I really don't care about what people say so much is because I know the people who actually most know me best and are most truthful about everything are just the people I have around me, and I’ll listen to them more than I'll ever listen to people on the outside.

The Race: One final thing as we sort of got side-tracked there: 18 months or so ago I interviewed you in Australia which basically turned into an opportunity to justify your new contract, because the team was in a bad place and there was a lot of noise. You always stuck to your guns. How vindicated do you feel by this season, and how excited are you for next year, because both titles have got to be the aim?

LN: That's very clear. We all as a team know that next year is the year, probably the first one since I've been in Formula 1, where I can go next year ‘We are challenging for the title’.  And we can say that now already. We've never been able to do it in the past. I'm very happy that I've stuck with the team that I believed in even when a lot of people didn't. I'm very happy that I just had that belief in the team. But also just for all of that to actually come true even when it was hard to believe at times. When we could take kind of two steps forward and then step back, and then catch up and then drop back. 

There were times when I did question it for sure, on what's the best for my future and what do I want to do and those kinds of things. But for me to always return to the belief that the team around me, whether it was Andreas [Seidl] a few years ago when we took a step forward, for sure – but then Andrea [Stella], for me, has been the key to everything. And the fact we've been able to go from where we were to beating Red Bull, when not even 12 months ago they had the most dominant season...the fact that we're now beating them, we've been beating them almost since Miami-ish, and we've been on par with them since Miami, that’s an incredible achievement. 

I'm very happy that I've been part of it all. I'm happy that I stuck through the harder times when I easily could have picked an easier route out of it, could have gone to different teams and done all this other stuff. I feel like I've rewarded myself nicely for having the belief in the team, and I think the team understands that too - the journey that we've been on together - and I think they appreciate that, which probably makes me the happiest out of all of it.

[scentedluminarysoul]

Yeah, gotta say as well, I'm not super excited to post new chapters sometimes. Like, I get comments, and it's great, some frequent flyers. But only on day one or two, rarely later. And then I just. Tend to forget honestly. Life goes on. And I think, maybe people just don't care.

But then I get a new comment, whether it be a newcomer or "an old friend" who's rereading, and I immediately want to publish more to get their opinions

But man. Even when I ask what people thought? Barely anyone says. I want to hear what you loved, what you didn't, what theories you have!

And I think this is in part due to creative work being reduced to "content". It's content people consume and then go to the next piece of content. People don't engage with fandom anymore. I'm old, I've been in fandom for 20 years, and it was so different back then. Now I have people just telling me to update, or asking why character X did Y. Dear readers: that's for you to ponder.

So I think in part it's also the erosion of good TV shows, actually. Used to be we had 22-24 episodes and the story unfolded slowly, questions left unanswered. Now? Shows drop all episodes at once, and only 6 of them, so we gotta speedrun, and we better explain everything every five minutes for the people on their phones.

Anyway, sorry, rambling.

Point is:

Tell an author that you liked their story!

If you're shy, or don't speak the language, that's fine! I have regulars who only comment emojis, or who comment in their native language (Spanish, Russian), or run their comment through translate to post in English.

It's fine! Emojis show emotion. And translators exist!

Just please, as a writer, I beg of you:

Comment.

Don't lock yourselves away, discussing a fic. If you like it, let the author know!

A friend of mine also spent so much time and effort plotting out a huge event in their fic, the grand finale, 30k+ words over multiple chapters, and they received barely any feedback. They were so bummed out and almost quit and deleted. They were depressed about it. And it was so good! You could tell they put so much soul into it to make it perfect. It just sucks when people don't say anything.

I often lack the energy for a long comment, so I'll just drop a short one. "I loved it! Thank you for writing!" and sometimes I go back later and leave a longer one when I have the spoons. But I want to leave something, because I know how it is

Because here's the other thing: fanfics aren't social media. You can still comment on fics that are finished and years old. I've seen people write new chapters on abandoned fics because of a single new comment!

Fandom creators provide fanworks for free. We put our heart and soul and whole pussy into it. And all we ask for in return is a little bit of appreciation

I apologize again for the rant

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[ventismacchiato]

13 stuck with you — it's a cruel summer with you !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The evening air was cool, tinged with the briny scent of the ocean. You wandered along the winding paths near the cabins, hoping for a moment of peace. The day had been exhausting—full of staged dates and forced smiles. It didn’t help that Venti hadn’t cooked your lunch all the way, so the taste of raw fish on your tongue hadn’t fully faded.

You were allowed a break so you decided to go stroll by the ocean, but as you passed the edge of the main clearing, faint voices caught your attention.

“I really thought I raised you better than this. It’s hard being your mother and your boss,” Ei’s voice, sharp and biting, cuts through the quiet. This was new to you, you were accustomed to her voice sounding soft as it lifted through your speakers as she sang your favorite songs. But now it was just harsh.

You paused, barely hidden by a cluster of trees, your breath hitching.

“I’ve noticed,” Scaramouche replied, his tone laced with venom. “Because you’re useless at both.”

A heavy silence followed, one that seemed to press down on the air itself.

“You don’t get to speak to me that way,” Ei said, her voice cold but trembling with restrained anger.

“Since when have you spent any time raising me?” Scaramouche shot back. The bitterness in his voice felt like a dagger, even to you, “You treat me like some sort of pet.”

Ei exhaled sharply, the sound almost a hiss. “Just do your job here. I worked hard to get you where you are today, so don’t throw it away because you can’t keep your childish emotions in check. I don’t understand how your fans or your members haven’t turned on you. I wouldn’t want to work with the likes of you.”

“Whatever,” Scaramouche muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Footsteps followed, sharp and deliberate, fading as Ei walked away. You peered out cautiously and caught a glimpse of Scaramouche as he slid down the railing, letting himself sink to the sand. He drew his knees to his chin, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. The soft glow of the ember cast fleeting shadows across his face, his usually sharp features were softened.

You hesitated, unsure if approaching him was the right move. But before you could overthink it, your feet carried you closer. The sound of your steps on the sand drew his gaze.

He didn’t look startled. He barely looked at you. “Did you hear that?” he asked, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

“No,” you lied instinctively.

A dry laugh escaped him. “You even suck at lying.”

You dropped onto the sand beside him, wrapping your arms around your knees. He tilted his head back, the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. “Let me guess,” he said. “If you did hear, it probably ruined the perfect image you had of her.”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I was more of a Yae Miko bias anyway.”

That drew a low chuckle from him, and for a moment, the usual tension between you eased.

You glanced at him. “I can see why you’re such a bitch now. Your mom sucks.”

He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Are you seriously trying to comfort me right now?”

“No, I’m just saying it makes sense.”

A shrug. “Good,” he said. “Because you suck at it.”

“I do not!” you shot back, glaring at him.

For once, he didn’t retaliate with sharp words. The silence stretched out, broken only by the faint crash of waves in the distance. You shifted awkwardly before finally standing. “I don’t know if I’m the person you want to see after… that.” You gestured vaguely toward the path Ei had taken.

But before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “She’s wrong, by the way.”

Scaramouche looked up, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“You’re a good idol,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you could second-guess them. “It’s one of the reasons we fight so much, you know. I’m… jealous.”

His brow arched, and a smug grin began to form. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, heat rising to your face as you turned around.

“Smoking ruins your voice, by the way,” you called over your shoulder as you stomp off.

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You didn’t see the faint smile lingering on his lips as he stubbed out his cigarette.

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

YAE: [LEANS FORWARD, GRINNING] So, Scaramouche… You don’t smell like smoke today. What’s the deal? You quit or something?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SHRUGS AND GLANCES AWAY] Maybe.

YAE: [RAISES EYEBROW] Maybe? You’ve been getting nonstop nagging from Jean about this. Something changed?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SIGHS AND LOOKS AWAY] It’s just… I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.

YAE: [LEANS IN] Thinking about it? For how long?

SCARAMOUCHE: [GRUMBLES] Doesn’t matter how long. I’m just… I’m not into it anymore.

YAE: [NODS, TEASINGLY] So, what, you woke up one day and just decided to change everything?

SCARAMOUCHE: [ROLLS HIS EYES] No. It’s just…. It feels like a bad habit. One that doesn’t do anything for me anymore.

JEAN: [INTERRUPRTS] I’ve been saying this for years and just now you're taking the hint? All the articles and studies I sent and this island is what gets to you?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SHRUGS]

YAE: Hm, this island is what we’re calling them now?

SCARAMOUCHE: What are you talking about?

YAE: Don’t forget love, microphones are always on. A certain someone asked you to, didn’t they?

SCARAMOUCHE: Whatever. I would’ve done this on my own anyway.

JEAN: [LETS OUT A STIFLED LAUGH]

YAE: Yeah right!

SCARAMOUCHE: Oh, fuck off

YAE: CUT!

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

YAE: [LEANING IN] So, how’s everything going with you and Scara? You two still at each other's throats? Or maybe in each other’s throats.

YN: [SHRUGS] First off, gross. And it's going.

YAE: [GRINNING] Oh come on, give me something to work with here! How’s the real relationship behind the cameras?

YN: [ROLLS EYES] What do you want me to say? It’s... fine.

YAE: [WINKS AND GIGGLES] Yeah? ‘Cause we’ve got the recordings of you calling him a good idol. What’s that all about?

YN: [JUMPS] Wait—what?

YAE: [SMIRKS] Yeah, remember? Your mics are always on. Even when you think they’re off.

YN: Even in the bathroom?! What the hell? Pervs.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Let this be a lesson to read the fine print. Jean is signaling me to state we don’t listen on them in the bathroom. Anyway, how did that make you feel, huh? Hearing yourself say that?

YN: [GROANS AND SLUMPS IN CHAIR] I guess I’ll save the juicy convos for the bathrooms. And I don’t know. It’s... whatever. It’s not like I meant it. I was just saying what I had to say.

YAE: [TEASINGLY] Oh really? So you don’t think Scara is a good idol?

YN: [GRUMBLES] I didn’t say that.

YAE: [NODS KNOWINGLY] Good to know. You’re not fooling anyone, YN. 

JEAN: CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

i feel insane cus i swear i made a gc text of windblume talking about scara’s comments but maybe i hallucinated it?? so just rmbr yn is just as oblivious ab their feelings as scara

has anyone seen young royals lmao i referenced ei off the mom in that show

make sure to peek at the gc names to know what pov ur reading!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🙂‍↕️ ty to everyone who sent one last time 🥹

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — guys i can’t wait till this semester ends im literally fighting for my life god i hate college

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @iloveescara

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Any advice for figuring out how to work on writing characters arguing?

I’m just curious and also I mistakenly derailed part of my writing over struggling to write a scene of characters starting an argument that was meant to escalate.

Writing Notes: Arguments

Arguing is full of tension.

Even benign conversations between friends so often belies subtextual personal agendas that are antagonistic or covertly full of anger or upset.

Honesty itself sometimes is the product of extreme tension and upset.

One’s resistance to telling the truth to another or admitting to oneself a truth can be excruciatingly tense and stressful, even between lovers.

SIDESTEPPING

You instantly create conflict in dialogue when you avoid “on the nose” responses.

On the nose means a direct response, sometimes even echoing the previous line.

You can avoid direct response:

With a statement that is unrelated to the prompting dialogue

By answering a question with a question

With a line of dialogue that is going to need some explanation

Also consider using silence:

“Are you ready to go, dear?” Bob asked. Sylvia said nothing.

Or use an action response:

“Are you ready to go, dear?” Bob asked. Sylvia picked up the mirror.

OPPOSING AGENDAS

Always know what each character wants in a given scene.

If a character in a scene is just taking up space, give him an agenda or get him out of there. Or cut the scene entirely.

Scenes require conflict or tension, even if it’s subtle.

Before you write the scene, note what each character wants.

Then spend a few moments playing with those motivations.

List 3 other possible motives for each of the characters, then mix and match to decide which ones will make for the best conflict.

It is also important to create tension among allies.

One of the danger points in fiction is when two friends, or people who are at least on the same side, have a talk about what’s going on. The trouble is there might not be any trouble between them. So much of the dialogue becomes a friendly chat.

This will violate Alfred Hitchcock’s axiom (Hitchcock once said that a good story is “life, with the dull parts taken out.”).

The fastest way to handle it is to make sure there is tension manifested from the start.

Create tension in at least one of the characters, preferably the viewpoint character.

Example: When you have Allison meeting Melissa, her college friend, for coffee, don’t have them sit down and start talking as if nothing’s wrong in the world. Put the trouble of the story into Allison’s mind and nervous system and make it an impediment to her conversation with Melissa. In Melissa, place something that might be in opposition to Allison’s needs. Allison needs to ask Melissa’s advice about a crumbling marriage. Maybe Melissa is full of news about her sister’s impending wedding to a wonderful man and gushes about the prospects.

Spend some time brainstorming about the ways two friends or allies can be at odds. Then weave those things into the dialogue.

DIALOGUE AS WEAPON

Look for places where you can use dialogue as a weapon, a means for your characters to charge ahead in order to get what they want.

Keep in mind that dialogue is action.

It’s a physical act used by characters to help them get what they want. If they don’t want anything in a scene, they shouldn’t be there.

Note that not all weapons are explosive. They can be small and sharp, too.

PARENT-ADULT-CHILD

A great tool for creating instant conflict in dialogue is the Parent-Adult-Child model, popularized in the book Games People Play by Eric Berne (1964). This school of psychology is called Transactional Analysis.

The theory holds that we tend to occupy roles in life and relationships.

The 3 primary roles are Parent, Adult, and Child (PAC):

The Parent - the seat of authority, the one who can “lay down the law.” S/he has the raw strength, from position or otherwise, to rule and then enforce his/her rulings.

The Adult - the objective one, the one who sees things rationally and is therefore the best one to analyze a situation. “Let’s be adult about this,” one might say in the midst of an argument.

The Child - not rational, and not with any real power. So what does s/he do? Reacts emotionally. Throws tantrums to try to get his/her way. Even an adult can do this. We’ve all seen clandestine videos that prove this point.

So it is a helpful thing to consider what role each character is assuming in a scene.

How do they see themselves? What is their actual role? (It may indeed be different than what they perceive it to be.)

Most important, how will they act in order to accomplish their goal in the scene?

Answering these questions can give you a way to shape your dialogue so there is constant tension and conflict throughout.

Also consider that the characters might change their roles (try something new) in order to get their way. Thus, this is a never-ending source of conflict possibilities and only takes a few moments to set up.

TIP ON DIALOGUE

Look at all of your dialogue exchanges, especially ones that run for a page or more.

Analyze what roles the characters think they’re inhabiting.

Rework the dialogue by getting each character to be more assertive in their claimed role. (Also note that a character can change roles as a matter of strategy. For example, if the Parent isn’t working, a character might switch to pouting like a Child in order to get his way.)

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing!

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

the art & science of parenting 101 | jay park

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

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

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

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

It's 8:30AM.  

You're the only one in the room.  

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

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

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

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

Try-hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A loud, messy, procrastinating curse…

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

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

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

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

Jay's desk is completely...empty. 

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

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

"Y/N and Jay." 

Wait. What?

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

You blink. You must have misheard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.  

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

You're screwed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

Jay's screwed.  

Like, completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed. 

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

It's 12:17PM.  

He's late.  

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

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

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

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

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

And there you are. Exactly how he imagined.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's your typical weekly schedule like?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"6? As in AM? On purpose?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes the coffee fumes theory better.  

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah...no. Nice try."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want a free coffee or not?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby, predictably, continues screeching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, just maybe, he has a point.  

You'd never admit it to him, though. 

Not yet.  

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

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

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

Today, though. Today is a different beast entirely.  

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

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

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

Teamwork, she called it.  

You like to call it pure suffering.  

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

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

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

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

It's 6PM.  

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

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

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

Well this can't be right.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jisoo.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grab. The. Wipes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exactly. Parenting at its finest."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay would like to make a few things clear. 

First of all, none of this is his fault. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that makes his heart do a weird flip.  

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

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

He’s 99% sure he audibly gulps. 

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

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

He curses himself. Busy? Really? 

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

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

And it’s a little infuriating. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not attraction, he reminds himself. Totally not attraction.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fine, it’s jealousy.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Bad idea.  

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

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

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

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

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

Great. Now you have a new problem.  

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

You've officially lost it.  

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

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

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

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

"Hello?"  

Your train of thought screeches to a halt.  

"Y/N? Are you there?"  

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

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

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

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

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

The campus gallery. His photography.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, I'm just being a good host."  

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

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

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

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

It's just photography.

It's just Jay.

Nothing to overthink here.  

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: that outfit does not exist.  

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

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

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

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

And there he is.  

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

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

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

It's just a thought.

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

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

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

Abort mission. This was a terrible idea.  

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

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

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

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

Fantastic. Just fantastic.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.  

Oh?  

OH.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for in and out.  

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

It's not.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to scream into the void.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay!"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're in so much trouble.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” 

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

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

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

“Y/N.” 

You glance back, your heart skipping a beat. 

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

You blink, caught off guard. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

Y/N [8:52PM]: home safe 👍 

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

But, of course, your phone buzzes almost instantly. 

Jay [8:53PM]: good 👍 sleep well. 

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

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

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

Clearly.  

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

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

Professor Kim: Final grades are posted! 

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

Semester Project Grade: 100% 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knock.  

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

It’s you. 

At his doorstep. 

Unannounced. 

In his jacket. 

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

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

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

“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Uh—what’s up?” 

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

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

“…I thought you were a robber.” 

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

“I don’t know, maybe a polite one!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay blinks. His brain is once again malfunctioning.  

“Oh.”  

Oh? 

OH.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s all the encouragement Jay needs.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t mind that idea one bit. 

✭・.・✫

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

m. list here!

tag list (tenk u for all the luv): @neozon3nha @duckling-niki @somuchdard @jkslvsnella @jjongstar111

@haechsworld @joieouioui @zl-world @getoxo @onlyjjong

@puma-riki @e-r-i-15 @st4rwon

@jayla240 [ wouldn't let me tag you,,,sorry! i also had to format the tags weirdly to get this to work :') ]

cue all tags now...

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

People use "addiction" to mean "avoidance strategy" but this is very much a not all rectangles are squares but all squares are rectangles situation.

Addictions are always part of a process of avoidance due to feeling overwhelmed by circumstances/stressors to the point that only running as far away as you can lets you rest (and maybe not even that). But it isn't ONLY "addictive things" that you can use to fulfill that process.

Hell, for years, I used READING as an avoidance strategy so intense I literally wouldn't even stop to sleep. Is reading "addictive"? No! Of course not! And neither are video games! But they ARE both spaces of connection, stability, and safety in a world that makes me feel like I'm literally always drowning, and that makes them easy to get lost in unless I know how to break patterns of avoidance.

The nicotine was an addiction. Even when I actively wanted to use other coping strategies, I could no longer tolerate the distress long enough to USE them, and the nicotine worked fast enough that I *could* rely on it more effectively.

Do you know when I finally successfully quit smoking?

When my housing stabilized (no more chronic fear of eviction or a return to homelessness), I got a full time job (I got health insurance and gorcery money!), and I was able to have steady and consistent access to my psychiatric medication.

Turns out, that it wasn't that I had "lost" any amount of ability to cope! I *was* in fact experiencing the kind of distress that literally cannot be regulated through without chemical support, and since I couldn't keep supplied with my medications, I chain smoked to keep a stable floor under me. Once my stable floor was naturally raised by my environment, I was no longer "addicted" to nicotine.

True fact: a pack of my favorite cigarettes sat on my bathroom counter for the last 10 months and while I distinctly remember smoking 4 of them at various points in that, I literaloy did not notice when my wife threw the pack out while cleaning one day until weeks later when I was stressed and overwhelmed enough that nothing I had in my arsenal of coping skills was working, and I knew a cigarette would. I don't have to "fight" to resist "cravings" because I don't crave nicotine, I crave STRESS RELIEF. And as long as I can obtain that other ways, I'm good to go.

This is not unique to me. This is, to the best of our very flawed human knowledge, simply how human brains and bodies work. They rely on chemical support from intoxicants, psychotropics, and other sources to boost the efficacy of their existing coping skillset. We can "cure" addiction at the public health policy level by making that an intermittent need rather than a chronic and pervasive one.

So weirdly, both things are true.

That post is literally the foulest most bald-faced bullshit I've ever seen in my history of working in addiction management and being an addict.

And also, you're not fucking better than the rest of us who utilize avoidance tools just because your avoidance strategy is socially acceptable.

Maybe we should consider the possibility that "addict" is and always has been a POLITICAL category, not a scientific one.

It's cool how this is a 60k note post when almost every word of it is untrue

[luludeluluramblings]

dream team back. we’re currently yapping central again (per usual)

both of us are straight up in a tim drake brainrot spiral too!!! he’s a delightful little weirdo. a strange little gentleman if you will.

tim is such a funny little guy!!! he also makes a solid yandere. you can’t outsmart him. you can’t escape someone who can find everything about you. On the upside, I feel like he’d be happy to spoil his darling. also he’d be like, really considerate in weird ways??? I mean like you don’t get privacy (or you get the illusion of it maybe but not actual privacy.)

like yeah you’re always being watched in some way, but the man has committed every single one of your favorites and least favorites to memories. He knows what clothing you like, what specific features you look for in everything, and if he doesn’t, by god, will he learn. He knows your favorite song, and he knows the nickname you went by in elementary school.

Do you think he pretends to be normal and basically sets things up to send reader to be like a little love story?? You meet by chance, and he fell first. He fell a LONG time ago, so now it’s his mission to make you fall too. And Tim Drake ALWAYS finishes a mission. (Even as a baby daddy candidate). He makes himself the best option, even if he’s not the father.

Yandere!TimDrake x PastFriend!Reader x Aiden Cobblepot

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sooooo, I'm finally and slowly going through my ask box and you two may have sparked an idea just for Tim. I might have to do a Part Two for this. (I'm falling into the WIP trap. Help!) But, I love the thought of the Bat Family have competition when it comes to their darling. Gives them a challenge. Plus, I really wanted to use Aiden Cobblepot for this. I've been wanting to sneak him into something.

A/N: We have neglected!Sib!Reader, but what about a Neglected!Friend!Reader? Fun idea. Tim already knowing everything about you only to find you’ve changed and wants to study you all over again. Only this time he’s keeping you! (I’m very fond of Tim. I think he’s difficult to write for me, but I enjoy the little stalker so much.)

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Romantic themes, Tim can be read as kinda platonic, GN!Reader

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You and Tim were once good friends. Well, he was your best friend. To him you were just a good one. High school buddies that would hang out all the time. At school only. And sometimes the rare gala you saw him at. It was rare you ever actually went to The Manor. You never asked to go. But, you had hoped to be invite.

Just like you had hoped that he might reciprocate that pesky crush you had on him back then. You had felt like it was so painfully obvious. Though it wasn't as painful when you finally figured out he was Red Robin and you waited and waited for him to tell you his secret identity. And, then you would tell him you already figured it out and you would look so cool.

Only, he never did. You both grew distant. You had put so much carful effort into keeping that distance from growing. Inviting him to hang out more. Asking him out for casual coffee. He always said the same thing.

"Oh, damn. I could really go for that right now. But, I'm just sorta busy. Next time though. For sure."

Over and over. He sounded like a broken character. Repeating the same phrase. One that you would hang around after the game was over to reminisce about all the fun adventures you both once had. However this was life not a game. You couldn't just restart and rerun the same adventures.

It made you ache when you finally moved on. When you finally pulled away. Because, Tim didn't even notice you were gone. His life to change. He didn't have to restart anything. You had lost your best friend and he didn't even care. It stung. It stung more than you realizing he'd never reciprocate your feelings.

But, like all things, time moves on and so do you. Leaving the past behind and starting a new game. One that you start to flourish in. Making new friends. Meeting new people. Building closer bonds and more healthy friendships. It had been interesting to realize how dependent you had been on Tim once upon a time. And, embarrassing. You can't help looking back on it with a wince. You almost want to reach out and apologize. But, that would be weird and you both live completely separate lives now. You hardly ever see him at galas now. Mostly because you don't go anymore.

Things, do change. You never expected your new partner would draw Tim's attention back to you. And, in such a terrible way.

You had a rough idea of what you were getting into when Aiden Cobblepot had asked you out to dinner. You figured he was only interested in you for your money or your half-decent looks or your family name and position. You had heard all the rumors about him, but still you went. Mostly, because you knew how dangerous he and his family were. And, you were… presently surprised.

He was a bit of an entitled asshole. But, he wasn't scared of getting dirty. You watched him lead you through the puddles of rain water and Gotham grim in the posh restaurant. He held more concern for you're clothing getting dirty than his, which were more expensive than yours. He paid for the date without flinching at the price. Encouraged you to try his own food from his plate. Talked about fond memories of the things he and his sister got up to as children while asking you about your own childhood.

Admittedly, you were easily seduced because after that the two of you became an item. You didn't even realize how official you were until he introduced you to his sister, Addison, and she was actually nice to you. Extremely nice. She did, however, threaten to kill you if you betrayed Aiden in any way, which was honestly fair enough.

Aiden and you were a bit on the opposite side of things, taste wise and morally wise. But, you both made it work. He continued his life of crime, but made no mention of it around you to keep you legally clean. You shared most of your life with him, letting him have a slight glimmer into normalcy. He liked to take you on fancy dates and show you a good time. You were happy to pull him inside just to spend personal time with each other. Of course, you both made compromises. Aiden had a taste for luxury, and you didn't mind indulging in it. Especially after you beat his ass multiple times in Mario cart. It was only fair you let him take you to a gala some point.

Little did you know that that was how Tim would come clawing and digging his way back into your life.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

For Tim seeing you again was like finding an old precious treasure. His life had gotten so difficult and complicate lately that just a reminded of all those old times was nice.

However, seeing you on the arms of the Penguin's son was a brutal wake up call. What were you doing? Had you hit your head? Was he blackmailing you? Drugging you? Everyone in Gotham could recognize the name Cobblepot and how dangerous they are. And, he remembers how smart you were so you couldn't have willing chose to be there. It's not logical.

For your safety, he reintroduces himself to you. Long time, no see. We should hang out some time and catch up. Only he means it. He can't let this happen. He can't let you fall in with a man like that. You're his friend. He'll win you over for your own sake. Ruin Cobblepot while he's at it because how dare he use you.

Even if you changed. Even if you don't smell the same. If your hair is different. If you dress different. Even if your very laugh had changed pitch, he knows you. And, if anything, he can just re-learn you all over again. It won't take long. He's done it all before. This time he'll savor though. This time he won't let you go as he pulls you back in. You were a good friend, this time he'll make you more.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m starting to type up Part Three of Pregant!Reader, but I ended up coming up with another start to it with more drama that would be strictly for the BatBoys. The messed up drama in it sounds fun and challenging, but I won’t do it until I finish what I started with the blurbs I have planned included.

A/N: Smalltown!Meta!Reader Part Nine is going to take a while. I have big plans for it, but Pregnant!Reader is kinda outshining it.

A/N: I will post about the LoungeSinger!Reader and another idea I came up with that y’all might like that I’ll add to the concept list.

A/N: There’s a Tony Part Two coming, but it’s only halfway typed and still not that yandere-y. Need to fix that.

A/N: My asks box is full, so I’m gonna try to empty it, but I host Thanksgiving in my family and I’m also a Christmas nut, so I’m gonna be busy. (I have four Christmas trees in my house currently… But I’m not as bad as my in-laws! They had their trees up BEFORE Halloween.)