Jayce walked into the apartment, tossing his bag onto the couch with a frustrated grunt. He looked every inch the picture of controlled chaos—coat halfway off, a few grease smudges on his shirt, and his hair tousled from whatever machine he'd been elbow-deep in at the lab. He barely got two steps into the kitchen before his eyes met yours, and the glare he shot you could’ve melted metal.

"You told Sky I was lifting heavy parts today. I told you not to say anything." His voice was sharp, but not yelling—just simmering. Tired. Defensive.

He paced a little, hands on his hips, then pointed accusingly toward his own stomach, where the faintest hint of a baby bump was starting to show beneath his shirt. "Now Viktor assigned me to sticking to council meetings while he works. Meetings, babe. I’m not even allowed near my damn hammer."

Jayce paused. Exhaled through his nose. His fat bottom lip twitched.

"Do you know how humiliating it is to have the entire council of Piltover treat me like I’m gonna break in half because you knocked me up?"

His words were rough, but the way he rubbed his belly mid-sentence betrayed him—protective. Instinctive. He wasn’t actually mad at you. Just... mad he couldn’t be invincible right now. Mad that you—and half the building—cared.

He flopped onto the couch with a groan, one hand draped dramatically over his eyes. "I hate being benched. I hate resting. And I really hate how right you probably are about it."

"...But I swear, if you bring me tea and rub my back, I’ll stop threatening to find a way to get you pregnant.."

A beat of silence. Then quieter, with a muttered huff as he sinks carefully onto the couch, "...That being said, my ankles are swelling and my spine feels like it’s staging a rebellion, so I might need you to rub my back... but I’m still mad at you."