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violetdrkside · 11 months

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it took me one shot to make it nonstop

Tattoo Artist Getou Suguru X Reader

Summary:

You are holding your breath, heart pounding, body heating up. You have been hiding a secret from him and now he has you on your knees waiting for the consequences of doing such a thing. Even though his punishments may be harsh you would do anything for him. “So, can you be a good girl and follow my rules and instructions?” he asked. “Yes sir, I can,” you stated as firmly as you could with the feeling of slight sweat dripping down your back. “Only sir?” Fem Reader. She/her pronouns. Physical description vague. 18+ Explicit Content.

Rated E for Explicit.

Word Count: 13.8K

Tags: Alternative Universe (AU), Adult, Content, Dom/sub, Dom/sub play, BDSM, Light Bondage, Consensual Sex, Consensual Play, Use of Safe Words, Master/Pet, Dominant Getou, Submissive Reader, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Piss Kink, Golden Shower, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Face Fucking, Rough Oral Sex, Biting, Marking, Cum Eating, Teasing, Orgasm Denial, Face Slapping, Face Sitting, Temperature Play, Degradation, Smut, Shameless Smut

A/N: I would do anything for this man. I swear. There is also something about AU Tattoo Artist Getou that just has been tickling my brain the last couple of years and I can't get it out of my head.

Also there is a golden shower part, but it is very short, you can skip it if you like. I marked the section off using ~~~~~~~~

Enjoy! Please give this one-shot some love by liking and reblogging.

You had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity. It had only been a few minutes, you realized as you watched the clock tick on the wall, your knees and shins seeping further into the cushion you were instructed to wait and kneel on. Every second felt longer, like sand falling through an hourglass.

Earlier, you had been told to send him a text back when you arrived home and to provide a picture of yourself in your current position. Once the picture was sent, you locked your phone and set it next to you. There was too much anxiety to even be mindlessly scrolling as you waited—and you knew he would be displeased to walk in and see you like that—but you kept the device nearby. If you somehow missed a message or call from him, you would be in much bigger trouble than you were already in.

You knew what you had done, and you honestly were not sure how you’d managed to keep it a secret from him for this long. With him being away on business and you taking your own vacation time, a month has passed since. It was not until this morning when you were both getting ready for work that he saw. You knew he did not want to get into a full conversation about it now, you both had your days ahead of you, so instead he complimented how good it looked pressing a hard kiss to your mouth and gripping your arm snugly above your elbow. He pulled away with a dark glint in his eyes, a slight smile tugging at the edges of his lips, “I will see you after work. Have a good day and be good, doll.” Pressing one last kiss to the top of your head, he stepped out the door. Fuck. You knew you would be in for it later today, but knowing him, it would be worth it. Your phone buzzed shortly after.

“Make sure to text me when you get to work <3”

You knew at that point today you would have to try and be extra good—you could picture him counting each and every rule you had broken and how he would punish you for each one, ensuring you would take it.

Before you knew it, the unlocking of the door tore you away from your thoughts about the events of earlier this morning, and your eyes immediately jumped to the door, hearing the key turn slowly with a click. In the doorway stood the man you had been waiting to see the whole day. He stepped through the entrance slowly, closing the door behind him. He placed his keys back in his bag as he hung it up on the rack. You remained quiet as you watched him bend over to unlace his black combat boots as he placed them next to yours. He went through the motions undisturbed, as if your heart wasn’t beating in excitement and apprehension. He finally glanced towards you as you remained still a little way from the entrance.

“So, can you be a good girl and follow my rules and instructions?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I can,” you stated as firmly as you could with the feeling of slight sweat dripping down your back.

“Only sir?”

‘Sir’ was a baseline for you two, and you simply assumed you were starting there because he usually had strict preferences for specific situations. You guessed today was the day you would have to call him more than just sir.

“Apologies, Master Getou. Yes, I can listen to your rules and instructions.” You respond back appropriately, gaze lowering to where his feet faced towards you.

“Well, you can follow most of them… eyes on me.” He commands.

Your eyes immediately snap to his deep purple ones as they grew darker, almost black. You swallow the saliva building up in your mouth. You knew he was going to be hard on you this evening, you just do not know how he would go about it. A silence forms between the two of you as you struggle to not break eye contact. He kneels down to get closer, making sure you still have to look up at him. He reaches his left arm out to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek, continuing the motion as he pushes some of your hair behind your ear. Fingers now brushed under your jawline to your chin where he cradles it, thumb tracing your lips gently. His stare pierces through you, trying to make you lose your composure. Although he knows he has to do a lot more to achieve that, it does not hurt to try. He finally breaks the silence, his voice low and speech articulate to make sure you understand every single word he says.

“Now, imagine this: I haven’t seen my precious darling in a month. I haven’t been able to hold you, kiss you, praise you, truly worship you. I haven’t even been able to have you over my knee, to bend you to my will, or to hear your cries and pleas of pleasure for a month. You followed most of the rules and instructions while we’ve been away from each other, but at some point, you went out on your own and disobeyed me, doll, and that hurts. You know I don’t mind what you do if there is a form of communication. So, tell me, why did you do it, hm?” he asks. You can see the hurt in his face as his eyebrows knit closer together, his lips curving down. You knew when you went to do that and not tell him, there would be a high chance he would react this way, but you had been willing to risk it anyway. He stopped caressing your lip but still held your jaw firmly, waiting for you to answer his question.

“Master Getou, I know I went against your rules—and I am deeply sorry for that—but I wanted to surprise you, sir. I wanted to show my devotion to you, I wanted to show that I am and will always be yours. I thought that, while we were apart, it would be a good time for you to see the commitment I have towards you, that we have for each other. I know this may break your trust, but I will do anything to regain it.”

“My precious doll, you are very good to me, but I will not ignore what you have done. We will talk this through, and you will accept whatever punishment I see fit, understand?” You nod your head. “Now get up and sit on the couch, I will be there in a moment.”

The dark-haired man gets up first, grabbing your phone from the ground. You both know at this point you will not be needing it, and he does not want any interruptions to occur. You wait for him to turn away as he heads towards the kitchen. When you hear him rummaging in the other room, you get up, making your way to the couch in the living room. Your body begins to tingle with excitement for what your Master could have in store for you. The one thing you have learned about him over the years is though he may get upset, he does not like to stay that way for long.

He comes to where you are sitting, two glasses of water and a plate of fruit in hand. He puts everything on the coffee table in front of the couch and sits beside you. You turn your head to look at him; you see him tapping his thigh and you instantly know what this means as you shift your body, placing your legs over his lap. He leans over your legs to the table, handing you a glass of water and putting the plate of fruit in your lap.

“Now drink up and eat. Once you are done, we will continue.” he directs you as he begins to take the socks off your feet. He began pressing his fingers into the top and bottom of your foot, making sure to hit all the right pressure points. Once he learned how much you were on your feet from your job, he always made sure, especially after long workdays, to be extra attentive towards them no matter what the two of you did in the evenings. It was a way he showed his affection to you outside the bedroom. He began to ask you how your trip was, amongst other things. For a moment, you were just two lovers keeping each other company. Occasionally, he would open his mouth, indicating he wanted you to feed him fruit as he continued to give you a massage. You had finished your water and most of the fruit on the plate; he turns to look at you, letting out a sigh.

“Now for the hard part, yeah?”

“Yes, Master Getou.”

“We’ll start with the small offenses. You did not make eye contact with me earlier when I was first talking to you, but I can let that slide. You lied at one point about where you were going or what you were doing while I was away. Then, you proceeded to not tell me about said thing you did for… what was it? Thirty days? It’s kind of impressive you kept something hidden from me for that long, but don’t be proud of that, okay? Now, onto the bigger things: not telling me you were getting a tattoo when your lover, your Master is a tattoo artist, a relatively famous one at that. I hope you did your research before you let just about anyone tattoo you. Which leads me to the next issue: having someone that I don’t know touch you for hours, permanently putting ink into your skin. The fact that it should be me marking up your body in more ways than one, and yet you took that away from me. Don’t get me wrong, doll, I’m not mad about you getting a tattoo, it is your body—but you took away from me the opportunity of doing it myself, as someone else’s hands were placed upon you. Let’s say it was because you wanted it to be a surprise; I still didn’t even get to help you pick the person to do it for you. I have colleagues and friends that I trust to do it… Anyway… did I miss anything?”

You could see the pain in his face; you did not fully realize how upset he would be. You did not think he would even want to ink your skin, knowing that it could cause you pain—and not in ways either one of you would prefer—but now you knew, and you would learn a lesson from this.

“No, Master Getou, you covered everything. Though, pardon me, you do know the person who tattooed me. I didn’t go to a stranger,” your voice was low, but you kept eye contact with your lover.

“You’re telling me someone I know tattooed you and kept it a secret from me? Who was it?”

“You mean you couldn’t tell by the work? But you saw it this morning?”

“Doll, I was more focused trying not to get angry than to look at the art, now who was it?”

“Please Master, please don’t get mad at them. I told them not to tell you, I begged–”

“You begged?” he questioned, cutting you off. Fuck. “You begged someone else? You know I am the only one you should be begging. I guess we can add that to the list too. My, my… you sure are racking them up, doll.” His voice had a slight enthusiasm to it as a dark chuckle built up from the back of his throat. You felt all the air from your lungs disappear as you heard him laugh, eyes wide. All your brain could process was this gorgeous man and how he was going to cause you so much pain and yet so much pleasure tonight.

Before you knew it, he had you in his lap, your legs straddling his, gazes meeting one another. His hands rested at your waist, gripping it slightly. His right hand trailed up your spine to the nape of your neck where his fingers threaded into the roots of your hair, pulling your head back. You try to keep your eyes open as they stare into his now obsidian ones filled with lust and anger, you wanted to admire their beauty, but his touch was starting to be distracting. He leaned closer, placing a kiss where the edge of your jaw met your earlobe. You then felt his teeth scrape where he just kissed you and then place another kiss in the same spot. The hand on your waist wraps around you, further pulling you closer to him.

“You know, doll, I am a greedy man. The thought of having someone’s hands on you as they hold a needle that penetrates your skin is making me go wild. Do you even know how much I want to be the person who does that? To be able to put my art onto your body? To have you in that way too?” He grunts into your skin. “Now, are you going to tell me who did that tattoo, or will I have to study it myself to figure it out?” He pulls away from you, fingers still threaded in your hair. You look him in the eyes, taking a deep breath as you gather your thoughts before you speak.

“Master Getou, I thought this through. I had to think of who would be the person who'd make you the least mad if I went to them to get this done behind your back. I know you trust this person more than anyone, considering they taught you everything you know, and did your first tattoo. I thought it was only appropriate to go to them.” You kept your composure together as you let out your last words, exhaling deeply, your hands still at your side. You want to reach out to him and kiss him, let him know that you hated hiding things from him, but he had not invited you to do so yet. You remain still. You could see the gears turning as he was processing everything you’d just told him. You cleared your throat to start speaking again. Getou’s eyebrow arched up, insinuating that what you were about to continue saying better be appropriate.

“Yuki also told me to tell you—and remember these are her words, so please be kind to the messenger—but she said, ‘I don’t regret doing this, and in fact, I would do it again. So let dear Suguru know to get off his high horse and if he wants to pick a fight, he can come to me and deal with someone his own size.’”

The man loosens his grip on you and begins to laugh. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him, confused at his reaction.

“She really does know how to push buttons, doesn’t she… always has and always will, but I can’t deny that I respect her the most. I would say she is the only one that gives me a run for my money when it comes to a fight too. I’m surprised she even had time to take you in, considering she’s even busier now than when I apprenticed with her.”

“Once she realized who I was, she made sure to clear a spot for me as soon as she could. She specifically said, ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to tattoo that punk’s significant other.’ Then proceeded to agree with me that she would probably be the person you would be least angry about tattooing me and considered it an honor I seeked her out. She really does have a soft spot for you, doesn’t she, sir?”

“That she does, only because I gave her a taste of her own medicine, and she did the same to me. I really did learn everything and some from her… Now now, let’s not get distracted. We haven’t even begun yet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved you went to her and not some random person, but you still sadly broke my rules. You may get up and stand in front of me.”

“Yes Master,” you said with a slight smile on your lips. You lifted yourself off him and stood directly facing him.

“Shirt off.” You raised the fabric above your head and dropped it to the ground by your feet.

“Pants too.” You moved a bit slower unbuttoning your pants, dragging them down your legs and placing them where your shirt was.

“You know, doll, I like it when you are obedient. Now turn to the side so I can see dear Yuki’s work on you.”

You turn so Getou can examine your right side along your rib cage. You feel the tips of his fingers tracing around the tattoo, careful not to touch. You can see him out of your peripheral, face stern, almost unreadable as his eyes move slowly, careful to retain every line that was inked onto you. He was studying, taking everything in. You were doing everything in your power to remain still, but you want to know what he thinks of it; does he like it, hate it? You wish you could ask, the silence is almost suffocating as you try and focus on something, anything else. Your eyes are still focused on him, he knows it, and he finally glances up at you. His lips part slightly, then close again. You know he is trying to find the words he wants to say to you, but is not quite there yet. Instead, he asks you,

“When did Yuki tattoo you? How many days ago?”

“35 days ago, Master.”

“Hm. Have you gone back to see her?”

“She told me to come back after two weeks and then I saw her again a few days ago, right when I got back from being out of town. She normally doesn’t do checkups like that, but she knew if it didn’t heal properly or seem up to your standards, she wouldn’t hear the end of it from you.”

“She’s not wrong, and what did she say? Is it fully healed?”

“Yes, it is. I made sure to follow her instructions thoroughly. She said you should send over her favorite bottle of liquor for how nice it turned out and how she made sure it was the exact match to yours.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she will be hearing from me later. Now…” He started as he grabbed your hips to turn you back to face him. “You make this so difficult for me, doll. I had plans to spoil and ravage you until the sun rises… and I thought you were so good…” He is smirking, you know he enjoys punishing you and you are not opposed to it, or you wouldn’t have been with him for this long. You do know that Getou can be mean when he wants to, and you have a feeling that though he may be pleased with the tattoo, he will not let you off this easily.

“…but you really didn’t live up to my expectations…” his left hand was gripping your hip as his right hand was trailing from your knee up to your thigh. Your face was starting to heat up, you were always amazed how his small touches could make your body react like it does even to this day. The hand moving up your leg moved between your thighs, reaching back to cup your ass. His arm grazes your clothed sex as he pulls you closer.

“So, I think thirty spankings, fifteen on each side, along with five markings on your body of my choosing, because,” He paused, smiling, “I will mark you one way or another. What do you think? You may speak.”

“I accept what you think is best for my punishments, Master.” you say, making direct eye contact with him. He grips you tighter and kisses your stomach again, lips turning up, “That’s my good girl. Now turn around.” He releases his hold on you as you face the other direction. At first, you hear rustling and movement behind you, then you feel him moving your hands behind your back. Something slips around each of them moving up to wrists, that’s when you realize from the smooth texture it’s his belt. The leather tightens around your wrists enough to make you feel your blood pump through your veins.

With a softer tone, he asks if they are too tight, to which you reply no. He turns you back around as he guides you to kneel on the couch next to him, helping maneuver your body so you are now laying face down across his lap. your head faces the side away from the couch, away from his body, from him. You knew this was just the beginning of Getou bending you to his will. You know you have to clear your head of all other thoughts so you can focus solely on your Master’s words and touches because failing to do so will have consequences. If there is anything the man whose lap you lay across hates more than rule breaking is unfocused, divided attention. If he puts in the effort to pay attention to you, your body, your needs, and your wants—then he wants the same from you. His fingers trail from the back of your neck down your body as he begins to speak again, this time his voice is sterner, and more articulate than before.

“Remember, thirty spankings. I will expect you to count each one of them with me. Fail to do so and we will start over. We will restart over, and over and over until you get it right. Understood?”

“I understand Master Getou..”

“Your safe words are?”

“Green, yellow, and red.”

“Good girl, not so stupid now, huh?” He smiled, brushing your hair condescendingly, “Let’s begin.”

Even though you prepared yourself for the first spanking, knowing it would probably hurt, the roughness of his hit still took you by surprise, a small gasp leaving your mouth as you uttered “One.” trying to ensure it was loud enough for him to hear over his own voice. You inhale slowly, another slap to your left cheek, “Two.” You can already feel the sting starting to form, but it lessens as you feel Getou rubbing your ass. His hand moves away again, inhale, you thought this time, feeling the sting on your right cheek, “Three.” you say as you exhale.

You made it to fifteen, his slaps weren’t as hard as you thought they would be, but they were precise. He had his other hand laced through your hair, occasionally rubbing your scalp, which helped you focus on your breathing.

“You’re doing so well my doll. So well, I think it’s time to take these off.” You feel his fingers slip into the waist of your underwear gripping them delicately as he pulls them down your body slowly. Your ass can feel the coolness of the room now, the feeling of being exposed has a chill run up your spine causing your body to shudder and your hands to move in your restraints. Noticing it, Getou reassures you.

“Shh, don’t squirm now, you have been cooperating so well so far. You don’t want to start over now, do you?” A loud smack echoed in the room; your body felt it before your mind registered the hit Getou landed on your ass. You knew his spanking was on the lighter side before, but the difference was drastic. Your mind finally caught up and you trembled out the words, “No, Master… sixteen.”

“I’m glad you’re still with me, but sadly that one will not be a part of the count…” he starts, you feel his fingers up your legs again trailing slowly just like his words, “…it’s good your mind can keep up…” his fingers are between your thighs now, you are doing everything to keep still, you can feel every single touch he has left on your body. “…because your punishment is taking up what I really want…” his fingers now grazing your sex, the vulnerability spiking further, you try to remember to breathe, to keep still. But it does not help as you feel two of his fingers pushing past your lips, gently rubbing, a deep breath leaves your lips, but before you know it the pressure of his fingers is gone, replaced by a dark small laugh that ignites your body. “Fuck you’re so needy already. Doll, this is a punishment. Yet, here you are being a greedy little slut.” He cooed, enjoying it so much, the sight of you, desperate for his hands and touches. “But it’s not fair for you to enjoy your punishment, not when your little act infuriated me—you went behind my back and disobeyed. Can you get that in your little head?”

“I understand, Master Getou. I am sorry.” you were partly sorry, enough to let him hear you apologize but not enough to not enjoy his punishment. Another loud smack echoes through the room. “Sixteen,” you choke out.

“Good. Then you will take whatever I see fit until I am satisfied.” You feel his hand meet your other cheek, your body reverberates from the impact, fully understanding his frustrations with you.

“Seventeen.” You gritted through your teeth,“Yes Master Getou.”

“You let someone defile you with their art, you should let me defile you how the fuck I want. Makes sense, right?” You can feel fury radiating off his body into yours as he lands another hit to your ass. The sting is more prominent since he is letting you feel the full pain each spanking.

“Eighteen. Yes, Master Getou, it makes sense.” You were not fully sure where he was going with his punishments, but you knew you would have to go with it as much as you could.

“Now, let’s finish this up, so we can move on, we have a whole evening ahead of us.”

You made it through the thirty spankings, but just barely. By the last five or so you knew he was putting his full strength into each hit to throw you off. There were points where the smacks landing on the full of your cheek vibrated through your body, making it hard to even say anything as you were more focused trying to blink away the tears building up in your eyes and keeping steady breaths. Getou lightly gripped your now red ass and massaged it for a moment as he loosened his belt that kept your arms bound behind your back. He then told you to stand back up, and you did slowly, trying to feel your legs again as the soreness from your behind began to spread and ache. You moved slowly as Getou watched your every move, observing how your body took his punishment so far, and yet still at ready to catch you should you lose your balance. You were proud to have made it through, so you straighten your back and stand in front of him, waiting for his next commands. Unwavering. Without getting up, he ordered you to hand him his glass from the coffee table.

After handing it to him, he quickly drinks the liquid. You admired how beautiful your Master was as the rays from the sun set shined through the window behind him. Part of the black locks he kept down absorbed the sunlight, he looked ethereal and at this point you knew you would do just about anything for him. He rose from the couch handing you the empty glass back for you to put on the coffee table. As you did, he stood next to you. He peered down and grabbed your chin between his thumb and index finger so you both were closer, he asked, “You still want more, look at you leaning into my touch. You really are insatiable.”

“I cannot help it, Master Getou.”

A short kind smile drew itself on his lips, “Good. Then, follow me.” He says, letting go of your chin as he turns around and walks past the kitchen towards the bedroom. You followed him to the bathroom connected to the bedroom and stood where he told you too, while he turned the water on in the shower. He began to take off his shirt and at this point the only thing you could do was stare at him and think about how much you wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him, run your fingers all over his body and make him yours.You could not help yourself and asked if you could help him undress, to which he replied, a fake nice look on his face, “No. Only obedient subs get to touch their Master.” He paused, “Which you have been nothing but..” He smirks knowing how much you want to help him, to gain any affection from him, but you were aware you had to be patient and work hard for him to calm down.

He begins to take off his pants and you continue to admire his toned body, adorned from head to toes with tattoos. You catch a glimpse of your matching one and admire it, loving to see how it matches yours exactly. You were so happy with how well Yuki really did to make yours the twin of his. He stands up straight up and looks up at you again. He steps closer, looking down at you, his face showing no emotion, then with one side of his mouth curving up he says, “Let’s not touch works of art, hm?” he pulls the rest of his hair down taunting you, knowing how much you want to thread your fingers through it. Your fingers are twitching ever so slightly by your sides, as the smell of him becomes more prominent with his hair framing his face, moving forward as he looks down at you.

“This.” he hooks his right index finger through your bra strap, pulling it, letting it snap against your skin, “It comes off. Then you step into the shower.” You unclasp your bra and drop it on the ground. You open the glass door to the shower and step in. You face the wall and the shower head, letting the water run down your body. The water felt so soothing on your sensitive skin, you let it run through your hair, cupping some of it and splashing it on your face, trying to get yourself to focus, trying not to think too much about how much you might have hurt Getou. You could see deep in his eyes how he wishes to have been the one to tattoo it on your pretty skin. Especially such a large meaningful piece like the one Yuki did for you, but to have it match almost exactly like yours meant a lot to you.

Of course, you know one day you will let him put his art on your body. You longed to be connected to him in that way as much as he did and it would mean so much to both of you, but it will come soon, for now you know that each of you will have to deal with the current circumstances.

All of sudden you feel an arm wrap around your waist and another on your upper body as a hand lightly grasps your neck. Then, a piercing sting was felt on your left shoulder. You realized it was Getou biting you and your eyes opened wide with a gasp leaving your mouth as water still poured down on you. You could feel his canines dig deeper into your flesh, almost breaking the skin. The nerves he hit spread down your arm and in your neck almost going numb. Before you know it you were moved facing the other wall away from the shower head, Getou still holding onto you. Your body is still warm, from where he is pressing against you, but freezing and making you shiver upon touching the cold tiles of the wall.

“I thought I would remind my doll that I. Am. Still. Here,” he whispers into your ear, causing a chill to run down your spine. You were so lost in your thoughts that you missed Getou entering the shower, not giving him eye contact, or even acknowledging him. Shit. “I am going to have fun defiling you. Marking you as I please…” He grazes his teeth against your skin before biting another time, this time more gently, “Claiming you back.”

“Yes, Master Getou.” your chest is heaving, recovering from the pain you felt in your left shoulder. He pulls you closer, nipping at your ear, his hips hitting your butt, causing soreness from his earlier ministrations.

“You did agree earlier that you would take whatever I would give you, doll. I’d be disappointed had you disagreed.” he snickers, front teeth digging into your neck. You let out a sigh, the pleasure so strong that it brought you right at the edge of the cliff. You were so close, but as you were about to reach your climax, it was ripped away from you as he bit down on the right side of the crevice where your neck and shoulder met. He ensures with the bite that he digs his canines deep into your skin. You are trying not to yell—you want to, you do—but your pride will not let you. You bite your own teeth into your lip to muffle the sound of any scream trying to be released.

“That shouldn’t hurt too bad. Didn’t you get a tattoo, one that took hours, on your ribs nonetheless. This should be nothing compared to that.”

He was not wrong per se, but the pain is different. The bites he leaves are sharp, fast, piercing. The tattoo took so long, with prick after prick, but at times you could dull that pain for a short bit. There is no way you can ignore this one. You know your Master wants you to react to every single punishment he gives you. He wants you to be aware of everything he does to you and your body. You feel his hand trail down your body and you wish it could stay like this, him holding you close, feeling every part of him as he feels you, but you know right now you cannot. He grabs your hips and shifts you so your back is now on the tiles of the wall. The shower head next to you, you can feel the droplets of water hitting the floor on your legs.

He still has a grip on your hips, his mouth now on your neck again with teeth slowly making their way down to your collar bones, going further to your breasts. He makes sure his body is not as close as it was before. The feeling of teeth along your now cool skin makes you shiver and roll your hips forward more into his hands. He pushes you against the wall more and you hear him scold you quietly. His right hand moves up your body, cupping your left breast. His warm mouth travels to meet where his hand is. You close your eyes and move your head upwards, anticipating another bite. He makes sure to avoid your nipples, aware of how sensitive they were. You were not prepared for the feeling of his teeth digging into your skin. You were careful not to bang your head into the wall behind you, but the pain took you by surprise, almost making you weak as you tried desperately to dig your fingers into something, anything to grab on to. You groaned, “Fuck…” Getou looks up at you, seeing tears fall from your closed eyes. This time, he licks and sucks at the bite, trying to soothe the pain, bracing your body with his other hand the best he could.

Getou kneels further down, balancing on one knee, his face level with your hips. He tells you to look down at him and you do. His hair is damp, his muscles tense as he positions himself below you. The subtle eye makeup he wears is starting to smudge, but makes him seem all the more intimidating. The way he looks alone is enough to drive you wild; if you were not in so much trouble already, you would grab onto him and push his face further in between your legs. He grips your right thigh, moving it further apart from your other one. He digs his fingers into your flesh more and grips your other hip again, making sure you are steady. He tells you to hold onto his shoulders and you do not argue with him as you touch him for balance eagerly. His tongue presses to the inner part of your leg and licks up. It tickles, but at this point any touches Getou gives you, you take. You realize how desperate you are starting to become. You just want to have this man already, but you know he is dragging out these punishments on purpose.

He starts pressing small kisses to your inner thigh, the tenderness feels so good, you had been waiting for such touches ever since you saw him again. With his warm lips on your skin, he could only hope to cover your whole body with his kisses. He sucks lightly on your plump skin giving it more licks, your stomach starting to tighten. You just want him to continue like this forever. Giving him a proper good look, you smile, thinking that he looked so good doing this, being yours. Seeing him like this, you only wish you knew what he was thinking. Was he as obsessed with you as you were with him? Was he as high on you as you were on his touch?

You tighten your legs on his shoulders as you feel his teeth bite the most prominent part of your thigh, shooting up your body like electricity. His lips forming a shit-eating grin, showing how content he was with his work so far. This time he ignores any response you have to his biting and moves to your left thigh.

Immediately he bites it, giving you no time to recover from the last one. This one he made sure was the biggest and deepest one of them all. He was still careful to not draw blood, but he made it deep enough for the bruise to start forming immediately. Your chest is moving rapidly from the pain Getou’s mouth and teeth has caused on your body. You are trying hard to not slip down onto the floor of the shower. You want to say you are almost at your limit, but you want to keep pushing forward, you really do. You need to show him you can be good, you need him to forgive you. You need him.

Getou would not shame you if you wanted to stop, but the fire that was forming in your body was craving more. You two had been away from each other for so long that you wanted to have him every single way you could. In and out, you tell yourself as you slow your breathing, guiding yourself to calm down your breathing. With just one look into Getou’s beautiful eyes, you let him know you are able to continue. “Atta girl.” he says, making your heart skip a beat.

He stands back up, glancing at your body and admiring his work. Quickly, your Master had your wrists pinned in one of his hands above your head and you felt two of his fingers dip to the opening of your sex.

“Insatiable little girl. But if you would take all that I give you…” You do, and you prove it by wrapping your lips around his fingers. He lets go of your wrists and grabs your waist to move you further away from the shower head. Now, you are in front of the ledge that is in the shower, back onto it. He pushes firmly on your shoulders, urging you to kneel down. Your eyes immediately shoot up to him when he says your name for the first time this evening, and even if he was being stern, you always loved the way your name rolled off his tongue. Your wide eyes meet his to make sure you are giving all your attention to him and once he knows you are, he begins to talk again.

“Now, I gave my pretty little doll water earlier, and I thought that might have been enough to hydrate you, but it seems you are still being a needy little slut. Good thing your Master loves to give. To provide, even. So keep your head up and eyes on me.”

“Yes, Master Getou.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Such a good little doll, yet so thirsty and Master is feeling a bit…” Sighs of pleasure. Then a satisfied smile on his lips.

It took you a moment to understand what was actually happening. But as you felt more warm liquid drip down from your neck onto your chest down the rest of your body, you realize it was not water.You could see the shower head behind Geto’s body, he was like a shield. The smell is what got you and made you realize he was peeing on you. You both have done many things before, but this was definitely a first. You had seen it on his list of kinks, it was on your ‘maybe’ and on his ‘yes’. You kept your head up the best you could trying to avoid any of his piss getting on your face. Unfortunately, some got on your mouth from it bouncing off your chest and you try not to flinch, knowing it could make the situation worse for you. Getou’s face is painted with a smirk, his eyes narrowed on you. His smug look alone makes your stomach flutter, you groan slightly, silently. How can he look so good while humiliating you in the worst way?

Finally, the warm stream comes to an end and all you can do is sit there, looking up at your Master. You feel disgusting, in shock, this was unexpected so why were you aroused? Why did this usually vile action of his make you close to begging for it again? Your body is covered in bruises, long-since-gone saliva and piss—you are now also starting to become sore as your body settles in a more comfortable position but cannot get past what happened. Pleasure rises in your body seeing how satisfied your Master looks and fuck, seeing him so pleased only turns you on even with his piss running down your body. If anything you are so happy to have made him feel like this you were ready to tell him to do it again. You would do anything for your Master.

“Oh fuck, you’re being so fucking good to me, my pretty doll. My filth all over you, it’s shameful, it’s degrading, it’s all mine. You are mine. You’re on your knees, covered in your Master’s piss, my fucking piss. Mmm, but it’s not enough.” He shakes his head, “Not for my insatiable girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He grabs the shower head from behind him and points it down on you. Your body jolts from the cold water hitting your skin, goosebumps beginning to form all over. You close your eyes as you feel him spray you down from head to toe, washing away the traces of himself on you. The constant change in temperature is starting to make your head spin as you try to focus on being in Getou’s arms.

You wonder if he will give you any relief. You wonder how much you must beg, ask for his forgiveness. You have hope he will be a little kinder to you, maybe he already forgave you after his punishments. The stream of cold water ends, your skin still feeling the icy prickles coursing through your nerves.

A hand wraps around your bicep, pulling you up to your feet. If it wasn’t for the help, you’re not sure if you’d be able to stand up due to the soreness settling in your body. He pulls your arms around his neck as he wraps his left arm around you, holding you in place. You feel him lean down to give you an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue slipping in to twirl around yours. His right hand wanders down your body, grasping at every curve. He moves both of you back until you feel your legs hit the ledge. He grips your hip, then moves his fingers between your thighs. He rubs one of the spots he bit you in, making you moan into his mouth from the dull pain it brings you. He presses your body closer to him as his kisses deepen more, lips pressing harder against each other.

His index and ring fingers begin to graze your outer lips and make your back arch. You can feel the wetness build up as he moves his fingers closer to your entrance, making sure to avoid your clit. You open your eyes and gaze at him through wet eyelashes as he looks down, smirking at you.

“Fuck, doll, no matter what I do, you are still wet for me. Begging for more with those doe eyes of yours. You really are my very own whore.” he says as he slips his middle finger inside, making you bite your lip. He continues to speak as he moves his finger in and out of you.

“I pissed on you, humiliated you, marked you mine and yet it still seems like that’s not enough!” He grinned, “You savored me marking you like a dog, I can feel how wet you are on my fingers. You really are enjoying my punishments, aren’t you?” he says mocking you, slipping his ring finger into you. You let out a whimper you were trying to hold in, his words making your body heat up again. His fingers stop.

“Answer me.” His face is serious, eyes glaring at you.

“No.”

“No? Careful, you’re missing something there.”

You did not call him Master, but replied, “No, I did not enjoy you marking me like a dog.”

“Are you sure?” He gritted through his teeth, “Because you have been wet since I started your ‘punishments’” He emphasized the word, both of you knowing it was nothing but. “You’ve always been rather the masochist, huh?”

“I just…” As you begin to speak, he starts moving his fingers inside of you again, now hitting the spot he knows that drives you wild.

“You just what, hm? Use your words, whore.” Between his words and fingers, you could only gasp attempts at words. Your Master truly knows how to really make you come undone.

“What Master likes, I will like. What makes you happy makes me happy—please continue, I need you. I’m sorry for what I did, I just–”” Your grip tightens more around his neck, you bury your face into his chest. Even though he loves it when you are begging, it does not make it any less embarrassing. He pulls his fingers out of you, interrupting the pleasure that was starting to build in your stomach. The arm that was wrapped around your body trails up, his hand at the nape of your neck, large fingers lacing at your roots, pulling your head away from his body.

“Then why did you let someone else defile you? You know I’m the only one allowed to touch you.”

“Because I wanted to surprise you. Yuki is your friend, she is talented, I knew she wouldn’t mess up—I knew she would make it match yours perfectly!”

“Are you saying that I couldn’t match it perfectly, that I don’t have the skill to make yours look exactly like mine?”

“No Master, don’t twist my words, I know you could have! You are beyond talented, it’s just—it’s just that Yuki tattooed your original piece, I thought she could tattoo mine” You paused, “I wanted that bond… I wanted us to have it.”

“You thought you should let her tattoo your first large piece instead of me?” Venom is lacing through his words. Before you could blink, he had you facing the other way, back towards him, your right leg now propped up on the ledge. He then enters you in one long push, knocking the breath out of you, making you put your hands out in front of yourself and on the wall to prevent yourself from hitting it. “Let’s refresh your memory and remind you who you belong to.” He said that as he wrapped his left hand around your neck, propping his right leg behind yours for more leverage, digging deeper inside you.

This made you gasp out of breath, having him already so far inside of you. It had been so long since you last felt him that you immediately clenched around his cock, instinctively. This landed you a smack on your inner thigh.

“Oh no no, you don’t get to enjoy this. I know my little pet is needy but this is for me. This is just for me. You’re my free-use hole tonight, okay?”” He says as he continuously moves his hips to match the emphasis on his words.

You try to focus on anything but the feeling of his cock moving deep in and out of you. Anything. Maybe the patterns in the tiles, the way your breath is hitching every time he snaps his hips against you, even the small grunts that get closer to your ear as he leans forward.

None of it however can distract you from how good his cock feels, grazing every part of you. Your stomach starts tightening more and more, aching for release as you try not to clench again, feeling yourself become wetter.

“Look at how my cock fills you up.” He emphasized each word once more, “It’s making sure your pussy knows who it belongs to.” He suddenly stops his fast rhythm to ensure you feel every single inch of him and you do. The hand around your neck moves down to your stomach, pressing down on it, intensifying the feeling of him moving inside of you. You are nearing your climax, wanting to release desperately. And desperate you were. You start to beg, eyes pleading, mouth barely forming any words.

“Please Master Getou, please, just let me cum. I belong to you, only you, please, please Master, please.” As you beg more, he picks up the pace again pressing harder against, ensuring there is no way you cannot feel him in every way. You are close, you know are gushing more around as you clench around him again. A wave is about to crash around you, then it immediately dissipates as you feel yourself now empty with a smack to your clit making you jolt, and cry out with the echo of Getou whispering, “No” into your ear. The feeling of his breath did not help, the pain on your used clit did. Your orgasm was gone.

You’re nearly crying from the sensitivity ringing through your body. You feel his warmth leave you as he moves away to turn off the shower, telling you to get out. Stepping out of the shower, your Master follows behind you, steering you to the bedroom. The cooler air hits your body, goosebumps starting to form on your skin. You try to keep yourself warm by wrapping your arms around yourself, but it does very little to help. Your eyes are met with his chest as he stands in front of you, your mind wondering what he could possibly do next.

His fingers are now on your cheeks as he pushes them together, making you pout as he directs your face to his again. Fear is curling up your spine as you can see his eyes so dark, finding difficulty in distinguishing where his pupils start and where they end.

“Tell me my doll did not try to go against my command. Tell me my fucking doll did not try to fucking cum.” The small curve forming on his lips with his eyebrows arching up sends a fire through your body that’s doing everything to stay still, gazing up at Getou.

“No, Master.” you plead. He tuts at your response. “Little brat is a liar too?”

“Please sir, I wasn’t going to cum without your permission, I promise!” You know it was a half lie, you almost did cum without him giving you permission, but being away from him for so long has made your body desperate for him.

“Now why are we lying? I know how your body reacts, how it feels, how to control it.” He pauses and gives you a tight smile, “To think you did not learn anything from my punishments….” His smile is wide, almost uncomfortably so, and the way it seems to sharpen at the edges runs chills through your body. It’s like a storm brewing, tense and unforgiving. The sting you feel across your face is like lightning striking down a tree branch, but unlike the branch, someone is there to catch your quivering body. His large hand settles deep in the back of your hair, with his other arm at the base of your ass, pulling you up. The change in position, being on your toes, keeps you alert, staring right at the eye of the storm.

Your Master is silent, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with a smile. The tears that roll down your face cause your cheek to prickle more, your body throbbing from the stillness you can only hope to be released from. The wetness on your face increases, and you think there are more tears falling, but instead it is Getou’s tongue licking up your cheek, collecting every droplet from your eyes.

“Do you think those tears are going to stop me? If anything, it’s fueling me to teach you more fucking lessons. At least you’ll remember them. Or… we could try one last thing, are you listening?” He pauses, looking at you. You could only give him a soft nod. “A good girl equals a good fuck toy, a fuck toy does not fucking cum. So I’m going to use you again, and if you cum, well… You’re not going to like it if you cum.”

“Please…” you feel your voice falter, the strength you had earlier washed away by your Master’s continuous maneuvering of your body. “I’ll be a good girl, please, use me.”

“Is my little doll tired?” He asked rhetorically, pouting at you, “Good, you won’t give me too much of a fight then.” The grip in your hair is still tight as he makes you lower down to your knees, the tightness in your legs dissipating as you settle into the plushness of the carpet. The coldness in your body starts to numb down even as droplets of water continue to roll down your skin. You ignore the exhilaration pulsating in your limbs.

Your mind is further away, as if the storm swooped it in one go. Your thinking is slowed, eyes more focused on looking up at the stature of the man who fascinates your body. He tells you to open your mouth wide, and you do. The hand that isn’t threaded in your hair is holding his cock right in front of your mouth, an offering. Your mouth takes him as your tongue circles around it, stroking the underside of his head and pressing into his slit.

You hear Getou sigh, an indication of his enjoyment. He urges your head to go deeper, tongue coaxing the veins along the way. He pushes hard, your nose now grazing his happy trail; you feel your throat tighten up as you start to gag. He continues to hold you down until you can hardly breathe, tears coming out of the corners of your eyes.

He pulls your head back, his cock completely slipping out of your mouth as you start coughing, struggling to take in as much air as you could. Your eyes are wide when making contact with his, trying to look for any sign of approval. He lets go of your hair and taps your cheek, “I thought you wanted to be useful? You’re gonna have to loosen up that throat so I can fuck it properly.” You start to nod your head frantically in agreement; his hand is back on your head, shoving you down his length again. This time, he goes much quicker; you can’t help moaning as your lips wrap around him tighter, unable to do any other movement to please him. Almost losing your balance from the pace he has set, you place your hands slightly behind yourself, gripping the threads of the carpet. Your head tilts up, allowing for some relief to the pressure on your throat. He holds you down once more in place and now you can really feel the full length of him down your throat.

The soreness in your jaw is beginning to settle in. You try to ignore it, listening to the sighs he lets out. He pulls you away once again, your tongue dragging, making sure to feel every part of him. He grunts, “Fuck, it’s much better like this. You really are a fast learner.” He looks down at you and mocks, “It’s hard, isn’t it? To keep yourself from cumming, huh?” A pat on your head, condescending one, he adds, “But you don’t deserve it, I know it and you know it, right? You’ll have to work harder.”

He slides out of your mouth and you keep it open, eyes gazing up as you feel them glazing over, just like any of your conscious thoughts. The only thing you can do at this point is nod your head. The more he puts himself into you, the more you lose your composure. Words are becoming harder to voice; you let your tongue slip out slightly, wetting your lips. A string of saliva drips from your mouth and you see him smirking as he leans down closer to you.

He presses his thumb onto your tongue, letting the mess seep out more down your chin. His thumb follows the trail down your neck. “Look at you, being my good pet,” he says, leg wedging your knees further apart. You sink down further, flush to the carpet, leaning further back on your hands. “Put in the work and I’ll give you a treat.” He stands back up fully, inching closer to you, setting his hand on the back of your head again.

Your lips wrap around him tightly, eyes meeting his in an instant. You raise your eyebrows in an unvoiced question, and he nods in approval. You begin to bob your head up and down slowly, taking charge and making sure he feels your mouth on every part of his cock. You swallow him down all the way as you close your eyes and try to breathe. You feel him twitching as he lets out a groan, the wet sounds from your mouth getting even louder. You pull away, reaching your limit.

One large breath—that’s all the luxury you get.

The grip on your hair tightens again and you can barely keep up as he fucks into your throat faster. You do your best not to gag every time he bumps the roof of your mouth. Moans are flowing out of both of you, along with obscene, wet sounds. You close your eyes tighter as the pace increases, knowing he is close, forcing your mind to give in and go blank. Getou lets out a loud grunt, and you can feel him shatter. He cums into your mouth and you must remind yourself not to swallow it right away, to make sure you collect it all. He slips out of your mouth as more of his release drips to the corners of your lips, down your chin and neck, and flowing to your chest.

Your eyes slowly open. Through wet lashes you see your Master, chest heaving, eyes narrowed, and that cocky grin that always makes your stomach start to flutter. The hand that is not placed on your head runs through his hair as he gazes down at you. The glint in his eyes tells you that he is admiring his work. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out and present it to him, savoring the salty liquid before you are allowed to swallow. He leans over closer to you, your chest heaving as you try and catch your breath, managing to still prop yourself up with your hands. You see the string of clear liquid leave through his lips and fall onto your tongue, mixing in with his cum.

“Now swallow and enjoy every drop of it.” he commands, and you do as you feel his cum and saliva flow down your throat. Once you do, you stick out your tongue showing him there was nothing left. The hand that was behind your head moves to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek as his index and middle finger on his other hand runs up your chest and neck, collecting the rest of his cum.

“Stupid pet, don’t waste the rest of your meal.” He coos at you, placing his fingers on your tongue with the sticky liquid. You close your mouth, wrapping it around them, tongue swirling around and ensuring you get every drop off. He looks at you with amusement as you clean off his fingers and once you do, he slips them out of your wet cavern. “Such a good, obedient whore for my cock.”

You nod your head and whisper, “I can do better, Master,” throat sore and raspy.

“Good to know, because I’m not done with you yet, I have much more to teach.” His voice is stern, mixed with excitement. Your eyes widen as you study his handsome features, but before your brain can register anything, he picks you up from under your arms and throws you over his shoulder, walking towards the bed. You are becoming dizzy from the blood rushing to your head; you let out a grunt as you feel your ass being slapped then groped by Getou’s large hand. Suddenly, you feel yourself being thrown, your back hitting the mattress, your body relaxing slightly as you lay there.

You feel the mattress dip as Getou climbs on it, moving his body to hover over yours. He begins placing wet kisses along your neck, going down to your chest. His lips are everywhere, kissing every bruise and bite mark along with your untouched skin. He goes down to your left breast, kissing it, his mouth wrapping around your pierced nipple. A moan leaves your lips, back arching, letting him wrap his other arm under you to pull you closer.

You can feel his tongue playing with the metal bar that goes through your skin, sending shivers along it. He pinches your other nipple as he continues to lick and suck at your left one. Another shaky moan is released and you can feel yourself getting wetter, clenching around nothing. Your breaths are getting heavier, wanting to curse him for how talented his mouth is, but it feels so good every single time.

“Already so worked up? I’ve barely done anything.” He grins, “Always so responsive, always so needy.” His words are sweet, but poisonous from how they affect you. His mouth is always affecting you, because all that he says has you feeling so many ways.

“Please Master…”

“Words.” He continues his licking and sucking. “No, wait,” He laughs, “Are you trying to rush me? Doll, I’m only getting started on my meal.” He bites down lightly at your right nipple, pulling at it, making you gasp. “Remember. This isn’t for you, and I’m gonna enjoy this at my slow, painfully slow pace. You may beg, but that’s alright. I enjoy some music while eating.”

He continues the torturous trailing of his tongue on your nipple and skin, now biting around it. Your hips start to roll, searching for any stimulation, and as they do, you feel Getou’s hand slide down your body, stilling them down. Your body shudders as he kisses further down, nipping at your sides. Sliding down further, he wraps his hands around the base of your ass and pulls you closer. He props your knees up, feet planted on the mattress, spreading them wide. He starts to plant kisses traveling up your thigh, biting at the inner parts. Your arms are above your head, fingers gripping into the pillow, the anticipation becoming unbearable.

Your whimpers grow in volume as he inches closer to your sex. He continues his touches on your leg and you try to not squirm, but it is nearly impossible. Your hips keep moving and he stops his bites on your thigh to berate you.

“Move and I stop. Understood?”

You let out a sound of acknowledgement and nod. He slides his fingers up stopping at the top of your inner thigh, your leg twitches slightly.

“How many times should I repeat myself? Use your words.” He continues to stroke his fingers along your thighs.

“I understand, Master.” your breath is shaky along with the words you try to push out from your mouth.

“Mmm, there we go… such a learning curve!” His smirk widens, the obsidian of his eyes shining as the sun is starting to set. The remaining rays cast through the window catch the darkness of his hair and eyes, clinging to it just as he clings on to you. Pulling at the small of your back, he drags you closer, spreading your legs wider. You feel the stretch go through your aching thighs, heels digging further into the mattress. He pulls you up slightly and places a pillow underneath, propping your hips up.

You see him on his knees between your legs, the last of the rays emphasizing each of his tattoos and muscles. Your breath hitches as you try to inhale deeply, acutely aware of the way his eyes scan your entire body as you are exposed to him, and for him only. Burning shame is painting your face and you try to hide it by turning it to the side, hand coming down to cover yourself. As you do, you feel his strong hand bringing yours over your head, clasping both wrists together as his other hand cups your face back to his.

“Stay… I want to see your every expression while you watch yourself drip on my tongue.“ He then smiles, “I will need you to tell me two things, but they’re one and the same, really. Who this pretty pussy belongs to and who’s making you feel like this—just repeat my name, you know, in case you’re too dumb to understand.”

“Yes, Master.” You say quietly, but you know he heard you as he leans away from you, letting go of your face and hands. He leans back again, gathering his long strands of inky hair, putting it back in a neat ponytail near the top of his head. You keep your eyes on him as his muscles flex, moving the strands of hair out of his face. He could be sculpted into a statue like this, you think, admiring his beauty as you prepare yourself to meet your maker.

He leans in closer between your legs, the tingling sensation spreading through your body with the tension of his skin brushing against yours. With a swift movement, he glides his index and middle finger along your center, barely applying any pressure. The goosebumps begin to surface as he swipes up again, gathering some of your wetness on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, slipping them between his lips as he licks off your arousal. The moan that escapes you seems to be the fuel that ignites him as the last rays of sun dance gently in his eyes, knowing he has you as one the brightest shining stars. His fingers, now wet with his saliva, press and toy with your hole. He coos at you,

“I don’t know how much of you is going to be left once I’m done, because I sure am hungry,” the last part he says slowly, enunciating each of his words, still grazing his fingers along you. You want to beg, you do, but you know it would not change his course.

Finally, he bends down, licking a long stripe along your folds, tongue pressed flat and hard. You whimper from the warmth and sweet relief, but he still teases, avoiding your most sensitive parts. The tip of this tongue continues to move around as he sucks and kisses in between. Before you can process it, a loud moan rips from your throat as his tongue swipes up on your clit and lips suction around it. Your body pulsates in a never-ending rhythm, the pressure pooling in your stomach.

Your fingers itch to grip onto his strands, but you stop yourself from doing so. Instead, they spread out to each of your sides, nails clawing at the sheets as your back arches further. You can feel your arousal dripping further down you as you continue to moan. The man causing you so much pleasure does not miss it and moves his tongue to lick it up, making sure not to miss a drop. At this point, your neck is uncomfortably curved back, your eyes staring at the wall above you.

“Master Getou, Master Getou, please, please…” you start pleading to him, incoherent babbles as your hips rock into his face. His hands are latching onto your waist trying to keep you still, but as his tongue starts moving quickly in and out of your entrance, your body only begins to writhe more. You can feel the heat and pressure increasing as he continues this game of his. Your orgasm is starting to build up fast as your breaths and moans flow out quicker. You start to clench when you feel his tongue flick on your nub again and just as you are so close, ready to let go of everything, you feel it fizzle away as the warmth of his mouth and tongue does too.

You groan loudly as your body settles back into the mattress, your frustrations pooling where your pleasure should have been by now. You’re whispering pleads over and over again, hoping he will give you something, anything.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Mh? It’s nice…nice doesn’t mean you can relish in it, doll. No cumming, not yet.” he says as he is leaning over you again, his lips close to your ear, but also making sure your bodies are barely touching. “Now who makes you feel so, so good?” he coos at you.

“You, Master Getou.,” you choke out.

“Well taught pet. I’ll give you one opportunity to cum, so sit on my face.” He says as he pulls away and goes to lay down next to you on his back. You turn your head to look at him, wondering if he means it, but in the back of your brain you know it does not matter because you would do anything he says.

“I easily grow impatient. Perhaps a countdown will help? Three–”” he says with the corner of his lips slightly turned up.

You begin to push your body up slowly, feeling all your muscles flexing and tightening trying to make the mere crawl on your way to him. He feels so far away from you when your entire body is this tired, his eyes never leaving you, drawing you in closer. He lays there waiting with his hands behind his head, biceps flexing. His lips stretch out into a lazy smile seeing your effort in coming near him, getting closer to his domain.

You know that although he says he is giving you control, you will always be in the palm of his hand, bending to his will, letting it swallow you whole. Your legs finally straddle his shoulders. You’re holding yourself up as much as you can as you look at the view below. His eyes are still peering at you, looking at every inch of your body. His hands come out from behind his head and you feel them sliding up the back of your thighs, grabbing at your skin as they go up to your waist. His fingertips fuse with your skin as he grips you tighter.

His voice ripples through you, making your body more alert.

“Finally. I am famished.” Each word he emphasizes makes your body almost drop over him, but he keeps hold of you as he pulls you close so you are now on top of his face.

Unlike before, his tongue is quick to lick every part of your pussy. Tracing every single line, every fold. His fingers move as if he wants to weave them in between your ribs, to have you intertwined with his body in every way possible.

You start rocking your hips, wanting more. His nose hits your clit over and over again, making little whimpers slide from the back of your throat. His moaning and hot breath against you has your stomach tightening as your arousal increases. As his tongue moves in and out of your hole, your hands graze up your own body, your fingers starting to trace your nipples lightly.

A low moan leaves you as Getou’s lips suck hard on your clit and one of his hands clashes with one of your ass cheeks, making you pull harder on your nipples. Sweat starts pooling at the nape of your neck, your body prickling with warmth. The sensation is starting to become too much to bear.

You can feel your wetness growing as Getou starts sucking on your skin, the sounds gradually escalating in the room. His hands make their new home on the back of your thighs, gripping them tightly, securing your spot on his face. Gasps are flowing through you as you start to clench around his tongue. You’re feeling each sound he vibrates against you, tongue still flicking and sliding on every crevice followed by his lips.

You are not sure if you can hold it in any longer as the fuzziness starts taking over your head and the shaking of your legs is beyond your control. His lips are now on your clit again sucking hard and you nearly scream from the pleasure that shoots through your body. This is the closest you have been to letting go all evening and it feels so good, you wish you could be in this position all the time. You are ready to release all the buildup and all the tension that has been stored in since the beginning of the evening.

Your high has been ripped away from you again. You are now on your back, pressed into the mattress. You are heaving, chest rising quickly, the vibrations of your body stopping completely. The tears rolling out from the corner of your eyes fall down the side of your face and you can feel the wetness pooling in your ears. The frustration rises through your body as you have been denied your orgasm yet another time. You want to crawl away, curl up and hide somewhere, knowing Getou may not even let you reach your peak. You would get away from him, you really would, but the soreness of your body is settling into the deepest parts of your muscles, making it difficult to move. And in any case, you know Getou would only drag you right back.

“Oh? Is my pet crying? Try harder, add more tears, it’s bound to make me merciful, right?” he says condescendingly, “I did tell you this was not about you, but you are so greedy you let your silly brain make you believe you would cum! Hah!”

You continue to lay there in your hazed state, trying to grasp the words Getou is saying to you. You are trying to listen, but the exhaustion is starting to kick in, your mind wandering somewhere else. A grunt leaves your mouth as you feel your body being rolled over, stomach now pressing into the mattress as your head is turning to one side. The warmth of Getou’s body is over yours, chest onto your back, his arms caging in on either side of you. His lips brush against your ear; kissing, licking, biting at it as he continues to talk to you.

“Tired?“ This time it was him, your boyfriend, not your Master, you could hear it in his voice. Lowering his tone, it was like a confession as he spoke, “You know we can stop at any time. If you say you are done, then you are done and I stop. We can relax for the rest of the evening.” He smiled sweetly, “Limits are there to be respected, for both of us to enjoy this. Don’t push yourself to an extreme you would regret, sweetheart.”

His words start to resonate with you and there is a part of you that is honestly exhausted, who would love nothing more than a hot bath and to curl up in bed, but the other part of you still wants more. You still wanted to feel everything Getou has to offer you. You find the strength to answer him, “I can take more, Master.””

“What is your color?”

“Green.”

He smiles, “I knew my little whore had some spunk to her,” he says as his teeth dug into your shoulder. “Now what do you want more of?”

“All of you. I am yours…” You know you are breaking the scene by not calling him Master or sir, but you also know showing your sincerity and want, your need for him to continue tells him you could keep going.

“That’s my fucking girl. Always so good for me. You know how much I love to be in my pussy,” the huskiness in his tone makes your stomach flutter, your heart beating quicker as his lips brush against the side of your face.

His body still flush against yours, you feel one of his hands travel down, pushing your legs apart slightly as he begins to brush two of his fingers on your heat. Your body twitches slightly from his touches; everything is so sensitive, but the feeling of pleasure rising again was tasting so good.

“Look at my pussy, always so wet for me. Always so sensitive. How can it always be dripping for me like this? Does your pussy need me that bad?”

“Please Master Getou, please please I need you. Please stop teasing, I need you inside me. It… it’s all yours… just…”

“Of course it’s all mine,” he says as you can feel the tip against your opening, “Look how… responsive my pussy is for me…” he continues to say, pushing himself more into you. You moan from the stretch of his cock filling you, pulsating around him. Once he is all the way inside, your back arches into him more, making him hit even deeper than he already is. His hand comes back near your face, pads of his fingers brushing against your lips as you taste yourself. Your mouth wraps around his fingers more, sucking as he begins rocking his hips slowly against your ass. You release more moans as his fingers greedily press against your tongue, coaxing all the sounds out. You continue to arch and move your hips to meet his, trying to feel every bit of him inside of you. The warmth in your face grows as he continues to kiss and bite at your ear and neck, whispering how your pussy is his and his alone.

His thrusts start to become faster and deeper, your hands reaching out to grip the sheets as whimpers and gasps leave your mouth to fill up the room, combined with his heavy breaths. Removing his fingers from your mouth, they make home onto your neck, holding it snug in his grip. You begin to clench more around him as his thrusts start to hit a pleasurable spot. You wish you could grip him tighter and hold him in place, where he can continuously rub against that one spot only.

“Look how my pussy wants to hold onto me. She is so needy, isn’t she? And you are too, my little pet?” he states between ragged breaths. You are not sure if you can form anything coherent to answer him back as he keeps sliding in and out of you, making you gasp.

“She… she is so needy… only for you. All yours, Master… it’s all yours…” you manage to breathe out.

You feel him rise and you groan as the cold air hits your back. His arm pulls at your waist as he brings you up with him, and you settle on your forearms in the new position. His other arm wraps around your neck and shoulders, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest again.

He holds you tight in between his arms, ensuring your movements are limited. You feel his pace quickening as your body rocks with his, the sound of skin slapping and rubbing against each other grows louder alongside both you and your Master's moans. Your knees are barely on the mattress with him thrusting so powerfully and holding you so close to his body.

His fingers start to slowly rub circles on your clit. You cannot help but let out a high pitched gasp. The pressure you feel between your legs and your lower stomach becomes greater and you feel yourself gushing as he twirls his fingers around your nub more, keeping up his pace. His other hand grabs your jaw and turns it back towards him giving you a passionate open-mouthed kiss. Lips and teeth crash together in a fight of who wants more of the other. You are teetering on the line of it not being enough and all too much, all at once. Getou is sliding in and out of you at such a pace that your vision goes dark. He puts more pressure on your clit and the wave is beginning to consume your body.

You let out a grunt, thinking you are finally letting go, but are shocked by your body crashing into the mattress. When your eyes finally adjust, you notice that he is balancing his weight on one of his knees, his other leg extended out in front of him with his foot pressing on your head. You start to feel a warm, thick liquid on your back; he has found his release. You groan again as you have been denied for who knows how many times.

“Doll, all your attention is on me. It should always be on me. Now remember, I’ll leave a longer lasting impression than that tattoo ever will.”

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A/N: Well I hope you all enjoyed the fic. So the backstory of writing this was a challenge from the discord server I am a part of. We were talking about what fictional character you would basically let them do anything. I of course chose this God of a man. Then it went on to kinks and what would be hard nos or hard yeses or maybes. So obviously the piss kink get brought up and it started it as a joke, but then it formed to a challenge and 13.8k words later, here we are!

Please give this fic some love, it will be greatly appreciated!

Crossover Post on ao3

You can also follow me on Twitter

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kiestrokes · 5 months

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Soft Hours: the autumnal special | SFW

The Vibe: a couple of autumn themed excursions.

Idol Casting: Christian Yu aka DPR Ian. Jeong Yunho of ATEEZ. Byun Baekhyun of EXO.

🗝️Note: a soft hour post means I don’t have to list all the typical shit: i.e. the warnings, the summary, the cross posting to ao3. It is a non-betaed post of just ✨ vibes ✨

🎃Christian Yu Laying on the couch trying to convince him to come settle down with you. He’s making all the snacks but all you want is that tattooed body covering you like a weighted blanket. You have no choice but to accompany him in the kitchen when he busts out the Halloween sugar cookies. “You can’t make those by themselves, they're gross.” Christian scratches his head looking at the box, “I think they’re fine?” You sigh and climb out of the nest you’d burrowed into on the sofa. “Come on, let me show you how the pros make them” he helps you smoosh chocolate chip cookies into the bottom of the pan, followed by a layer of Halloween creme Oreos. He holds the bowl as you scrape the brownie batter into the pan. He laughs when you lick the spatula and grabs your face, fingers slotting either of your ears to kiss this batter from the corners of your mouth. “Mmm, you’re right brown butter does make a difference.” You roll your eyes, but his affection and assistance have already baked about any residual annoyance under the heat of his sunny personality. Christian watches as you top the batter carefully with the ghost sugar cookies. He opens the oven, and you place them inside. “Slutty brownies, ghost face edition coming right up” Christian leans on the counter face lowering to yours “what makes them slutty?” “Because chocolate has to get with every candy on the shelf.” Christian laughs and is still laughing when he tugs your face to his for a more lingering kiss.

🦃Jeong Yunho It's friendsgiving, everyone has eaten their fill and ready to settle in for turkey naps. The Proposal is playing in the background, a sleepy Yunho jerks awake in his upright position near your feet. He eyes your legs before collapsing between them to snuggle up in a comfier position. You laugh and stroke his hair; he drags his cheek happily against your thigh like the golden retriever he is. Another friend covers him with a blanket, and you drift off to sleep together. Dreaming of Betty White and the vocals of Lil John & The East Side Boyz. When you wake Yunho is spread eagle on his back, draped across your body like a human blanket and your friends have taken numerous photos and tagged the two of you in instagram stories and tiktok edits. You laugh watching them, causing Yunho's still sleeping head to bounce on your stomach. He groggily rolls over and watches them with you, with sleep squinted eyes.

🍁Byun Baekhyun You don’t even bother knocking, you know he’s still tucked away in bed. Thats exactly where you find him. You let out a soft laugh, and he cracks one eye open as you place the two maple lattes and pumpkin breads on the nightstand. He lazily watches as you climb onto the bed next to him. Baekhyun reaches for you as soon as you get within distance. He tugs your face to his for a kiss before you have time to brace yourself or climb under the covers. “Good morning.” He mumbles against your lips, and you fumble to join him underneath the covers. Dozing between sips of coffee, bites of toasted bread and of course kisses in the cool autumnal sunrise that's filtering through the curtains.

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traumxrei-archive · 2 years

Text

【 when the world stopped for you 】

summary: it's jamil viper's birthday and he isn't too enthused...until the prefect waltzes into his room, promising surprise and a magic carpet ride. and who was jamil to refuse such an offer?

author's note: welcome to my homage to jamil viper ! i did want to write a character study type of fic, but i thought he deserved some fluffy comfort for his birthday, so here it is, refreshingly late >:DD i hope you enjoy the fic ^^

characters: jamil viper x gn!prefect

word count: 2.5k

tags: happy birthday jamil viper !!, he's done w/ the prefect, but is he really if he likes them ?, they take a magic carpet ride "a whole new world style" (jamil is jasmine and prefect is aladdin lmao)

[ or read it on ao3 ! ]

Birthdays weren't something that Jamil celebrated. The memories of birthdays from his childhood were of his sister's small hands shaking him awake. The lamplight illuminating the kunafa his parents made, singing hushed songs before the work day started.

He would end up having one bite of the kunafa before rushing off to wake up Kalim for his morning lessons. The white-haired boy always had some magnificent gift waiting for him, which he always respectfully declined, no matter how much he wanted it. Because he was taught that 'it isn't polite to accept grand gifts from your master.'

Living in the Al-Asim household for so long, he had seen his fair share of birthday parties and banquets. It happened often each year, with each of Kalim's many siblings having their own parties every birthday. Even Kalim himself was known for hosting one of the most extravagant and beautiful parties for his birthdays back in Scalding Sands.

So it was to his surprise that he was the one getting the "birthday banquet" treatment at NRC. He knew how this went down. You get an outfit and a party after school was over. That was what happened last year. Yet he still couldn't get used to all the hustle and bustle.

Jamil stared at his own birthday outfit bitterly, the failures and mistakes of his second year stinging like a phantom wound. Certainly this was enough celebration. He already got enough birthday greetings to fill a jar, and he didn't even have to make breakfast. He didn't need a party on top of that.

Nonetheless, Jamil dutifully put on the suit, feeling the slide of cool fabric against his skin. Even if he didn't like the ritual, NRC had good taste in fabrics at least.

He had just slipped on the bolo tie when his door slipped open. He frowned, turning, "I thought I said no enteri–"

He froze when he saw the person standing at the door. Grinning widely, the Prefect waved, "Hey, birthday boy!"

Jamil winced, "Spare me, please."

"But I haven't seen you all day, senpai, and plus," They closed the door behind him before flopping next to his desk. "It is your birthday."

He rolled his eyes lightly as he fastened the rosette on his clothes, "It's not like I'm having the time of my life here."

"Right," They drawled, picking up one of the stray books on his table. "You're the type that hates when attention is all on you, huh?"

He stared at them pointedly before they laughed, "C'mon, at least appreciate all their efforts! They're kicking up quite the storm out there for your birthday."

Jamil stopped his movements, "Please tell me there aren't any animals."

"There are no animals."

"Prefect. Lying isn't good for you."

"Well, maybe I saw just one parrot–"

"That Kalim–"

They clapped, "Well, before you storm out, I have a proposal that I think you'd be interested in."

"A proposal?" Jamil huffed. "What, are you going to magically somehow make the party go away?"

There was a rustling sound that sounded awfully loud in the brief silence of the room. Jamil did a slow turn, seeing Kalim's carpet fluttering right next to the Prefect. There was a cheeky smile on their face as the looked at him.

"No."

"But I haven't even said anything yet!"

"Wait," Jamil held up a hand, effectively stopping their on-coming speech. "How did you even get to that? I thought I locked up it in the treasury."

"You see," They started, standing up to let the carpet wrap around them like a shawl. "I feel like Tassel has a sensor or something. It likes me quite a lot so it came to greet me when I was sneak— I mean, walking around."

"Tassel?" Jamil asked, watching as one of the carpet's corners shook in recognition. "You named the carpet?"

"Hey, Kalim liked the name," They pursed their lips as if offended. "Besides, the important part is that it likes the name. Now let's go already, or else it'll be too late."

"Late for what?" Jamil paid them no mind, instead reaching for his magic pen.

Which...wasn't there.

He let out a deep sigh, turning to see the Prefect dangling the pen from their grasp. He knew that they would go to great lengths to get things their way, using any trick that they could, yet...

"I guess Ruggie's lessons are working huh," They preened lightly at their achievement. "You didn't notice a thing!"

"That really isn't something to be proud of," He stood, approaching them. Well, it wasn't like he said 'no' in the first place. "So, where are we going?"

"Really? You're coming?"

Jamil looked away from that starry-eyed look of theirs, "Quickly now. Or would you like me to change my mind?" Now that got them moving, dragging Tassel into a prone position before helming the carpet.

"Before you ask, I got lessons from Kalim for this," They chimed in, patting the space right next to them. "So don't make this all for nothing." Jamil climbed on, reluctantly holding on to the flying carpet's edge.

With a few encouraging whispers to the carpet, the two set off into the darkening sky. The breeze that kissed his skin felt almost cool, heralded by the sun's dying light. And he couldn't take his eyes off the horizon.

"Hey, no looking!" They scolded over their shoulder. "It's no fun if you ruin the surprise!"

"Alright, alright," Jamil closed his eyes, holding on to the Prefect's shirt for purchase. "No need to yell." They really were something, asking him to ride blind on a magic carpet.

"You know, I feel like the thief from that story that Kalim told me about before," Their voice was closer, like they were sitting next to him." What did he say again? Ahem, 'Tell me, princess, when did you last let your heart decide'?"

"You're calling me the princess?" Jamil asked after a beat, confusing even himself when he indulged in their ramblings.

"I mean, I am playing the role of the thief, so naturally you're the princess," They snickered slightly. "Would you like me to serenade you too?"

If his eyes were open, he would've rolled them by now, "Just focus on getting us wherever we're going in one piece." And that was that, until Jamil felt their hand settle over his eyes as they came to a halt.

"Okay, ready?" They said, sounding like they were behind him now. "Take a step down, I'll guide you." Jamil could feel the heat of their hand at the small of his back, gently directing him as he took steps blindly on the sand.

"If sand ends up getting in my hair or this suit," He said in a warning tone. "You're going to be cleaning the Scarabia kitchens for a while."

"Yeah, yeah," They snorted; as if the possibility had never crossed their mind. "Just focus on walking, we're really close." The wind once again teased at his hair, ruffling the stiff folds of his suit jacket. He couldn't help but listen to the steady sound of their breathing, focusing on that and the yield of the sand underneath him.

And then he could see again.

His eyelashes fluttered as his world was set aglow once more, the sun's last rays clawing across the desert in a magnificent display. All above, the night sky desperately bled its colors into the day, as the night always yearns to be with its counterpart. At least that was what those fairytales told him. And now, he couldn't help but believe in it. He watched, entranced as the sun was swallowed by the horizon line, and as the moon rose, barely missing its counterpart by just a few seconds.

While the moment felt short to him, Jamil didn't know how long he stood there. He turned around, trying to find the shining shams to his muted qamar, and—

There they were.

Their face radiated with happiness, a delighted smile directed right at him. And just like how the sun's rays reflected off the moon, Jamil couldn't help but mirror it with his own smaller smile.

"Did you like my gift?" The words were spoken so softly that Jamil was sure it was the winds that carried them over to him; over the arm's length of space that valleyed between them.

"Wasn't it more like nature's gift to me?" Jamil couldn't help but feel the lightness in his shoulders as he bridged the gap, teasing on the tip of his tongue as he grinned.

"Hey, if I didn't convince you then you wouldn't have seen it!" They turned, and he followed entranced as they walked over the top of the sand dune. "You should give credit where credit's due." The last of the sun's light bathed them in petal red, making Jamil's heart beat harder against his ribcage as he realized that, oh. They were really that important to him all along.

"Let's go back to Tassel befo—"

The sand beneath them gave way, pitching their body over the edge of the dune. And Jamil lunged forward, his body crashing right into theirs and sending them both tumbling down the dune. He winced, drawing them closer to him as they kept falling at gravity's mercy, before finally slowing down to a slide.

A beat of silence spanned between them, punctuated by labored breathing.

"Jamil? Y-you good?" They coughed from where they were, still squished against his chest. He let go instantly feeling his face flame at their closeness.

"I'm...fine," Jamil groaned as pushed himself up on his elbows. They sat on their haunches, still halfway on his lap as they stared at him. His voice turned flat, "And you got sand in my hair. You got sand everywhere."

They laughed hysterically at that, throwing their head back, "Oh, man, I was thinking that maybe the roles got reversed, and you turned into the thief for a second, but...guess you're still the princess."

"This isn't funny," Jamil said, yet he felt the corners of his lips twitch into a smile. "I have a party to go to in a bit." He made no move to get up, finding the warmth of them comforting in the nighttime dessert.

"Well, isn't this celebration enough?" They asked, settling into a more comfortable position— now sitting on the sand, their legs monopolizing the space between his own as they faced him. "We've been celebrating you this whole time, after all."

His pulse jumped, "Since...since when have we been celebrating me?"

"Since I came to your room. The carpet ride, the sunset, walking up the sand dune, and even falling down the sand dune—while unplanned— it was all for you," They returned his stare unabashed. "Me being right here, right now...it's for you, senpai."

"...Thank you," The words were spoken in quiet, and this time the wind carried his words instead of theirs. It stirred up his loose hair and he couldn't care less at that moment. He had never seen such an earnest attempt at celebrating his birthday as the one that they had sprung on him.

"Hey, senpai..." They leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "Could I give you another present...?"

His gaze dropped instantly to their lips and he knew he was fucked. Oh Sevens. Oh Sevens, Jamil was absolutely ruined. He wanted to kiss them. He wanted them to give him a kiss. That was not good. He closed his eyes instantly when they leaned in a bit more. That was until he felt the press of something against his cheek.

His eyes flew open and he could see something that looked like a....snake plush right in front of his face. A snake plush. A plush. You had to be—

A shaky laugh tumbled out of his lips, "P-Prefect, I-I'm not...five."

"Hey, I thought it was perfect since it looks like you," They pulled the doll back making it nod. "Look, Little Viper, say hi to your predecessor."

"Did you just call that 'Little Viper'?" He stifled the fondness swelling in his chest even if the words weren't directed at him. Was it possible to feel envy for an inanimate object? Jamil really must've been going crazy.

"Would you rather I call it 'senpai' instead?" They were kidding, but Jamil was almost tempted to say 'yes'. Instead he took the plush from them, turning it in his palm. Okay, maybe it looked just a little bit like him. But he definitely wasn't going to admit it out loud.

"Now, let's get back before Kalim freaks out about you being gone," They held out a hand which Jamil immediately took. Tassel seemed to be floating just ahead of them, as if it was waiting for them to finish talking this whole time.

"And will you take responsibility for the sand?" He tugged at their entwined hands, drawing them just a little closer.

They blinked at him owlishly; strangely flustered, "Y-you mean the kitchen deal...right?" Sevens, what would happen if he leaned in and kissed them right then and the—

He patted their head, heat singing his neck once more, "Yes, I do. Now give me back my pen. I would like to maintain my reputation, at least amongst the other dorm members." They uncharacteristically handed him back the pen with no further gripes; something he attributed to their fluster earlier. He made quick work of the sand; the spell coming to him easily after years of practice, leaving them sand free in no time. He joined them on the carpet once more after fixing up his hair.

This time, he sat behind them, resting his chin against their shoulder as they drove. It was warmer that way, he decided to tell himself, trying not to notice how stiff the Prefect's shoulders were. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was...struggling with their feelings.

"Hey, Prefect," Jamil murmured lowly, his lips close enough to brush their ear. "Could I make a request?"

They flinched slightly before relaxing once more, "Mm? F-for your birthday?"

He clenched his fist as he spoke again, "In the future, I... Would it be okay if I..."

"I-If you...?" They asked, and Jamil could almost feel the quickening thud of their heart pressed against his front.

"Come with me on a trip in the future," Jamil decided. "I'll make sure you have fun." He settled for something simple. It would be too hard to voice those complicated feelings with careless words. And there would always be next time.

"Yes," They said quickly before letting out a short breath. "I mean. I would love to. As long as I don't have to save up too many thaumarks to go."

"It's a promise, sukkar," Jamil secretly smiled, hoping that they couldn't feel it from where he was leaning against their shoulder.

Maybe birthdays celebrated were not a waste of time. Maybe it was worth making a fanfare over for once. Maybe going on outlandish carpet rides with someone that makes his heart feel alive was exactly the way to celebrate those days. Maybe this was the way he wanted to celebrate his birthdays from now on.

All that he knew was that he would enjoy this moment while it lasted; before he was thrown into the party that would be thrown for him. And besides, if he needed a little break then...what was stopping him from stealing into the night with them once again?

tysm for reading ! i hope you enjoyed the fluff ^^ if you'd like to check out more jamil viper works, or otherwise, here's my masterlist :D

[ tiny factoids / translations for the fic !! ]

kunafa is a dessert that's made in many arab countries ! the dessert is comprised of a crispy layer of shredded pastry moulded around a cheese or cream filling. it's usually served straight from the oven with a healthy drizzle of sugar syrup :D writing this is making me want to eat it...but here's a link to a kunafa recipe for the curiouser !

qamar / shams : these two words mean 'moon' and 'sun' respectively in arabic. and as for the tale of the moon and the sun being lovers...it was a story that i heard when i was younger though i'm not sure of its origin (i'd love to know if someone does know ^^ drop by my ask box !!)

sukkar : haha. yeah, this basically means 'sugar' in arabic. it's jamil flirting with the prefect. arabic endearments are just 10x more romantic to me, especially from jamil <33

#/trau writes #jamil viper deserves more fluff #he deserves to have So Much Fun and happiness on his birthday #he deserves fun silly goofy fics #the title of this fic was from 'ballroom extravaganza' by dpr ian #i mean the lyrics are too good #'when the trees are all burning / and the stars will keep on turning / and i know i won't stop searching'#'for the moment when the world / stopped for you'#such emotions and feelings this song is #/trau fics #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland fics #twst fanfics #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland

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dalicia-fay · 1 year

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Not my pic, credit to the original owner.

That shirt looks like it's made out of boyfriend material...I'll see myself out..

Stressful Day- DPR Live

Today was one of those days; Sarah called out sick again, so your asshole of a boss decided to dump her workload into your lap to take care of. Deadlines, blablabla, teamwork, blablabla, more deadlines. That was all you could hear your boss say as he handed you more paperwork. "Great, another late night," you thought to yourself as you sat it on your desk next to your own workload. Placing your earbuds in your ears, you picked up where you left off, determined to finish everything today so you would not have to return to it tomorrow.

Before you knew it, the clock on your computer showed 12am ‘shit, worked till midnight again’. You stood up and stretched, your body aching from all the time you spent sitting in that cheap little black office chair. You cleaned up your workspace, saved all the files you were working on, and turned off your computer. You picked up your purse and water bottle that your boyfriend, Dabin, sent with you this morning because "you gotta stay hydrated, babygirl" his words echoed in your head. He was always worried about your wellbeing and you his, considering you both tend to work until ungodly hours when work requires it.

Walking out of the building and hearing the exterior doors' automatic lock click made a small smile start to pull at your lips while you stood momentarily in the cool night air, letting out an exhale that felt like it had been trapped in your chest all day. You were ready to be home and curled in bed with your boyfriend. With that warm, fuzzy thought in mind, you made your way to your car to make your way back home.

- - -

Walking into your apartment, you locked the door behind you before kicking off your black leather pumps that had been suffocating your feet all day. ‘That damn dress code is going to be the death of me.’ you thought while untucking your blouse from your dress pants, and you walked tiredly into your little kitchen. Opening the fridge, you began the hunt for something to eat, not noticing the male figure quietly sneaking up from behind you.

Before you realized what was going on, you felt hands slither around your waist, making you jump as you turned to look at the culprit. As you turned, Dabin picked you up, pinned your body to the now-closed fridge, and wrapped your legs around his waist. "Hey baby" he said with that signature smirk on his face, "Dabin, what the fuck?! Don’t sneak up on me like that!" You yelled, more surprised than anything but wanting him to feel guilty for his actions. Laughing a bit at your reaction, Dabin took a hand off your leg, gently caressing your face as he laughed, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just missed my girl that's all." Moving your hands from his chest, you clasped them together against the back of his neck, playing with his short hair.

He always knew how to make you completely forget about the outside world, especially after a long day of work. ‘It’s like he can sense it,’ you thought as you leaned into his hand. "I missed you too" you said softly. "Today was an absolute shitshow," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, one of the many signs that signaled to Dabin that your work day was incredibly stressful. “Ah, well then...” Dabin spoke as he began carrying you to the living room, snagging a couple snacks and drinks along the way. “Tell me all about it, and don’t leave out any details!” He said this with emphasis on the details, as if you had watched the next episode of his favorite TV show without him.

You and your boyfriend sat down on the couch, and you made yourselves comfortable by cuddling up on his lap. You then proceeded to recount the most frustrating aspects of your day at work, going into as much detail as possible. As you spoke, Dabin sat in content silence, humming and nodding in response to you every so often, so you knew he was listening to every word that you said.

---

After your rather lengthy rant, you laid your head on Dabin's chest and let go of the day's stress while listening to his heartbeat. "Thank you," you said in almost a hushed tone, Dabin barely hearing you. "For what?" he asked, gently rubbing his hands along your back. "For listening, being here for me, and simply being you," you replied. When you lifted your head to look your loving boyfriend in the eyes, you noticed a smile and blush on his face. "Of course, Y/N, I will always be there for you, no matter what."

Leaning in to give him a kiss, you smiled as you felt him smile into it. Pulling away after a few moments, you laid your head back on his chest. His hands continued to stroke your back in a soothing manner until both of you fell asleep.

---

(I hope you all enjoy this kind of short imagine...I will work on writing longer ones from here on out. Feel free to request anything and I’ll try to get to it as quick as possible! Thanks loves!!)

~Dalicia

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pulpitude · 23 days

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thinking about avalon by dpr ian and how well it fits amelin especially in the blood ending. yes i do really like to associate songs i like with characters/routes as most of the time whenever i get inspiration to write it's because of songs, characters, or both at the same time.

maybe it's the fact that it's a very "midnight motorcycle ride" type song (to me) that made me think of amelin in the first place, but then i listened to the lyrics a bit more and i realized. this is their song. and not just in the sense that it gives me their vibes. i mean it as in they actually listen to the song together and consider it theirs. since ame has my music taste i also think they'd listen to dpr (mostly ian, but they also listen to live/dabin), and one day while taking the wheel on the motorcycle they play this song. cue:

ame, you listen to dpr ian?

wait. you listen to dpr ian? you know this song?

well... yeah. used to. i guess i kinda still do.

of course you listen to artists with dark, broody songs who are actually sweet on the inside. just like you.

just like me, hm? well, now i know where you got your type from.

hm. shut up, you.

and yes they communicate with just hms sometimes + i'm pretty sure the headcanon that lincoln used to listen/listens to dpr is probably the most out of place in here. but i'm out of place in general. it doesn't matter

❝ play me through the stereo

hold me on the dance floor, all night

take me to your avalon

nobody needs to come along

just come alone, oh

are we ready to risk it all?

are you ready to risk it all?

are we ready to risk it all?

i'll be ready to risk it all, risk it all for you

my hands are out, so take me now ❞

god i love this silly cunty lil fashion designer and their doting tattoo artist bf so MUCH. i'm in tears

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stllmnstr · 4 months

Text

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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PART ONE

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Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness.

Scratch that – thirty minutes.

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives.

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up.

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing.

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it.

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness.

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book.

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing.

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second.

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment.

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date.

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up.

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her.

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard.

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure.

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine.

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it.

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time.

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm.

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit.

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course.

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now.

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated.

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door.

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance.

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one.

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID.

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you.

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be.

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs. And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home.

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about.

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line.

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always.

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.”

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily.

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out.

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again. “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap.

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly.

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent.

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.”

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around.

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully.

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit.

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly.

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.”

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is.

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan.

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text.

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files.

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage.

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack.

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door.

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number.

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently.

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan.

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with.

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest.

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful.

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding?

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom.

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger.

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way.

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long.

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.”

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out.

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine.

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute. And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away.

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger.

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips.

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms.

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes.

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it.

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–”

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking? “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along as you drag him with you. I am so fucked.

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless.

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before.

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down.

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone.

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend. “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing.

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number.

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all.

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true.

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library.

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror.

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder.

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop.

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him.

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it.

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you.

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him.

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare.

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving.

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace.

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right.

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall.

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks.

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace.

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake.

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser.

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment.

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company.

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house.

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university.

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system.

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst.

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be.

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob.

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all.

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically.

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom.

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too.

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants.

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library.

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence.

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax.

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice.

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.”

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute.

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides.

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one.

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now.

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes.

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer.

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line.

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it.

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom.

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight.

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer.

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim.

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be.

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one.

An overwhelming sense of self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else.

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment.

As you get closer, their words become more audible.

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it.

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him.

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire.

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this.

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease.

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is.

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good.

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over.

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable.

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.”

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it.

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier.

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine.

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face.

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant.

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window.

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace.

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being.

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey.

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough.

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault.

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production.

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for.

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation.

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices.

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you.

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there.

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do.

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath.

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely.

James Sim.

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him.

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker.

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name.

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed.

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments.

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs.

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card.

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced.

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him.

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well.

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable.

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles.

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother.

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read.

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious.

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles.

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.”

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes.

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers.

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother.

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter.

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you.

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations.

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it.

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions.

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there.

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout?

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus.

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance.

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.”

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.”

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have.

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being.

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom.

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else.

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening.

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut.

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless.

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror.

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :)

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CONTINUED IN PART 2

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note: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. part two still needs some love, and I'm hoping to have it out around this same time next week. I'll announce for sure when I have a release date & time. as always, I love hearing any thoughts/comments/screaming you may have. happy reading!

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake sim x you #jake sim scenarios #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you

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cheolism · 2 months

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THE MONSTER IN THE CLOSET

✿ incubus!xu minghao x reader ❀ summary: there's nothing the demon in your closet loves more than when you fall asleep. inspiration from dpr ian's "don't go insane": that's when the lights turned on and you were just a lie. ✿ wc is approx. 2.5k ❀ genre: smut, incubus x reader ✿ warnings: an incubus is a demon that has sex with someone while they are sleeping. as such, be mindful that this fic has themes of dub-con and somnophilia; it is stated minghao cannot have sex with the reader unless they give consent, though they are still sleeping. possessiveness, jealousy, innocence kink, dark!minghao. fingering, body worship. if you do not like, do not read. ❀ rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ✿ note: cameos by seungcheol n ian ^^

he watches as you prepare for bed. you’re so cute about it; you’re wearing those fluffy pajama bottoms that warm your legs and trap heat between your thighs; your sleep shirt hangs loosely from your frame. you adjust your pillows and push back the blankets before climbing in, humming along to the song playing from your phone speakers.

you straighten out the blankets and pull them back over you, fitting them snugly around your form. no matter -- he can fix that later. for an hour he waits, watching. you watch some video on your phone, giggling softly every few minutes, brushing your hair back away from your face.

eventually, you set your alarm and push your phone to the corner of the bed. you stretch out, humming. then you pull up the blankets all the way to under your chin, concealing your body from him. again, no matter; that can be fixed.

it’s one of those nights where you fall asleep quickly. he watches as your breathing evens out, watches as your body fully relaxes back into the sheets. your face smooths out, sinking into a beautiful sort of innocence that makes his heart hammer in his chest.

you’re completely asleep

minghao moves from the closet, though he doesn’t press open the door and the floor doesn’t protest beneath his weight as he moves to your bed. he’s been in this apartment long enough that it’s accepted him as part of itself. it does not reveal him from behind the closet door, does not squeak beneath his bare feet as he walks. minghao is part of the apartment, now, just as it is him.

if he has his way -- and he will -- you will follow suit.

you’re cute, he thinks again. your jaw is slack from sleep, and every few minutes your lashes flutter like butterfly wings. he wonders what you’re dreaming about.

minghao reaches, and -- there it is, there’s your dream. you’re running through a department store with someone he doesn’t know -- and again he reaches -- ah, a high school classmate you haven’t seen since graduation. minghao watches as you grab a stuffed elephant off of the shelf. it’s a vivid violet. you turn to talk to someone and this time it’s just a face your dreams have conjured up. you look back to your arms, but the stuffed elephant had somehow fallen from your grasp and onto the floor. you reach down and pick it up, squeezing it.

how cute.

minghao couldn’t help but chuckle. you were so adorable, so innocent. your daydreams, though out of his realm of control, are ones he often finds himself enamored in. your daydreams are filled with a quaint house with flower boxes underneath its windows, of a lawn with green grass and a bird feeder so you can watch the cardinals and sparrows.

the last one daydreamed about a penthouse apartment and gucci purses. they hadn’t been as simple as you, as innocent. they weren’t as delicious to take.

minghao kneels onto the bed, the blankets shifting beneath him. you have the weighted blanket you got for christmas thrown over your duvet. his fingers twitch. minghao likes the weighted blanket just as much as he likes those fluffy pajama bottoms, likes how it traps heat, likes how drowsy it makes you, likes how much easier it makes it for him to take control.

minghao settles on your thighs. he can’t see the shape of you due to the blankets, but it was fine. more often than not you end up stumbling into the bedroom half naked or, delightfully, entirely naked, and he can just get his fill of you then.

he pushes his hands through the blankets. just as he had presumed, your body is warm. he doesn’t yet push through your pajama bottoms. instead, minghao takes his time. he runs his hands down along your arms, grabs your hands and pushes them up to be level with your shoulders.

your dream shifts according to his touch. there’s a man, now -- minghao wrinkles his nose in disgust. you never dreamt of him, of course; you couldn’t see him. you never have seen him. you can’t dream of him because you have never seen him. he can influence your dreams, sure; can fuck your cunt and your dreams will follow suit. your dreams will respond to what’s happening to you, but because your eyes are shut and you’ll never ever see him, he’ll just have to deal with the fact that as he smooths his hands down over your arms that you imagine some tall and handsome man with thick dark brows and plump lips.

he hovers, dropping his face in front of yours. he takes you in. he tries to remember the exact color of your eyes, tries to imagine what they would look like as he bears down on you.

minghao hums, voice dark and deep. “how’s this feel, angel? hm?”

you sigh in your sleep. your lashes flutter. you turn your face, unknowingly, towards him.

“this okay?” he trails his fingers down over your stomach. “this all okay, sweetheart?”

you hum, a slight noise.

minghao huffs. “you have to be clear with me, angel. it’s been months of doing this -- you know what you have to do by now.”

your dream shifts. the man shifts. he’s broad and lean, tanned skin and black hair that hangs around his face. he’s covered in tattoos, from the base of his neck to the tips of his fingers. he’s pushing down against you, large hands running over your body.

your dream self mirrors your real self. you arch up into minghao’s touch, another sigh leaving your lips. softly, like the kiss of an angel, you breathe out a sweet “yes”.

his body hums, coming alive. he can feel adrenaline and power sink into him, can feel his cells and blood come alive and throb. you’ve given your consent for the night, given your consent to be his.

which means he can take.

minghao lets out a breathy moan, and then he’s tucking his face into your neck. your skin is warm and smells like your body soap. he moves his hands along your body. he brushes past your sleep shirt, feeling your tits. he cups each of them, holding their perfectly heavy weight in his hands. you’re so warm all over, and your tits are no exception; they’re slightly sweaty from the heat trapped by your shirt and blankets. minghao shifts your tits in his hands, fingers brushing against the soft skin of your under boob, relishing in the velvet feel, in the heat.

some nights when you don’t want to fuck he just does this. just holds your tits, let their weight ground him. just pretends. pretends he wasn’t trapped to this bedroom, pretends your innocent, wide-eyed looks were for him and no one else.

but you gave your consent, and so --

and so his hands eventually smooth down your torso. he lays along your body, just feeling. some nights you get impatient when he does this, when he feels you for ages before fucking you. tonight, however, you sigh and seem to bloom beneath his touch.

his little flower, minghao thinks. his little precious angel, his sweet little flower.

minghao moves his hands further and further down your body. your knees shift beneath the blankets, knocking against him. he reaches -- you are faintly aware of there being pressure in your cunt, aware of the want that thrums through your body and seems to electrify your cunt, despite being asleep.

his hands press against the hem of your pajamas. minghao runs his hands along the furry fabric. in your dream the man is pressing between your legs, hands smoothing over your bare thighs.

minghao pushes between your thighs. you move just enough for him to fit, but it’s tight. no matter. he likes it when you’re tight.

he slides one of his hands between your thighs. fuck -- if it was warm beneath your tits it was practically a heavenly blaze here, heat trapped and that electricity in your cunt, that lust, bubbling out and into him.

you shifted again, thighs squeezing tight around his hand. he can feel it when you clench them, knows you’re clenching your cunt to try and alleviate some of that pure want.

“poor angel,” minghao murmurs, “filled with so much lust. so sweet and innocent, so fucking needy.”

he sinks his hand forward, and then his fingers are pressing through your pants and underwear and sliding between the lips of your cunt. you were absolutely soaked, drenched in your pussy juices. minghao wonders if you would be humiliated by how wet you are just from him touching you.

minghao pushes his hand just so, two of his fingertips slipping into your cunt. immediately you’re clenching, hips grinding down and searching for more relief.

minghao drops his head against your chest, muffling his laughter. no one has ever been as reactive to his touch as you. he loves it. he adores you.

he moves his free hand to your cunt. he doesn’t move his fingers in your cunt, keeping them just barely in your hole. you’re getting desperate -- he can feel it, can feel the desperation begin to color your soul and your dream. but then he presses his thumb against your clit, against that slick little bundle of nerves, and your mouth is dropping open and a loud moan bubbles out of your throat.

minghao laughs, not bothering in being quiet. you won’t wake up anyways. you’re so loud and needy despite this all being, to you, a dream, despite him not being something tangible to you. he wonders what you would be like if he could really touch you, wonders if you would scream and cry under his touch as easily as you moan and whimper now.

for a few minutes he just watches, eyes greedily taking you in. in real life, on your bed, your hips shift minutely, not enough to fuck yourself on his hand but enough for your clit to slide against his finger. in your dream the man is teasing you, fingertips just barely fucking into your cunt, and you’re so desperate.

it’s so sweet. you’re so sweet. minghao wishes he could just have a bite --

he slides his fingers into your cunt entirely. your pussy is warm and wet and even though he’s never stepped foot into heaven he knows it’s not as good as your cunt. you squeeze around his fingers and he wants, desires, lusts, yearns so much.

your pussy walls are tight around his fingers, clenching down. he knows, instinctively, were your core is. minghao fucks into your cunt with his fingers, striking that spot every time, his thumb flicking against your clit in rhythm.

and fuck, you’re so cute. you’re whining in your dream, whimpering; small moans escape your lips in real life. your thighs are tight around him, and your cunt begins squeezing down on his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them --

and he wants so badly for it to be his cock in your cunt.

minghao withdraws his fingers, slides three back in. your head tosses against your pillow. in your dream you’re moaning loudly, high and keening. you’re so beautiful and perfect, lust coursing through your veins and seeping out your cunt and minghao feels high, feels your want seeping into his veins and power stirring in his gut.

you give him power like no one else; you deserve a reward.

minghao pushes your thigh up and over his shoulder, fingers pressing into your flesh. he presses his face against your pussy, breathing in. you smell so wonderful here, too. he just wants to bask in it, wants to keep his face here, against your pussy, for millennia.

he doesn’t, though. eventually minghao runs his tongue up your cunt, from where his fingers are wedged in your pussy hole still to your clit. you shiver underneath him. in your dream you’re begging for the man, hands twisting in the sheets.

it’s a curse, sometimes, he thinks. minghao thinks it’s a curse that he can see how you’re reacting to his ministrations in your dreams, can see how you whine and beg and cry. he can see how you would react to him. but he can also see how even though you’re asleep your body, your real body, the one that’s asleep, still responds to him, pleasure so great that even subconsciously you’re seeking him out.

minghao sucks at your clit, tongue rubbing against it. you whine softly, head turning against your pillow once more. your whines are so cute, you’re so cute.

he moves his fingers in and out, in and out, of your pussy as he sucks at your clit. you push against his face. he can feel your walls flutter around his fingers, he can feel, knows, how your orgasm is beginning to build and build. the desire in you is so thick that he can taste it, both literally and figuratively, and it seeps underneath his skin.

minghao begins kissing your clit the same way he would kiss your mouth if he could. he mouths against your clit, runs his tongue over it and suckles. in your dream you’re becoming frantic; on the bed you’re desperately clenching around his fingers, trying to grind down, trying to reach it, trying to throw yourself off the cliff and fall into the ocean, trying to chase your orgasm.

you’re so beautiful, minghao thinks. he wants you, he wants to so fucking much. he wanted you last night and wants you tonight and tomorrow night and every night for the rest of your fucking life, he wants to devour you and trap you, wants to feel your flesh in his hands and your pussy juices on his tongue for the rest of eternity, he fucking wants --

there’s a loud banging noise as one of the stupid neighbors drops something in the apartment above you.

you flinch -- you, on the bed, flinch, and then you’re awake.

minghao is flung from your dream. he can no longer touch you. he’s still thrumming with power, from the lust your body had given him, but he knows it’s not enough, knows that he’s still so fucking hungry for you.

he wants to fucking kill those assholes in the apartment above you as you push back the blankets and toss your feet over the side of the bed. you’re frowning, and he watches as you tilt your hips downward and rut against the bed.

“oh,” you say, blinking. minghao watches from the bed as you stand, going to your dresser. he knows what’s there -- knows the vibrant gel dildo you keep -- and he thinks for a split moment that this isn’t so bad, that he’ll at least get to watch you fuck yourself.

but then you hum and move past the dresser and into the hall, where he can’t follow.

and minghao seethes with rage at your orgasm being ripped from his hands. your lust gives him power and your orgasms even more so, and beyond that he just wants to see you cry as an orgasm comes over you.

he stands up from the bed, bare feet against the cold floor. he walks back to the closet, sinking into the darkness.

ah, well. he’ll just have to try tomorrow.

#— jupiter writes #svthub #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt oneshot #seventeen oneshot #the8 #svt #seventeen #the8 smut #the8 oneshot #xu minghao #xu minghao smut #xu minghao oneshot #minghao smut #minghao oneshot

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leviscolwill · 8 months

Text

ballroom extravaganza

pairing: jude bellingham x f1 driver!reader

summary: you always hated arguing with jude, but even more so when you're about to race monaco's streets (wc: 1,7k)

req: jude bellingham x f1 related f!reader ! (driver if u can or js a driver’s relative) where they argue before a match/race that doesn’t go really well + she crashes/dnf or he gets rlly hurt in a match

contents: jude is jealous, reader drives for mclaren w lando (sorry oscar my beloved </3), possible racing inconstancies (i can't drive to save my life), reader crashes (nothing too bad happens tho), gasly slander sorryyyy, language ??, quite angsty but happy (&fluffy) ending i swear

note: i didn't want to make either jude or reader 'the bad guy™' so i hope i didn't side with one more than the other writing the argument part :| i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you enjoy reading it (lmk by rb and giving feedback !!). finally, thank you for requesting anon,, i hope you like it 🫶

now playing: ballroom extravaganza by dpr ian (moodswings in to order)

"i'm just saying, i don't like the way he looked at you when he said that"

"you're being ridiculous jude, he's my teammate and i've known him for years."

jude had always been the jealous type, and you never had any problem with this, until now. he tried to tell you how lando was flirting with you when that's really just how he communicated. sure, he was kinda flirty at times, but he knew you were in a relationship and never crossed any lines with you. but jealousy seemed to get the best of your boyfriend in that moment.

"that's not the point y/n, i'm a man and i know what he meant when he said he'll take you to this 'perfect seaside italian restaurant if your boyfriend won't'. and you just stood there laughing." his voice was louder now, and you hated it whenever jude screamed, especially when those screams were directed at you.

"you're delusional... he didn't imply anything with that, he was only joking." you tried to reason your boyfriend.

"i still don't like it, i'm not asking you to never talk to him again, just make it clear you're-"

"but he knows that jude! i talk about you all the time, let's be serious for a second, come on." you laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation you were in, 45 minutes before the monaco grand prix fighting with your boyfriend in your driver room, it was probably the last thing you should be doing on a track where your focus was the most important thing.

you were always grateful whenever jude made time to see you racing because you knew how packed his schedule was. but right now, he was the last person you needed to see given the circumstances.

"jude, please just leave, i'm sick of fighting."

"i'm not leaving, we're having this conversation whether you like it or not." he said in a calmer tone, but it was too late, the damage was done.

"well, you're in my room right now and i want you out. i need to focus and you're not exactly helping right now."

"but we need to talk it out, i don't want you to go while we're fighting." you would have sworn his voice broke a bit when he ended his sentence.

"maybe you shouldn't have picked a fight with me then! maybe you shouldn't be here at all actually..." you practically whisper the last part and you immediately regret the words that came out of your mouth, knowing well you didn't mean them.

"okay then..." jude quickly gets up and you can't help but look at your feet, you can almost feel the sad look on his face.

"i love you."

you wanted to say it back but he closed the door with a loud bang before you could mutter any sound.

the only thing jude left behind was the faint smell of his cologne for you to think about what just happened and not focus on your race at all.

deep breaths. deep breaths were what you needed, you tried to shift your focus on your start, how you needed to get away from sainz, given how close he was to you. whenever your mind drifted off to the argument you had with jude, you found another thing to focus on before the race. the formation lap would start in a couple minutes, your focus needed to be on monaco's streets for at least an hour and a half, then you'll handle the rest later with jude, you always did.

the formation lap started and everything went perfectly well, you just had to wait for the red lights to turn off and you'll be gone, no more thinking, or overthinking.

"it's lights out and away we go in the streets of monaco."

perfect start, now you just had to race like you knew how to for 78 laps. nothing you couldn't do.

the first 46 laps went perfectly, you managed to overtake carlos' ferrari and pierre's alpine. everything went well, then you thought about jude, you knew he was probably still mad at you but you still hoped he was watching the race, waiting for you with papaya-coloured headphones. as your thoughts kept going you were about to get to the trickiest part of the circuit, mirabeau.

as your focus shifted back to your race, you forgot the most important thing, the biggest danger on track is the other drivers.

your brain barely had time to register the bright blue alpine trying to overtake you when there was clearly no space. next thing you knew, your head hit the cockpit. before you hit the wall at god knows what speed, you thought about how you didn't tell jude you loved him back, and how you hoped he was still aware of how much he meant to you in that moment.

pitch black, no sound at all, you couldn't feel anything for about thirty seconds because of the shock.

then everything came back. you felt the urge to move your legs around, they moved. perfect. then you felt like your position was unusual, you came to a conclusion on your own, your car was on its side. you didn't even get to think about getting out because you felt a horrible pain in your head, where it was hit you assumed.

and lastly, you saw the medics making sure you were okay, you moved your hand for them to understand the message. you were okay, they helped you out of the car, saying you would be taken to the infirmary.

you couldn't stop smiling, you felt terrible about the race and it was probably the biggest crash you ever experienced but everything was well, your family and friends saw you get out of the car safely, and you'd be able to tell jude you loved him. everything was well.

you had to answer the medics questions that made you feel like a 4-year-old: "what's your name ? do you know which day of the week it is ?" you knew it was for safety reasons but you absolutely hated it.

jude opened the door in pure jude fashion, loudly. you almost stopped waiting for him at that point but he was here finally.

he didn't even talk to you, words weren't needed. he just held you really tight even though you were still on the, very uncomfortable, infirmary bed. you felt his arms that were holding onto you shake as he kissed your hair.

"you have no idea how fucking terrified i was y/n." while jude had been to a fair few races with you, he'd never seen any big crashes, let alone involving you. yes, you could only imagine how scary that must have been for him, feeling powerless over the situation, you knew it all too well. you felt that way when jude was injured and you were absolutely helpless, of course you never wished for your boyfriend to ever feel that way, but here you were.

"i love you." you felt like it was the first thing you should say right now. "so so so much. i'm sorry for not saying it earlier." jude looked at you as tears started to form in your eyes, he quickly wiped them away and kissed away the sudden wave of sadness surging through you.

"and i'm sorry for getting mad at you, i shouldn't even have told you about it before the race, it was-"

jude was cut short when someone knocked and opened the door quickly after. pierre came in with a sorry look on his face, you heard he dnf after he damaged his car. poor thing.

"y/n, are you okay? i'm sorry about-" he started rambling with a french accent.

"i'm fine don't worry, just... can we talk about it later? you can come to our motorhome, they make great coffee there i swear." you tried to joke to lighten up the atmosphere, but it was still as tense as before.

if looks could kill, gasly would have died right here the way your boyfriend eyed him in silence, his gaze following the driver on his way out.

"what a fucking dickhead. how is he driving a whole f1 car? even i would do a better job than him i swear..." your boyfriend's pettiness amused you, even more so knowing that boy couldn't ride a bike without scaring the life out of you.

his features visibly changed and you knew he wanted to talk your argument out, as you were both calmer about the situation. but he didn't get the chance to speak a word before lando opened the door.

"what did that french hooligan do to my favourite teammate? that was a barbarian try at overtaking really." you laughed at your teammate being dramatic, as always.

"i'm fine, i think gasly needs prescription glasses though, i don't know where he saw the space there but i'm okay."

once again, you felt jude's eyes burning holes in lando's skull as he went silent, he quickly took the hint and left.

you couldn't help but burst out laughing at jude when it was just you two in the room.

"you need to stop glaring at people like that."

"i just don't like him." you took his hand as he looked at you, his look much softer than the one he gave pierre and lando.

"i only want you. alright? it doesn't matter how lando views me, whether what you think is true. he will never be you." you told him stroking your thumb on the back of his hand.

"i know that, i was just mad at how he acted with you. i'm sorry about that. i trust you, 100%. i just don't like how comfortable he was making these comments y'know."

"i get that, i'll make my boundaries clear with him, okay? let's not fight over silly things like that anymore."

jude softly grabbed your jaw and kissed you, you could tell you both needed this talk, and this kiss, to clear the air.

you pull out of the kiss first, suddenly feeling the urge to annoy him.

"you know... you look good when you're jealous, i might try that more often..." jude faked a serious face.

"if attention was what you wanted, you just had to ask love." he joked as you playfully hit his arm.

"just no more leaving without saying 'i love you' alright?" he asks before quickly kissing your forehead.

"never again."

#f1 inaccuracy: gasly would never apologize #jk jk #i reckon jude would get on well with lando but #but we move #hope you enjoy it my football & f1 friends 🫶#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fanfic #football x reader #football imagine #football one shot #football fanfic #footballer imagine #football blurb

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yourtypagirl1 · 5 months

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Christian As Your Boyfriend (Headcanon)

Christian Yu / DPR IAN X Female Reader [Fluff]

He would definitely call you pet names like, darling, babe, baby, dear, sweetheart, honey, love, doll, etc. He would constantly find cute, new pet names to call you.

Type of man who would open doors for you, open and close car doors for you, and pull out a chair for you at a restaurant.

While shopping in a store, he would hold your clothing for you to free up your hands, so you could continue browsing. Once you have purchased the items, he would hold your shopping bags for you.

When traveling he would handle all the bags and luggage (both yours and his). He would insist he could handle it all himself and wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger.

He is the type who would remove his jacket and give it to you to wear if you’re cold. And if it’s raining, hold open an umbrella for you.

He will never fail to compliment you on your appearance. He will constantly tell you how pretty, beautiful, and gorgeous you are. He would always let you know how much he loves you, whether it’s through words or forms of affection like hugs and kisses.

He’s the kind of man who will take notice if you get your hair styled, cut, or dyed differently. He would notice if you try a different shade of lipstick or gloss, if you buy a new outfit, or wear a different scent of perfume. He would tell you he likes it and show appreciation for the effort you took to look and smell good for him.

Christian is the type of boyfriend who would cook for you each chance he gets. He would not only want to feed you delicious foods but would also want to impress you with his cooking skills.

He would offer to give you a back massage or foot massage, if he sees that you could use one.

He’s the type who would always want to hold hands or link arms with you. He would be happy and proud to have you by his side.

He’s the “tuck a strand of hair behind your ear”, “caress the side of your face while looking into your eyes” kind of guy.

He’s the type who would do something special for you on birthdays and anniversaries, whether it’s taking you out to a nice dinner, surprising you with concert tickets to see your favorite artist/band, or surprising you with a gift.

Just like Christian is very protective with the women in his life, it would not be any different with you. He would be the protective boyfriend who is always looking out for you, always concerned for your safety, and always making sure nothing physically happens to you.

Overall, Christian would value you, always know the right things to say to you, and treat you like the Queen that you are.

#christian yu #dpr ian #yu barom #dream perfect regime #dpr christian #dpr ian x reader #christian yu x reader #christian yu imagine #christian yu scenarios #dpr #headcanon #boyfriend headcanons #boyfriend material #fluff

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nirvanawrites111 · 6 months

Text

Set My Wings on Fire (DPR Ian x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You're smitten by the love of your life, Christian Yu and he's being painted as a dangerous person. But, you don't care cause that's your man and you're going to stick beside him. You're pretty much in love with a villain, but he's super sweet to you. Non-celebrity AU.

Pairing: DPR Ian x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Smut, PIV, oral sex (male rec), mentions of murder, praise kink, good girl, unprotected sex, creampie

This is part of a NEW SERIES called Duality. It's all about embracing switch!energy. Part 1 will be sub!reader and Part 2 will be dom!reader. Some of the stories will be 2 idols x reader, and some will be just 1 on 1.

Smut below the cut.

"You need to leave him alone," Your best friend voices as they stare at the large television on your wall. The dim glow casts a shadow across your living room.

You press your lips together and cross your arms. A tightness crawls up your chest. This is the last thing you want to hear right now. You are tired of hearing this comment right now. You feel around your couch for the remote. You can't bother to listen to the news channel any longer.

"Look," you begin, forcing yourself to meet their gaze. "I know Christian very well. The media is trying to make up stories about him. He's not the monster they're making him out to be," You speak up and express your feelings. You twist his ring that he gave you a year ago, and you decide to wear it as a necklace.

You know Christian better than anyone. Everything he does has a meaning and purpose behind it.

You stare at the image of his picture plastered on the television. His usual neat dark brown hair is a mess, and his eyeliner is smeared. Underneath his picture are large red letters "WANTED" that contrast against his pale complexion. Sure, he might seem dangerous to someone else, but to you, something magnetizes you to him.

"The man is a killer, Y/n. If he comes here, you need to turn him in. You don't want to go to jail for housing a fugitive, do you?"

"He isn't a killer. I don't care what the media is saying."

You pick up your phone off the couch table and see that he texted you five minutes ago that he was on his way. You quickly text back and tell him to wait until your best friend leaves.

"This man has brainwashed you. Hopefully, you realize the truth before it's too late." Your best friend raises their hands in defeat and stands up. "I gotta go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"He's not, but thanks for stopping by," you reply, trying to smooth things.

Your friend stands up and hugs you. You're glad they are leaving. There is nothing that will convince you that Christian is a bad person. Even with everything you know about him, you would never turn on him.

You walk with them to your front door, and the soft patter of your bare feet echoes against the polished hardwood floor.

Once they leave you close the door only to be slightly pushed open, revealing Christian.

There he is.

The only man that can make you melt to your knees. You want nothing more than to feel his hands all over you.

"Beautiful," Christian, your accented lover, whispers your favorite nickname. He steps into your home. His words allow you to fall to your knees and please your man. But, you don't want to act too thirsty.

He removes his hood with both hands and reveals his hair in messy, shoulder-length loose curls. The two of you stand in your foyer, and your eyes connect.

Christian has such a dark energy around him that it attracts you to him for whatever reason. It pulls you in so closely, like a moth to a flame. Regardless of what others say, you can still see the good in him. He's been nothing but kind, patient, and loving to you. So, really, that's all that matters to you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him.

Christian removes his sweatshirt, and your eyes trace over his tattoos. You run your hand over the one tattoo over his heart, your name.

"I'm so much better, now that I'm with you."

"I'm sure you know they're looking for you."

"I know," Christian sighs. "I'm also wanted for something. What is it this time?"

"Murder."

Christian stares into your eyes, and he can heart your heart beating fast. No one has ever cared about him more than you. Your unwavering loyalty is something he's searched for many years. Now, he's found exactly what he needs within you.

"Do you think I'm guilty?" Christian asks you.

"No, but if you did it, I know there was a reason."

"Good girl. You know your man oh too well," Christian praises you. He knows it's exactly what you need to hear in this moment.

Your lips curl into a smile, and you haven't looked away from him. He knows that nothing about him scares you. He's told you his deepest, darkest secrets. Because he knows he can trust you.

"I do. My best friend was just running their mouth talking about how I need to leave you alone. But, they don't know you like I do."

"Do you need me to handle that?"

"No, never that."

"We have some catching up to do. Don't we, angel?"

"Yes."

***

You turn on the shower and step into it first. Christian follows behind you. He presses you against the shower wall from behind. "My angel.. so pure. So innocent," he whispers into your ear.

Christian runs his hand down your back, enough to give you chills. You've missed feeling his touch against your skin.

"You know I'm far from innocent."

"Compared to me. You're a saint."

Christian attacks your neck with kisses. This instantly sends a warmth throughout your body. You've missed the way his lips feel against your skin. You don't care what happens when he's out of your sight. Because this man adores you, he'd do anything to protect you.

"Sweetness, tell me.." Christian pulls away from you and turns you around to face him. His gaze penetrates your eyes, searching for something unspoken. "Do you really love me?"

His eyes are full of emotions, and you can see the pureness in his question. But, at the same time, why would he question you this way? You've always supported him no matter what.

"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"Even if I had to leave you for a bit?"

Your breath quickens, and you can feel your stomach churn. Is he going to up and leave you? Does this mean he's going to end things with you?

"Where are you going?" You twist your necklace.

Christian picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as the warm water cascades down the two of you.

"I'm not sure. But, I'm leaving in 48 hours."

"Because of what I saw on the news?" You try to piece everything together. Did this mean that it was true? You didn't want to ask him what happened because you trusted him.

He promised you he would never do anything that would jeopardize his time with you. He stated that from the beginning. But, now, it felt like things were going differently.

"Yes."

"I'm coming with you."

"Hell no. I will get this sorted out. I will come back for you."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"Angel?"

"Yes."

"Don't I always come back for you?"

"Yes.. but."

"No, buts. Listen, you have to trust me. I will come back for you, okay?"

You nod. But, your fear is he's going to leave you.

"Angel, don't look so sad. I wish I could take you with me. It's going to pain me to leave you."

"Well let me taste you for the last time."

"Of course, angel."

Christian releases from his arms, and you get down on your knees. You look up at him.

He strokes your face and looks at you in such a loving way.

You hold your hands behind your back and swirl your tongue around his dick until he's halfway in your mouth.

You hum your favorite song and move your mouth up and down his length. This could be the last time you taste him, so you want to savor the moment.

You close your eyes and move faster and hear him moan. You love hearing him vocalize his satisfaction for you.

"Go deeper for me, angel," Christian instructs you, and you have no problem following instructions.

You take him deeper into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head. He's moving with you to the point where you two are rocking as one.

At this moment, you are breathing through your nose because you only want to please him. You live to serve him. You are hopelessly devoted to him.

"Fuck.. just like this," Christian groans. "Don't stop, angel. God, you're so beautiful like this."

"Mmmhm," you barely manage to say because you have your mouth full and wouldn't want to have it any other way. Tonight has to count and hold you over.

"No one else can suck me the way you do. You're so amazing, angel," Christian continues to praise you, which encourages you to keep going because you know he's so close.

"You want this nut don't you?"

You nod without missing a beat, and both of his hands are on the back of your head. He's practically fucking your throat at this point.

He cums down your throat, and you swallow all of it.

Christian pulls you up to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth and kisses you. As the kiss deepens, you can't help but run your fingers along your pussy only to find that it are dripping for him.

"Thank you for that amazing blow job, angel. You're always amazing."

"No problem."

Christian wraps his arms around you. "Mhmm.. I'm ready to feel all of you now. You want that, baby?"

"Yess.."

"How do you want me?"

"From behind.. like this." You turn around, place your hands against the shower wall, and arch your back.

Christian places his hand against your lower back and moves his dick along your entrance. "You know I love taking you from behind. Do you want me here or do you want back door."

"Here.. I want to feel you deep inside me. I prefer anal when I'm pegging you."

Christian kisses on the side of your neck. "I know baby.. next time when I come home. We can celebrate with pegging." He sucks on your neck and inches himself into you.

Feeling him inside of you feels like home. There's nothing like having him deep inside of you.

"You're so tight for me, angel," Christian whispers against your neck, kissing gently against the spot he just sucked on.

You moan out his name and enjoy him being inside of you again.

The feeling is euphoric, and you get lost in the moment of being one with your lover again. His hands cover and clasps with yours as he strokes into you.

You hope you celebrate with him, but you want to enjoy this moment. You arch your back a little more as he increases the pace. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure throughout your body. It feels too good. You deserve to experience this type of heaven on earth.

Christian holds you in place as he slows down with each backshot he gives you, and he reaches from behind and runs his hand down the front of your love nest. He moves to your clit and strokes it.

"Yesss, baby! I love when you rub my clit," you moan out.

"I know you do." Christian continues to rub it while you tighten around his dick. "My baby is close. Are you going to cum on my dick?"

"Mmhmm," you moan. But, at the point, you're already trembling from the combination of his teasing your clit and being buried inside you. The sensation is perfect. It's a feeling that never gets old. No matter how many times he gives you an orgasm, it always feels as good as the first time.

"So, be a good girl and cum for me."

"That's it.. baby. Cum on dick." He instructs you and talks you through it. You obey him easily. You release onto his dick. He's right there with you as he pumps into you until he cums inside you.

"Mmm.. thank you, baby," you say, trying to catch your breath.

"No, thank you angel. You were wonderful as always. I can't wait to celebrate with you when I come back."

If you enjoyed this please reblog. It helps other find my work.

Part 2

480 notes · View notes

carakook · 1 month

Text

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Yeah? You think we’re done? We’re not done.”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘6. Planting the Wrong Seed

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: You prepare to go to the potluck with Seojoon but find that your day is not going the way that you planned, thanks to a certain someone lingering in your thoughts… if only you knew the shit that was going to unfold.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 12k+

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, heavy kissing, angst, CANINE POETRY I REPEAT CANINE POETRY, religious metaphors (the story is not religious but makes references to a higher power, karma, fate, etc.), mentions of anxiety, mentions of nightmares, subtle arguing, jealousy, bullying? (Sort of, there’s a bitch in this chapter who makes cunty comments), mentions of alcohol, mentions of cooking (I know this is triggering for some people), heavy tension, cheating, mentions of cheating, mentions of falling out of love/breaking up. Let me know if I miss anything!

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: Chapter 6 is out! I really hope you enjoy it. Please don’t be mad at me. 😀 lol I told you it gets dramatic. I can’t wait to keep writing, shit gets soooo messy but also some very important lessons get learned. DON’T CHEAT AND DON’T BE AFRAID TO LOVE WHO YOU LOVE OK!!! Also, men are stupid sometimes. 🥴 ok love you!!!

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Glimpse of Us - Joji

♪Bad Habit - Steve Lacy

♪Miss Understood - DPR Ian

♪Hopelessly Devoted To You - Olivia Newton-John (this one is VERY important)

♪Cop Car - Mitski

♪I Bet On Losing Dogs - Mitski (again)

♪Love Me Again - V

♪I LOVE YOU HOE - Odetari Ft. 9lives

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

Unfortunately for you, when you wake up after your not-so-peaceful slumber, you have this feeling deep down in your gut that something bad will happen today.

You wake up sometime the next morning, a bit delirious at first because you didn’t get as deep of a sleep as you normally would have. Seojoon is gone already, which isn’t abnormal. He works early mornings so often times he’s gone before you even wake. And in typical Seojoon fashion, he left a little note and cup of coffee that he picked up for you at the convenience store across the street before he left.

You pick up the note and your coffee, take a sip as you read it;

Went to work, text me when you wake up, and don’t forget about tonight.

-Seojoon, aka your boyfriend :)

The usual note he leaves… except the sign off leaves you feeling a bit off. Because normally, it’s just his name. But this time, he added the joking ‘boyfriend’ to it. This should be considered a cute gesture, because he basically is your fucking boyfriend.

But it doesn’t feel cute. Not after the amount of times he talked about being not-boyfriend-girlfriend last night. In fact, as you stare at the note, you realize he is starting to seem bit persistent about it, but its so subtle that you didn't catch it until now.

Maybe he’s getting tired of waiting… it’s been months, so you can't blame him. But also, you can’t help how you feel, and you don’t really feel ready to add the label. So simple for most people, but for you… it’s not simple at all.

It’s like planting a fucking seed, and you aren’t sure if you want him to plant that seed yet.

You aren’t sure if you want to plant his seed, or anyone else's ever again.

It’s too early for this shit, so you decide not to overthink it. You’re off of work today, and you have to figure out what the fuck to cook for this potluck full of people you don’t know. You’re nervous enough as it is, you don’t need to overthink some silly little note your not-boyfriend left. He was probably just being playful.

You’ve become very good at denying things… pretending that you're fine when you really aren't fine. Something you haven’t realized yet.

So you get up and get yourself ready for the day. You do your skincare, brush your hair, brush your teeth, drink your coffee… a normal day, just like any other.

But you begin to realize that the feeling from last night, the same one that you went to bed with and woke up with, it lingers. That little zap feeling you felt when you dreamt, and when he left, that feeling impending doom that you can't quite shake, it's still very much there.

It’s like a little fluttering in your stomach. Something between butterflies and worms, maybe. Subtle, but there. It could be because you dreamt of him again, because you’re meeting Seojoon's friends, or because he has started bringing up making it official all of a sudden… or maybe your gut is trying to tell you something.

Nah, anxiety, surely. Not denial, not intuition… it's just a bad case of anxiety that was triggered by a bad dream. You're sure of it.

After getting yourself dressed and putting on some light makeup, you know you need to calm your shit if tonight is going to go well and be enjoyable for you and everyone else. So you make a little list of ingredients you need to cook something nice for his friends. A way to a man’s heart is food, as they say, it’ll be a nice gesture that you add to the potluck. You decide to cook two things since Seojoon probably won't have time to make something to bring himself. You'll make something sweet and something savory; chocolate chip cookies, a crowd fav, and classic American mac and cheese, because everyone loves cheese. Both things are easy to make, and you’re sure everyone will like them because they’re simple classics.

You’re totally not subconsciously making flower boys past favs. You’re totally not still thinking about him or that dream. You're absolutely-positively-totally not doing little things that remind you of him… not at all.

After you make your list, you grab your bag and wallet, send Seojoon a little text letting him know you’re awake and preparing for tonight. You know he was probably waiting on it, and he was waiting for it. He was actually anticipating you trying to make an excuse not to go tonight, so he feels a bit giddy knowing you’re actually putting not bailing on him. That's my girl, he thinks to himself when he reads the text.

The rest of your day sort of melds together. You do your best to stay on track, even as you pass the floral department at the grocery store. You linger there, looking at the array of autumn flowers that are bright, warm, and blooming... You also look at the array of wilting bouquets that are marked down in price, on sale because no one wants them...

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach down and graze the tip of one of the flowers petals. Your heart pounds so hard you swear it might break through your chest, because although it seems like such a simple and curious touch, it isn’t. You’re afraid that just like in the dream, the petals will start turning brown and dry, and the flowers on the shelf will start dying. You’re afraid that your touch is indeed poison.

But nothing happens. They merely stay in place as they did before you touched them, they don’t die any faster, but they don’t stop wilting either. These flowers are neutral to you, and your touch isn’t poisonous as you suspected it may be… not to them, anyway.

You aren’t thinking of him. Not today. You can’t. You won’t. You don’t know why it’s so hard all of a sudden after months of working on yourself, but today of all days cannot be the day that you start reliving memories and asking yourself what if I stayed?

And even though you tell yourself you won’t think of him today, you buy one of the wilting bouquets. Because you feel bad for the flowers that no one seems to want. You feel like you relate to them in some fucked up metaphorical way, or did in the past, at least. You wonder if you can nourish them and nurture them to health, much like you did a certain Bearded Iris many months ago.

Dangerous thoughts for a girl who swore she was moving on and healing just fine.

After you’re done at the grocery store, you make your way back home. You make sure to blare music as soon as you walk in the door to prevent your thoughts from becoming too loud, and you very carefully avoid any love songs that seem to try to make an appearance.

You get to work making the cookie dough, following the ‘secret’ recipe you’ve known since you were a teenager. It’s very rich, contains lots of butter and sugar, probably not the healthiest choice, but every time you make them people go crazy for them. You even won a baking competition back in school using this recipe.

If only they knew this was a recipe on the Betty Crocker website.

You mix the ingredients with familiar motions and fill up several baking pans full of little nuggets of dough. Once every pan is full and there's no dough left, you start baking two sheet pans full at a time because your oven can't fit anymore than that.

You try to ignore the memories that surface when you smell them baking.

“Please Y/N, just a little taste, bet you taste sweeter than these cookies… I need to test it, for science n’ shit.”

“No, you’ll get sick! It has raw eggs. Also isn’t that cannibalism? Kookie eating cookies?”

No. Stop. Fuck.

You make quick work of the mac and cheese after every sheet pan of cookies is finished baking. You let the cookies cool as you boil the elbow noodles and make the creamy cheese sauce, which thank god calls for intense focus, otherwise it’ll burn or become too thick and clumpy.

The mac and cheese recipe is pretty simple, it just requires your full attention up until the last step. This is a recipe you learned online as well, and so far every time you make it everyone loves it, even those who don't really like cheese.

One person specifically was very overdramatic about loving it the first time you made it for him.

“Fuuuck. I should marry you. If I marry you can I have this every day?”

“I am NOT marrying you, dummy. And you’d get diabetes. Do you know how much cheese is in here?”

“Don’t care, blah blah blah, marry me and make me this shit every single day.”

Back when times were simpler, before you knew of him being married. You wonder what would have happened if you played along, said you would marry him and make him mac and cheese every day for the rest of your lives... Should’ve accepted his offer.

You start to become irritated. Because this hasn’t happened in months. You’ve coped, you’ve moved on, you have a not-boyfriend now and you’re supposed to be thriving. Before last night, Jungkook was not consuming you anymore... whereas today, you cannot fucking shake him.

That’s what you thought, that this shit was done. Did one nightmare really fuck it all up? Or is it something deeper?

It doesn’t help that the persistent feeling in your gut continues to linger. It won’t go away and it’s fucking annoying. Like a goddamn fly. Maybe it isn’t butterflies, but a bunch of fucking flies fluttering around in your stomach making you feel nauseous and uneasy. So disgusting.

The zaps never fully went away. In the beginning, after the night he left, it was like it continued to happen after the first time. You’d have panic attacks and feel these zaps in your chest, which Sohee witnessed a few times and told you was normal when having when dealing with loss and change mixed with anxiety She recommended you see someone professional about it, but you didn’t take her advice. It was heartbreak, not a fucking psychotic break…

Ok, maybe almost a psychotic break, but it never got to that point. And with time, the zaps went away for the most part. Just like the lingering feelings he left behind. It all dimmed down to a very dull buzz that was barely noticeable.

Until today. Until last night. Until he decided to invade your dreams again like a fucking intruder.

You shake your head at yourself. Because this is fucking ridiculous. He isn’t here, he isn’t coming back, and you’re supposed to be fucking over it. For fucks sake, you’re making junk food for your new mans friends. You need to get a grip.

Ignore it. Deny it until it goes the fuck away and you forget about it. Maybe if you pretend, you won't even notice it by the time you need to leave tonight.

You finish up the mac and cheese and put it in a large casserole dish, top it with even more cheese and your garlic butter bread crumbs, and then pop it into the oven on medium heat to get all gooey inside and crispy on top. While it bakes, you pack up the cookies in a portable Tupperware container. Now all you have to do is get yourself ready.

You hope like hell you can make yourself look as good as the food, because the dark circles under your eyes are prominent even under the makeup you put on today. This is why you need your goddamn beauty sleep.

While the mac and cheese finishes baking, you fuss over an outfit in your room. It’s a potluck, so you're sure it's casual… but you don’t want to dress too up or down. Normally, you don’t really overthink these things... but again, your nerves are wrecked today. So everything feels worse than what it really is. You're overthinking things far more than normal.

After making your room a damn mess and covering the floor in failed outfits, you decide on wearing a simple floral dress that doesn’t show too much skin, but is still fun. The base color is a deep red, speckled with little white flowers all over. It’s chilly outside due to the changing seasons, so you pair it with some thick thigh high socks and boots. And of course you need a jacket.

A certain jacket that you’ve told everyone you bought for yourself as a treat, but what they can’t see is that it’s covered in an invisible purple and white floral pattern, too.

You touch up your makeup, do it as you always do, and decide to leave your hair down, but pack a hair tie in your bag just in case. You check the clock, and it’s right around 6:30 pm so you know Seojoon is showing up soon, probably in the next thirty minutes or so. You're surprised at how fast time flew today, but also thankful that its nearly over.

Fuck. You feel sick.

After doing one last onceover of yourself, you walk into the kitchen, only to freeze when you see Seojoon is already here… that damn spare key. Maybe it was a bit fast moving to give him your spare key... You were just so used to someone else having it, so you didn't think twice before offering it to Seojoon.

Funny how you gave him a spare key to your apartment but won’t be his fucking girlfriend yet.

He must have gotten off of work early today, because normally he’d be here around seven after going home to check on Simba and change out of his work clothes, but judging by his casual attire, he’s already done all of that. You’re unsure as to why he didn’t text you and let you know… or, fuck, maybe he did and you just didn’t notice. You haven’t exactly been paying attention to your phone thanks to the thoughts plaguing you tonight. You've been all over the place. You’re surprised he didn’t immediately seek you out, but then you see the look on his face… and he doesn’t look very happy.

“Secret admirer?”

He arches a brow that is disguised as playful, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. At first, you’re confused… until you see his fingers dancing around the petals of the forgotten, wilting, bouquet of flowers that you bought at the grocery store.

You have no fucking clue what comes over you, but you have the urge to scream at him... tell him not to touch what doesn’t belong to him, tell him to get away from them as if he’s the poison. It’s totally irrational, especially when he’s the one who seems to need reassurance here. You aren't sure why he automatically jumps to that conclusion, but you don't think too much about it.

It’s that damn dream. It’s corrupting you. Fuck, maybe you’re possessed. Possessed by the ghost of Jeon-fucking-Jungkook and its causing you to nearly bite Seojoon's head off over touching some dying flowers... You don’t know, but you almost want to laugh at yourself.

You swallow your outburst before it can escape and disguise it with a weary laugh as you make your way over to him.

“What? No, I got these myself. They were on sale and looked sad, wanted to see if I could bring some life back into them.”

This irks Seojoon. He also feels irrationally about it, but sort of regrets immediately jumping to conclusions. It nearly revealed his insecurities… or maybe something deeper than just insecurity. Projection, perhaps, but he’d never admit that.

He feels less of a man knowing you bought yourself fucking flowers, especially ones as pitiful as these. He thinks if you want flowers, he should be buying them for you. He buys them for you often, it's just that you never seem very interested.

He doesn’t like it and neither do you. You wish he’d get you something else, anything else, not flowers. Anything but flowers. It's such a sweet gesture, but as you have said to yourself so many times before, flowers are reserved for someone you refuse to talk to him about.

You grab the bouquet almost protectively and walk over to the sink, get on your tiptoes to start rummaging your cabinets for a proper vase to put them in.

“Should’ve just asked me for flowers, babe. You know I’d get you anything you want... those are just so fucking ugly.”

He laughs when he says it, shakes his head and walks over to where the cookies rest. He takes one from the container and starts nibbling on it, makes a face of almost disgust because fuck, why’re they so rich?

You don’t notice the face he’s making because you’re stuck on the fact that he called these flowers ugly. They aren’t. They’re just sad. Maybe you’re being oversensitive about something so fucking mundane, but it really rubs you the wrong way that he would call them ugly just because they’re wilting.

You wonder if he’s ever thought of you similarly, considering it was no secret when you met him that you weren’t flourishing like you once were. You were recovering from heartbreak, you were as wilted as you could get... much more wilted than these discount flowers.

“They’re not ugly, just need some TLC…” you mutter under your breathe as you fill up a vase full of water.

He doesn’t respond because he disagrees. These flowers are dying, there’s no saving them, that’s why they were marked down in price. No one wants dying flowers.

No one but you.

“Are these the cookies you’re bringing to the potluck?”

You glance at him as he asks. He’s starting to piss you off, which is just making your mood so much worse, you’re already nervous and anxiety-ridden, is he really going to choose today to be picky and pessimistic about shit?

“Yeah, why? Something wrong with them?”

You try to hide the bite in your tone as you place the flowers in their new vase. You fluff them up a bit, sprinkle some plant foot into the water and set them on your windowsill, hoping they’ll get some Sun in the morning.

He snorts at your comment about the cookies and shakes his head, “No, they’re just really… sweet. But you’re a sweet girl, guess I should’ve expected that, huh?”

He’s buttering you up now, because he can tell his comments are bothering you. He’s unsure which one of you are acting extra sensitive tonight, but he silently blames you. Maybe she’s on her period, she didn’t fuck me last night so would make sense, he thinks to himself. Such a man-coded thing to think...

That’s the good thing about Seojoon though; he thinks to himself. He often closets those little comments inside of his head. You’ve yet to have a real argument. The honeymoon phase is inevitably waning, but it’s still there. He doesn’t want to ruin that… because that’s normally when the women he dates start to grow tired of him.

But he wants to keep you. His little wildflower. His little stray cat.

If you knew half of the shit he thought to himself… he has a feeling you would grow tired of him quickly.

You don’t respond to his kiss-ass comment, instead you just shake your head at him. You don't want to argue, especially when you are the one feeling butt-hurt. After fussing over the flowers, you pull out the mac and cheese from the oven and cover the top with tinfoil. You find yourself hoping that tonight passes by quickly because you’re just not in the mood to pretend to be fine.

But you must. Pretend, deny, ignore, just for a little longer. It’s just a bad day, you tell yourself. You’re just sensitive, that’s all. This isn't his fault, it's yours for digging up dead flowers.

As you put the food inside of a bag, Seojoon grabs his coat. He can tell you’re not amused with him at the moment, and doesn’t want to push it. Wants to avoid pissing you off further because he’d be so fucking embarrassed if the first time he brings you around his friends is also the first time you guys argue.

So he does as he should and keeps his mouth shut. No reason to poke the bear.

“Ready to go?”

“Mhm.”

You also want to avoid arguing, obviously. This day has been bad enough, and tonight is supposed to be fun. So you keep your mouth shut just like him.

The communication is lacking.

You both walk down to his car after you lock up your apartment, and begin making your way to the potluck. The drive is silent, other than the music playing subtly in the background. At some point, Seojoon's shuffled playlist plays Hopelessly Devoted To You by Olivia Newton-John from the OG Grease soundtrack. And of course Seojoon starts fucking belting it to the top of his lungs as he drives, putting on a whole ass concert for you to try and cheer you up.

“But now… there's nooowhere to hiiide, Since you pushed my love asiiiiide, I'm ooout of my head, Hopelessly devoted to yoooooou!”

And despite your sour mood and the flies in your stomach, it does cheer you up. It’s silly. He looks ridiculous, a grown ass man singing to you like a damsel in distress while driving. You’re thankful he did it, because your giggles are a good distraction from the lingering thoughts of the man from your past haunting you today.

You barely register the lyrics, Seojoon drowns out what the song is saying entirely with his very off-key terribly singing and the way he dramatically grips your hand like a microphone.

But if you did notice the lyrics, you’d have gotten the sinking feeling that this song is foreshadowing your night.

Thank god you didn’t notice the lyrics.

After this, the mood lightens significantly. You find yourself chattering with him along the way, making little playful comments as you always do. You’re still nervous, but you have a false sense of security now. You were just in your head, that damn dream messed up your entire day and it was causing you to nearly take it out on Seojoon. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re meeting new people, this will be fun. A step in the right direction to your possible relationship with him.

This is good. Everything is going to be fine, surely it will. Just a bad day.

At exactly 7:10 pm, you arrive at Taehyung's house. It’s very lovely. It isn’t some sort of luxurious mansion or anything, but it is much nicer than your own small apartment. You can tell his friends must be well off; the various nice cars parked around show that they all must work hard for what they have, which makes sense because, as far as you're aware, they're all a bit older than you. The house has a nice sized front yard, and the outside is clean looking, minimal furniture on the porch, but it still looks cozy. Doesn’t look too big or intimidating. Just a typical house for guys around Seojoon's age and status.

Makes you feel less nervous about lacking something. You’ve always thought of Seojoon as an humble guy, but his job is very well paying and he doesn’t want for anything, so you assume his friends are the same. It was a bit intimidating to think about because your job isn’t exactly bringing you riches, but it does make you happy.

You just want to impress them. Maybe a little too much. It seems silly because you're an adult who has nothing to prove to anyone. This isn't high school, you aren't here to try and fit in... but if Seonjoon's friends decide they don't like you, you may as well end it tonight. Relationships never end or even begin well if those surrounding you don't get along who you are dating... or not-dating-but-sort-of-dating in this case. That's why the pressure feels a bit much at this moment. No, you don't care what they think of you, but also, you kind of do. Because you want things with Seojoon to work.

Seojoon parks at an empty spot on the side of the street, and pats your thigh as he says, “You ready? Or you gonna make a run for it when you get out of the car?”

It’s only meant as a joke, but he really shouldn’t tempt you. He’s lucky he knows how to make you laugh.

“Don’t tempt me.”

He snorts at thatbut holds his hands up in mock surrender. He gets out of the car and opens your door for you as he always does—such a gentlemen. He would have carried the bag of food, too, but you insisted you do it. You want to make sure they know that you came bearing treats, that you made this for them and for Seojoon.

Once you get on the porch, he knocks on the door. You feel those flies in your stomach swirling around, and you wish so badly that you never thought of them as flies, because it makes the feeling a lot more intimidating. Butterflies are much more appealing than flies.

The door swings open, and you see a tall man smiling fondly at Seojoon. His smile is boxy, and you immediately recognize it as the smile Seojoon described as belonging to Taehyung. You love him already.

“Joon, come in. Ooooh and you’ve brought a pretty girl with you too!”

Of course, Taehyung knows who you are. You’re Seojoon's girl. Seojoon wasn’t joking when he said he talks about you often, always bragging about you and maybe exaggerating things a little too much in his excitement.

As you walk in, you say kindly, “Its nice to meet you finally, I’m Y/N.”

Taehyung smiles down at you as Seojoon removes his jacket, “Likewise, I’ve heard so much about you. Joon is fucking whipped for you.”

Seojoon immediately swats Taehyung on the head and gives him a scolding look. You find it funny how he seems to be embarrassed about that comment. Cute, even.

Seojoon isn’t embarrassed, though. He just doesn’t want Taehyung to say too much… doesn’t want him to slip up and call you his girlfriend before he has the chance to do it himself. Then it would be evident that he’s been referring to you as his girlfriend all this time. Can’t have that. Not yet.

“Hey! It’s true, you got hearts in your eyes n’ shit!” Taehyung gestures dramatically to Seojoon's face, and Seojoon rolls his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s being dramatic.” Seojoon retorts as he moves to take off your jacket for you.

You shake your head and subtly nudge his touch away… because you don’t want to take this jacket off. At the moment it’s like a security blanket. A warm hug in a moment when you’re feeling unsure. Safe. Safe like—

Nope. Not here. Stop.

“Ah, it’s ok, gonna keep it on. Thank you though.”

Seojoon's jaw ticks but he smiles to hide it. Doesn’t like that you didn’t let him act gentlemanly in front of his friend. But he reminds himself that you're an independent girl... even if it irritates him sometimes.

“Joonie! Ah! You’re here!”

You barely have a moment to think when you see a woman rush over to Seojoon like he’s her long-lost lover, wrap her arms around him, and hug him hard.

Oh, you don’t like that. You’ve never really been the jealous-possessive type, those feelings only occur when trust is lacking in a relationship. And as of now, you have no reason not to trust Seojoon...

But something about how comfortable she was being blatantly clingy like that really does not sit well with you.

You smile a bit awkwardly at Taehyung, who looks just as bewildered as you are in the moment, and then you turn to Seojoon and give him a silent look that says who the fuck is this?

Seojoon does look a bit tense as this woman embraces him. He hugs her back awkwardly and gives you an apologetic smile as he pulls away from her.

“Sena, hey, yeah I’m here. Brought my girl with me, too. Sena, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sena... we work together.”

You smile politely at her as she turns to face you. Her smile looks just as fake as yours does. Sickly sweet, all teeth, but her eyes scream judgment.

It’s odd, though, because she looks so fucking familiar. You rack your brain quickly, trying to figure out where you know her from, but you come up empty. Maybe you’ve seen her when bringing Seojoon lunch or something.

“Nice to meet you Sena.”

She nods at you, reaches out and touches your jacket, which you nearly recoil from. She clearly lacks boundaries. You start to feel a bit more at ease seeing that she’s just a naturally touchy person, no need to read too much into why the fuck she just hugged Seojoon like she loved him.

“Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, Seojoon talks about you aaaall the time. I love your jacket by the way, did you get it from the thrift?”

Did you... get it... from the thrift?

Now, there’s nothing wrong with thrifting. In fact, you shop at the thrift often. It’s better for the environment, you find unique pieces, and it saves you money. Better than buying fast fashion or blowing money on shit like Gucci that’s overpriced and not as cute as the vintage pieces at the thrift.

But the way she said it... it’s not a compliment. You know damn well you’re not the only who noticed either, because Taehyung is looking at Seojoon like what the fuck, and Seojoon is looking at Sena like shut the fuck up.

What upsets you most is that this jacket is one of your most prized possessions. Will anyone ever know why? No. Absolutely not. But it’s precious to you, and you hate that she just tried to make you feel bad about it.

Regardless, you smile at her and shake your head, because you didn’t come here to cat fight with some woman who doesn’t have a filter or a sense of when to stop.

“Ah, thanks. No I didn’t get it from the thrift, was a treat for myself last autumn.”

You lie easily. You could just as easily tell her that it was a gift from someone near and dear to you, make her feel bad, but you already told Seojoon a long while ago that you bought it for yourself. Can’t get caught in your white lies.

She merely nods at you in response, reaches down to tug on one of the sleeves and you have to fight the urge to fucking backhand her for touching you without your permission again. Who does this bitch think she is?

“Oooh ok. My husband had a similar jacket last year but he threw it in the trash. Cute, though.”

Before you can even take in what she just said or come up with some sort of rebuttal, Seojoon cuts in. He gently wraps his arm around your waist and says, with a bit too chipper of a tone, "Right, well, I wanna introduce you to everyone else, Y/N. The guys are dying to meet you. It was nice seeing you, Sena."

He quickly drags you away from the infuriating woman just like that. Part of you wants to scold him for it, ask him why the fuck he didn’t say something to her or defend you. But you know in the back of your mind that he was most likely avoiding conflict just like you.

Great fucking start. You’ve met one woman, and she’s being a cunt. Surely, the other women here are nicer...

Once you enter the kitchen, he takes the bag of food from you and hands it to one of the guys, whom he introduces as Seokjin. Tall and handsome, looks almost as if he could be Seojoon’s brother, and the man clearly knows he’s good-looking, too. He seems pretty cocky but also very kind.

Seokjin waves you both off and says he’ll set the food out with the other treats so you can get acquainted with the rest of the guys. Seojoon grabs your arm, and although he’s being gentle, you wish he would stop fucking dragging you around. Again, you don't mean to be so sensitive, and you know it is most likely meant as a comforting gesture, but it's making you feel almost like a child.

It’s making you feel tense and a bit trapped... but you say nothing for the time being.

He brings you to the living room, which is very nicely decorated. Simple, but not too much. Taehyung has a good sense of style. Most of the decor is modern, black and white, but there are various pops of color around, and he has some fascinating pieces of art.

The pops of color dim a bit when you realize Sena is also in here. The spot next to her is empty, and she’s staring you down like an owl would stare at a damn kitten wandering around places it shouldn't be.

God, you hope not all of the girls here are like this... wait... where are the other girls? You take a quick look around and realize that you don't see any other woman here.

“Guys, this is Y/N, my girl. Y/N, this is Hoseok, Jimin, and Namjoon.”

Each of them wave at you as Seojoon introduces you, and you give them a polite smile. All of them are handsome guys, you’re realizing. Makes sense that Seojoon would have such attractive friends, considering he himself is attractive. But damn. They’re all so pretty.

Namjoons smile is one of the prettiest, his dimples stand out and his eyes are warm and welcoming. He’s tall like Jin and Seojoon, whereas Jimin is shorter, but looks fucking ethereal. You’re jealous of how plump his lips are, but he looks so damn sweet. And Hoseok literally reminds you of sunshine with the way he beams at you. Flowers love a bit of sunshine. You feel like you’ll get along with all of them great.

“Damn, Seojoon, she’s so pretty. No wonder you won’t shut the fuck up.”

Jimin smiles after he says it, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons as he giggles at Seojoon's disgruntled groan. The other guys join in… and you realize that you don't see any other woman here. The only woman in sight is Sena, which means the men here didn’t actually bring their partners, or they just don’t have one. You feel a bit deceived.

Either way, Seojoon lied, which you don’t like. Sure, you lied about the origin of your jacket, but that’s harmless compared to him lying about who was going to be here just to get you to agree to join him easily.

You don’t want to make any quick assumptions, though . Maybe you just haven’t met them yet. And if he did lie…. You’ll scold him later. But you have a sinking feeling that when he said the guys 'spouses/girlfriends' would be here, he meant only Sena.

“Nice to meet you Y/N, we’re all really glad you’re here. We’ve been wanting to meet you!” Namjoon says with a welcoming smile.

You start to feel a bit bad that you haven’t met them sooner, although you’re aware that Seojoon isn’t really that close to anyone here other than Taehyung. You almost hope that changes, because they all seem so pleasant so far, other than Sena. These are the types of guys you’d ask to hold you drink at the bar.

They all feel safe... similar to- Nope.

“You really are pretty, Y/N, way too pretty for the likes of Seojoon. You remind me of a sunflower!” Hoseok says. He’s only playing, but the fact that he compares you to a flower makes you feel both flattered and… a bit melancholic.

Flowers are reserved from someone else, you think to yourself again for like the third fucking time today. Irritating, flowers are everywhere, and here you are, gatekeeping them for someone who is practically dead to you. But he was being sweet and has no clue that flowers are a sore spot for you. No one does. It's sweet that he thinks of you as a sunflower when you think of him as the sun. You feel like you could easily become best friends with Hoseok.

“Ah, wow, you’re all so sweet. Thank you. I’m really happy to be here too. I appreciate the warm welcoming.”

You feel yourself become a bit shy as Seojoon drags you to one of the couches to sit down. You nearly want to slap him across the damn head when he picks the spot next to Sena, because why the fuck would he do that? Why would he put you in that position? Especially considering when he sits down, he gives you the seat next to hers, which thankfully grants a bit of space between you that you assume is reserved for her husband... but even then, she's too close for comfort. You feel like you're sitting next to a snake.

But you don’t protest because it wouldn’t look good if you immediately shunned the only fucking woman here after being here for barely twenty minutes.

You wonder who her husband is out of all the guys, because they seem far too good for her. Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but nothing about this familiar woman screams kind. She eyes you like a hawk, while in the same breathe smiles brightly at everyone else here.

Maybe she’s a pick-me sort of girl, maybe it’s internalized misogyny, or maybe she just doesn’t like you for no good goddamn reason.

“Are the two grumps still outside smoking? The food's gonna get cold. Also, Y/N, these cookies are like crack. Holy fuck.”

Taehyung breaks you away from your thoughts about the snake sitting next to you as he walks into the living room, two cookies in his hand, cheeks stuffed full, and chocolate on his bottom lip. He really does remind you of a big kid, just as Seojoon described, and it’s flattering that he likes your cookies. It’s kind of a relief, even, considering Seojoon seemed not to be a fan of them earlier. At least someone likes them.

“I’m so glad you like—“

“I know right? My girlfriend is the best cook.”

“There they are, get your grumpy asses back inside we have food to eat.”

So much happens at once that you can't focus. You’re stunned in silence because of the way Seojoon just so casually called you his girlfriend, and no one even batted an eye. They accepted it as if this wasn't new information to them.

It’s one thing to refer to you as his girl because you refer to him as your man. But he knows how you feel about the label, and he knows damn well you would tell him when you’re ready to add it. Seojoon knows that you aren't ready. And instead of respecting that, he took it upon himself to announce your apparent relationship, meanwhile none of his friends congratulated him or even really reacted to it... which means this isn't the first time he has called you his girlfriend against your wishes.

You’re so caught up in this that you don’t notice the tiny sliver of space dip beside you. You don’t realize someone is pressed against your other side on the cramped couch. You don’t smell the familiar scent of baby powder and fresh linen. You don’t hear Namjoon as he introduces you to the body next to you.

Because you feel betrayed in some way. You question if you’re being dramatic, but you don’t like that he abruptly forced this label on you. You know it may be irrational, he has a damn key to your apartment, but it's not like there's no reason you are hesitant to fully commit. He doesn't know exactly why, but he has known from the start that you wanted to take things slow and go at your own pace. He just took that from you. It's even worse because it’s the first time you’ve met his friends. It puts you in an incredibly uncomfortable position because if you deny it, you make both of you look bad.

There were signs, though... Such as how he kept bringing it up last night and his little hint in the note he left this morning. You just never expected Seojoon would so blatantly cross a boundary like this.

You tune back in when you see Namjoon gesturing to the man sitting on the couch across from you, “and this is Yoongi, he’s quiet and looks kinda grumpy, but he’s just shy. He’s really sweet.”

The man who’s apparently named Yoongi flips Namjoon off and then nods at you, “Hey." He says simply.

You try to bring yourself down from your oversensitive feelings because you don’t want anyone to think you’re being rude. But god, you’re still reeling because of Seojoon. It doesn’t help that he has his fucking hand on your thigh, either. You have been having such a hard time controlling your emotions today, and none of this is helping.

You smile at Yoongi but say nothing, because he’s already talking to Taehyung. You don’t take offense to it, in fact you’d thank him for letting you off easily if you could, because right now you don’t think you could speak with a stable voice.

Seojoon can tell you’re upset, but he acts oblivious. Because he knows damn well what he did and he knows the reason for it was wrong… He was jealous. In fact, he was jealous from he moment you both walked in and everyone was commenting on how pretty you were. He knows they were just being kind, but something about Taehyung commenting on how good those cookies were set him off heavily. Made him feel the need to be clear about what you were to him. They all know you as his girlfriend anyway, but he isn't close to everyone here... he needed them to know that he does have a claim on you, even if you don't know it yourself.

And he knows you aren’t an object to claim, but he’s only a man…

“Nice jacket. Your boyfriend get it for you?”

For fucks sake, what is it with people and this jacket tonight? And now they're calling him your boyfriend. Not fucking helping.

You come out of your silent fit and realize that someone is sitting next to you, sandwiched between you and Sena, which must mean this is her husband. And just like her, his tone is almost insulting. What the hell do they have against this precious piece of clothing? Are they Calvin Klein haters?

You’re debating whether or not to pop off at whoever this man is, but his voice makes chills run up and down your spine. Sounds... familiar. Eerily familiar.

You turn to face him, wanting to get a look at him before you say something passive-aggressive because maybe he isn't trying to be rude, but is just gruff. You also want to know why his voice sounds so familiar, why he smells so familiar, and why the flies in your stomach just multiplied by ten and something is telling you, 'Don't fucking look, Y/N.'

And the moment you look at him, you understand. You wish so badly that you could run the fuck away.

There’s no way this is happening to you right now. There is no fucking way that whoever controls fate and karma hates you this much.

It is impossible for this man to be sitting next to you right now.

Jeon Jungkook stares right at you, and it's as of time stops. His eyes aren’t as kind as you remember them, but his pupils are blown to absolute shit as he stares at you, and his nostrils are flaring with each breathe he takes.

You blink rapidly, because surely you’re hallucinating. Maybe you finally did have your psychotic break. Maybe you’re bat-shit-fucking-crazy and now you’re seeing things that aren’t really there. You almost hope that you are currently going insane.

But no. You feel his warmth, and you finally realize why you recognized his voice and that smell that is so unique to him, and why Sena seemed so familiar in the beginning.

Because Sena is the woman that you’ve been stalking on Instagram periodically to get tiny glimpses of your flower. Sena is the fence that surrounded him all that time, the cage, much like her nails are possessively curled around his bicep right now, keeping him under lock. Sena is the reason that you had to watch your flower be ripped out of your shared soil and taken away from you. So many months ago, but as you stare at him, it's as if the wound is fresh and you never fucking grieved him.

Sena is his fucking wife.

You don’t know which is more earth shattering; the fact that he is sitting in front of you right now, or the fact that he’s married to this witch.

How the fuck didn’t you recognize her sooner?

You don’t know what to do. And oh, it is so fucking ironic how he is sandwiched between you and Sena, and you are sandwiched between him and Seojoon. Such a fucking tragedy.

You may as well jump off a cliff... or play dead. Act like a fucking opossum to get out of this situation. You don’t know if you want to cry or laugh at the irony of it all, at the fact that for months you worked on getting over this man, only for him to end up right fucking beside you in your not-boyfriends group of friends.

Right when you thought shit was getting better.

Or was it? Because you had that nightmare last night. You’ve felt anxiety ridden all day. Every little thing was reminding you of him out of nowhere after months of slowly letting go.

The signs were there, and maybe the universe was trying to tell you. Anxiety over intuition is bullshit, clearly… you didn't listen. Always trust your gut.

“I asked you a question. Did. Your. Boyfriend. Get. You. That jacket?”

Torn away from your thoughts once more, you nearly flinch at his tone of voice. He sounds so fucking…. Mean. And he knows damn well your ‘boyfriend’ didn’t get you this jacket. It’s his fucking jacket. So why is he doing this?

“No, she got it from the thrift. Looks like the one you trashed doesn’t it?”

Wrong fucking time for her to open her stupid fucking mouth.

You feel like you are going to freak out. You are so overwhelmed that you can't even say anything.

Jungkook wants so badly to smirk at this. Because he knows you didn’t get it from the thrift and he knows he never threw that jacket out. Little does Sena know, the jacket he allegedly threw in the trash is the exact one on your body right now.

“Stop being so grumpy.” She scolds him, and has the fucking nerve to take the palm of her hand and push on his head like some fucking dog trying to steal someone’s food.

He doesn’t even react. That’s what’s most devastating of everything that has transpired so far, you think. Out of all that has happened in the last few minutes, this is what bothers you the most. She just subtly degraded him, which may not seem as harsh as you think, but the way his jaw ticked when she did it showed that it wasn't playful. He's used to it, which means she does shit like that often.

Which also means he can’t possibly be as happy as he looks in those pretty pictures on her Instagram.

All this time, he hasn’t been as ok as you thought. You don’t even need him to tell you; you see it in his eyes. Pupils are still dilated to shit as his eyes stay on you, but his eyes express nothing other than bitterness, loneliness, and a sort of longing only he ever looked at you with.

Fuck. You can’t breathe.

No one else seems to notice the tension between you both, or that he’s staring at you as if he’s a starving man looking at a meal being consumed by someone else. Seojoon is talking to Taehyung about something, and the guys around you are joining in, everyone is oblivious to the loud silence stretching between you and Jungkook.

The only one privy to the tension is Yoongi, as quiet as a mouse and as observant as a cat. But you don’t see it. You don’t see anything other than a dead flower taunting you the same way it does in your dreams.

It’s funny because Jungkook can see the turmoil written on your face. Even after all this time, he knows your tells so fucking well. The way your eyes continuously flutter when you blink, the way you’re picking at your nails and bouncing your leg, and the way your eyes won't hold his. He knows you’re fucked right now… and he almost feels satisfaction in it.

Because unlike you, he didn’t move on. After he left, he was a fucking mess. That first month without you was hell, and he was alone throughout it all. His wife was gone, her business trip was conveniently extended another two weeks, so he was able to blubber like a baby and break shit in fits of emotion without anyone noticing. He drank like an alcoholic to try and numb the feeling of complete despair that came with you being gone. What really tore him up, but also pushed him, was when you blocked his number.

What he didn't expect was silence. So when he woke up and re-read what he sent, he sent another apology... because no matter how badly he wished you would extend an olive branch of some sort, he would never want to make you uncomfortable. So he sat there and typed a very lengthy apology for disrespecting your wishes and ever putting you in this situation to begin with. Once he sent it, he sat there and waited for it to deliver… only for the message to turn green. Because you fucking blocked him.

He knows this was the right thing for you to do. You did not owe him anything, and you needed to move on. But god, the fact that you took away his only point of connection that he still had to you, it made him feel so out of control, so fucking bitter and sad inside.

He tried to take this as sign to do better, to move on himself. Because as you have both acknowledged many times before, he wasn’t yours. His heart still very much belonged to you, but he could never fully give himself to you. He was married to Sena. He needed to move on, too.

Your words rang in his head for days, 'love your wife more,' and he wanted to. Despite Sena being insufferable at times, she was still his wife, and he aided in pushing her away. She deserved better and he made a commitment to her for life. He needed to fucking try.

And so he did. For weeks he debated on confessing to her, coming clean. But every time he tried, she wouldn't give him a chance.

"Sena, please we really need to talk."

"About what?"

"About us. Need to get some shit off of my chest... please."

"Ugh, Jungkook, no we don't. We're fine."

That's how it went every time. He would try, and she wouldn't let him. So eventually, he decided to just keep it to himself and silently vow that he would do right by her. He would repent for his sins, cleanse himself with holy water made from his sorrowful tears cried silently at night, and he would make this right.

He wanted so fucking badly to make this right. He didn't want to be a stray dog anymore. You gave him up to the pound, and he was returned to his rightful owner. He wanted to be a loyal and loving companion to his wife. Not a stray fucking dog like he had been long before you came and stole him away from home.

He went out of his way to make her life more pleasurable and easier. Every morning, he woke up and made her breakfast, and every night even when he was tired from taking photos all day, he would make her a home cooked dinner. Did she always want it? No. She complained about it sometimes, claimed she'd rather takeout. And even though it stung, he would get her whatever takeout she wanted.

He continuously bought her things. Flowers, jewelry, sweets that were freshly baked at fancy cafes he knew she liked, new and expensive designer clothing he noticed her eyeing, anything she wanted, he would get for her. Anything he thought she would like, he would buy for her.

Along with the obscene amount of gifts he got her, he had been taking her out more. Fancy restaurants that served small and overpriced portions, but the experience was apparently worth it because of the celebrities who often frequented places like these. He took her to Coachella in LA which was incredibly last second, he dropped way too much money on that damn trip, but he knew she wanted to go and he was going to make it happen. He recreated their honeymoon on their anniversary, took her to Japan just like he did the night that they got married, tried to make it as extravagant and sentimental as he possibly could.

He never questioned her when she would disappear on work trips with barely any notice. He would go along with it, wish her a safe flight, and put his full trust in her despite the fact that he knew she was never really going where she said she was. He cheated, after all. He doesn't have the right to question her loyalty when he was the one who was disloyal. Like you, he’s good at denying things that are obvious. He tried his best to deny the fact that every time she came home from these trips, she was glowing and didn’t smell like herself.

He became more affectionate, kissed her every morning and every night, snuggled her in bed, told her how pretty she is and how much he loved her. He did his fucking best to fall back in love with her and show her that he was trying.

And to anyone else on the outside looking in, they would appear as the perfect married couple. He would appear as the perfect husband who showers his wife with love, kisses the ground she walks on, and supports her demanding career. She would appear as the trophy wife that any man would kill to have. They seemed perfect when she posted her little pictures on Instagram, or when she made rare appearances to gatherings with their friends.

But behind closed doors, it was never enough, and no matter how fucking hard he tried, he remained a stray dog. Instead of being welcome back inside once he came back home to her, he was chained to a fence and kept at arms length. He was fed crumbs of reassurance and half assed affection that was only ever given when she saw that he was unhappy. But Sena didn’t want a stray dog.

She didn't smile at his cooking the same way she did at takeout. When he bought her flowers, he would often find them in the trash. When he bought her clothing or jewelry, he never saw her wear it. When he got her sweets or coffee from her favorite cafes, she would complain that they weren't right. When he took her to fancy dinner dates, she barely paid attention to him or engaged in conversation with him. When they went on little vacations, she would get bored of him after the first day there. And when he tried to kiss or touch, she would brush him off like he was gross.

She still refused to fuck him, even when he would give her hints. This was the most challenging thing. For Jungkook, sex isn't possible unless feelings are involved. So he had to work himself up to even try to be intimate with her. It was bad enough that the thought of touching someone else, even himself, made him fucking sick after you were gone. So when he did finally manage to get a boner one night when he was a bit tipsy and trying to snuggle her in bed, he tried to reignite that flame between them.

Only for her to tell him that the she was on her period… which was a blatant lie. Jungkook knows this because Sena has an IUD that lasts up to 8 years and stopped her periods completely. She hasn’t purchased feminine products such as tampons or pads or even period panties in years. She got the IUD a few months after they married. She wasn’t on her period, she just didn’t fucking want him.

That was the day that he accepted defeat.

She fell out of love with him, it was clear. And there was nothing that he could do to make her love him again. No amount of money or pretty things or fun trips would make her want him again. And he couldn't even show her with his body either, because she wouldn't allow him.

He wanted to blame everyone. Her, you, him, god, satan, the fucking universe itself. He resented her for it, she made him feel so small and unlovable. And if he had never met you, he wouldn't have been tempted, so maybe he could have saved them sooner. And as for god and the devil, well, real or not, he’s blaming them anyway.

Most of all, he blamed himself. It’s always been him. He feels like he could have done so many things differently to keep her love. He should have never pulled away and became distant when she told him she didn’t want kids, he should have talked to her about it. He should have worked it out with her. He knows in the back of his mind that it isn’t fully his fault, it takes two to communicate and keep a healthy relationship… but when he’s alone, it is so fucking easy to take the blame for it all.

He accepted it, because he was tired. A man can only take so much rejection from his own fucking wife before just saying fuck it. And it wasn't like he could talk to her about it, because she wouldn't let him.

He knew there must be someone else, so it was only a matter of time before she left him. He wasn't going to leave her, because he had nothing to lose, did he? He already lost you, he lost himself, and he lost the woman he swore he would spend forever with. He may as well suffer and take his rightful punishment.

She wasn't a monster, and he still cared for her very much. He was not innocent in all of this, he pushed her away, too. A relationship consists of two people, and he quit communicating with her at some point, just as she did with him. He lied and deceived her, so no matter how cold she had become, or what wrong she did, he was in the wrong, too. Two wrongs never make a right.

So, he went back into the doghouse. He stopped whining and howling for her to let him in. He stopped scratching at the door and staring at her with pleading eyes. As the seasons changed and time passed, he stayed in that doghouse in the cold. He stared at the space that two flowers once bloomed together, and the emptiness of it made it so fucking obvious that you were the light that he was missing the most. Without you, there were no stars in the sky, the sun was dull, the moon was invisible, and the flowers never fucking bloomed again.

And every goddamn night he thought of you more and more. Oh, how he wished you would come and rescue him again, because if you did, he would do anything for you. He would leave her, he would give you all his money, he would jump off a damn cliff. He would so much rather be in the doghouse in your metaphorical backyard than this cold and lonely doghouse that is called home. Anything for you. Always fucking you.

When he finally relented in trying to repent for his sins, he started dreaming of you. It was as if his acceptance of you being gone brought relief and turmoil all at once. Relief, because he could finally think of you again without feeling quite so guilty... turmoil because he was thinking of you again.

His dreams weren’t metaphorical like yours, they were always very realistic. Some of them were good, and he found that on nights that he dreamed of you both living happily ever after together, the day following was a little brighter.

But the nightmares made him volatile. The nightmares were always similar. He would run into you somewhere out in the wild, you’d catch up, and then a faceless man would appear and introduce himself as your boyfriend. He couldn’t fucking stand that. He didn’t know who the faceless man was, and every time he tried to run after you, beg you to choose him instead, he couldn’t move. He would stay frozen as he watched you walk away from him again and again, but this time you were happier, you were doing so fucking good without him.

Tonight, he swears he is living this nightmare. When he walked in after smoking, and he saw you, and the heard fucking Seojoon refer to you as his girlfriend? He wanted to punch something just to make sure this wasn’t a nightmare.

You both are very similar, always have been in many ways. Because he also stalked your Instagram. He probably did it way too much. He never made a move to message you or even follow you, he respected the fact that you were stern in your decision, but he lurked. He waited and waited for you to post something new because he was dying to know how you were doing.

And occasionally, you would post. Little cryptic captions that he couldn’t decipher even though he thought about them for hours, tried to find out if they had a hidden meaning like morse code. Pictures that didn’t show your full face, so he couldn’t figure out if you were happy or dying inside like he was; there was never anything that gave away how you were doing.

Until one day, you posted a photo of you and a man. And it was like his nightmares started coming true.

No caption, just a stupid fucking red heart emoji. It was a selfie of you smiling next to Seojoon at some café and he looked at you like you held the fucking stars. And then you posted more, and more, and more, as if you were taunting him on purpose. Some candid photos of Seojoon, some more silly little selfies of you two together, but what really fucked with his head was when you posted a photo you took of a Polaroid picture sitting on your bed, a picture of Seojoon and his dog that is apparently named Simba. You captioned it ‘My babies!!!’

The Polaroid camera he left for you, no doubt. That posts mere existence nearly sent him on a goddamn rampage.

The most comical part of it all is he knew exactly who Seojoon was. Not only did Sena work with the fucker, but he was Taehyung’s friend. He was never close with Seojoon, had met him a few times on nights out when Taehyung invited Seojoon to join, and he heard vague stories involving him when Sena would ramble about work. He never particularly liked him but didn’t hate him either. They just weren’t similar enough to be pals.

He fucking hates him now.

He knew when he saw you with Seojoon, that someday, he would have to face you together. Because Taehyung is one of Jungkook’s closest friends, and Taehyung is also close with Seojoon. They worked together on a few projects, Taehyung works in marketing at an art gallery, so they often swapped ideas and collaborated on marketing ideas. Taehyung also often invited Seojoon to their bar outings and get togethers. It was only a matter of time before Seojoon brought you with him.

He was well aware of the connection. And he was fucking anticipating this day.

See, he wasn’t even going to come tonight. He planned on getting drunk and falling asleep alone like he has done many nights now. But then Taehyung told him some of the people that would be here, which included Seojoon and ‘his new girl.’ His new girl, aka Jungkook’s girl, he still stubbornly thinks. And oh, like the stray dog he is, he started fucking panting at the thought of being near you again.

So, he agreed. What he didn’t fucking agree on was Sena showing up. He rarely brings her out with him, because she’s not interested in spending time with him anymore anyway. But for some fucking reason, she insisted on joining tonight.

That didn’t sit well with him. Something was very off about it. But he couldn’t say no, he wouldn’t say no, because despite how cold she is, he won’t cast her out like she’s cast him out. Not until she forces him to. And if he is being one hundred percent honest, he doesn’t give a fuck why Sena was so persistent on coming tonight. Whatever she’s doing, he doesn’t care anymore. He’s beyond the point of caring. He has his sight fucking set on you.

He has been buzzing all fucking night knowing he would see you again. He’s been in a foul mood, everyone noticed too. He refused to say why, just blamed it on being tired from work. But in reality, it was because he was going to see you again, and he was going to see you with another man.

Hell on earth, he feels this is far worse than you leaving him… but he’s a masochist, he thinks. He was dreading it while simultaneously buzzing with excitement. He felt a rush at imagining seeing you for the first time in half a year with another mans arm around you.

He won’t admit it, but knowing he would see you again kept him going. It was only a matter of time, and he had all the time in the world to wait, even if it was for a single moment and you refused to ever see him again after that. And honestly, he knew damn well all bets would he off. He knew the moment he saw you, he wouldn’t fucking stop. He wouldn’t let you go again. He doesn’t give a fuck if you’re with Seojoon now… he needs you. In any fucking way you’ll allow it. Whether it’s a friend, or an enemy, or a stray fucking dog that circles your apartment until you finally let him inside. Jungkook has always been stubborn, but he has never been as stubborn as he is when it comes to you.

He’s a stray dog, after all. Starved of love and affection that you once provided so freely. Having the knowledge that at some point you’d cross paths again was like waving a fucking steak in his face. He drooled when he thought about it.

He didn’t expect to walk in and the first thing he hears when he sees you is Seojoon referring to you as his girlfriend. And he didn’t expect to feel so fucking resentful towards you for looking like you were ok. You definitely seemed tense, and he had a good idea as to why, but you weren’t falling apart. You were just fine. Was it truly so easy for you to move on?

There you were, sitting on the couch with another man’s arm around you while wearing his fucking jacket and chain he gave you the last time you saw each other. He fucking hates it. It feels like the ultimate betrayal, and although he knows he is so out of line for thinking this way, he just can’t help it. You wanted to move on, you have every right to, you both agreed this is what you needed.

But he’s a stray dog. And this is equivalent to seeing his previous owner loving on a dog who never knew what it was like to be a stray.

He has always been selfish when it comes to you. He knows his feelings are so fucking hypocritical, because you aren’t the only one who showed up wearing things that didn’t belong to you while with someone else, he did the same exact thing; he’s wearing the star pimple patches he stole from you that last night together. He doesn’t even have any pimples, he just likes them, and he doesn’t give a fuck if Sena scolded him for it. He wore them knowing damn well you would both be here tonight with other people, because he wanted you to notice him. He wanted you to remember.

He's so selfish for his train of thought and he knows it. He won’t even deny it… but he had been suffering this entire time, even when trying to do the right thing, yet here you are, sitting in front of him, and you looked totally fine… up until you saw him.

When you saw him, you looked like you saw a ghost. Because you fucking did see a ghost. He may have been aware of what was happening tonight, but the last thing you expected was seeing him here, too.

But even with the bitterness and resentment he’s irrationally feeling, even with the volatile thoughts going through his head, he still can’t stand to see you sitting there looking as if you wish he was someone else. Fuck, he’d do anything to just wrap you in his arms and cradle you and kiss your forehead and whisper sweet everything’s in your ear.

To fucking have you again.

But he can’t do that. And he can’t stand to see you look at him as if you wish he weren’t here right now.

Which is exactly how you’re looking at him. Because you wish so badly that he was not here right now.

“Calvin Klein is a great brand, I’m wearing them too. You have good taste.”

He winks at you, lifts his shirt a bit to reveal the waistband of his fucking underwear, which just so happens to be the pair you used to favor. They’re a light purple color, which makes his honey skin look fucking divine, and they’ve always been snug on him. The tiny flash of color brings memories back quickly, memories of you tugging on them with your teeth and trying to suck him off through the fabric. Fuck. You are so fucked.

He does this as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. Just two people who are meeting for the first time, conversing over a brand of clothing and underwear they both enjoy. He totally didn’t wear these on purpose knowing you’d be here tonight. He totally didn’t premeditate wearing this pair of underwear, or the pimple patches, or being here at-fucking-all.

It’s all too much for you. You can barely even take in the way his hair got so much fucking longer, or the fact that he looks bulkier which means he has been going to the gym more, or the fact that he smells the exact same and reminds you of fucking home. You’re having a very hard time keeping your composure right now, and it feels as if the room is closing in on you.

It’ll keep closing until you and Jungkook are smooshed together, and there will be no denying the fact that you never truly got over him like you convinced yourself, you just buried all the bad feelings.

This is what happens when you deny yourself the truth. You’re fine for a long time, until one day, something little or big can cause it all to come bubbling to the surface, and you can no longer deny it.

That is what’s happening. And you need some fucking air before you suffocate.

“I left my purse in the car. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t even look at anyone as you swiftly make your way outside. Everyone remains oblivious, and if you had any coherent thoughts right now you would probably be concerned about the fact that Seojoon didn’t even blink at the way your voice shook when speaking.

“Actually, babe that reminds me, can you go get my purse too? I left it in the backseat.”

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Maybe God doesn’t hate Jungkook after all, because what a perfect fucking excuse to get you alone without anyone batting an eye.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

You’re out the door before you can hear any of this. And if you did hear it, you just might steal Seojoon’s car and drive until the gas runs out, far, far away from here. But you have no idea that he’s trailing you right now, because where Jungkook may be gods favorite, god still definitely has it out for you.

You finally make it to Seojoon’s car, which is parked across the street on the curb. You place your palms on the window in hopes that the coolness will help calm your body because it feels like your blood is hot fucking lava right now.

You take deep breaths. Try to calm down the consistent zapping feeling and flies swarming your stomach that seem desperate to escape out of your mouth in the form of vomit.

You don’t like the fact that even though you felt dread when seeing Jungkook, for a single moment, the flies turned into butterflies again.

You don’t like the very sinful thoughts going through your head knowing that you now have access to him again.

Temptation is no joke, and you’re starting to question everything about the way you coped. Seeing him again surely would have fucked you up, it’s equivalent to seeing an ex who broke your heart, any other person would have probably been a bit shaken up… but this is so much worse. Because it isn’t just a passing glance or brief run in. Jungkook is Taehyung’s friend, who is also Seojoon’s friend. Jungkook is married to Sena, which is Seojoon’s coworker. They’re all fucking connected.

It is both thrilling and devastating.

“How cute that you showed up wearing my jacket while some other man’s hands are all fucking over you… does he know it’s mine?”

He doesn’t touch you, but he’s there. You feel his body heat behind you, and his palms come to rest right next to yours on the window. He has you boxed in, nowhere to fucking hide.

The lyrics from earlier come to mind, the lyrics that were very easy to ignore when Seojoon was terribly singing them:

‘But now there's nowhere to hide,

Since you pushed my love aside,

I'm out of my head,

Hopelessly devoted to you.’

Oh, how fucking fitting.

You don’t know why he’s doing this. He’s being kind of… argumentative. Unfair. Fucking childish, really. He’s never acted like this before… then again, time has passed, and feelings have obviously festered. Maybe he hates your guts now, because he clearly feels bitter about things ending.

You should push him away now. You should immediately set boundaries and tell him sternly that this isn’t ok, and he needs to keep his distance.

But you’ve only ever been so fucking weak for this man, and considering instead of pushing him away, you turn around to face him? You’re still very clearly too weak to be trusted around him.

The moonlight bounces off his face, and for the first time since encountering him tonight, you see light flicker in his eyes just like it used to. They aren’t as dark despite his pupils being blown still, but those little stars that you once loved so fucking much are glittering.

“Fuck.”

He has no idea what comes over him. But the moment you turn around, he expects you to do exactly as you should and push him away, scold him for being so irrational and impulsive and borderline disrespectful. But you don’t. Instead, your eyes mimic his, they fucking glitter and reflect the stars in his own. Asters dancing around in your eyes just like they used to.

That fucks him completely, to actually see that although you seem ok, you haven’t fully moved on like it appeared you had.

You both thought you each moved on, all because of some silly little Instagram posts that neither of you were meant to see to begin with. Nothing is as it seems, is it?

All an illusion.

He grabs your face, it’s so fucking impulsive and he knows it, but he loses control. He’s never been good at controlling himself around you, not unless you tell him no.

But you don’t tell him no. You don’t recoil and tell him to fuck off like you should. You let him.

Stupid girl.

He leans in, but doesn’t quite kiss you. He places his lips so close to yours that they brush together. You are fucking tense, it feels as if your bones could snap at how taught your body is, but you still don’t push him away. You need to, because what if someone walks out and sees? How the fuck would you explain that the man everyone assumes you just met is this close and touching you as if he’s fucking in love with you?

The secret would be out then. Oh fuck, what a mess that would be.

But all those thoughts fly out of the fucking window when he closes the distance. It’s soft, he doesn’t move his lips, he just lets them linger on yours. Both of you are fucking shaking like addicts who just got their first hit of their favored drug after being deprived.

You let out the smallest huff of air, and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to snap. He groans and begins kissing you ravenously. Tongue and teeth, love and hate, his hands leave your face and start wandering your body as if he’s mapping it out all over again. The stray dog finally got the fucking bone.

You kiss him back instinctively. Not much thought goes into it, it’s like your body just automatically responds after being deprived from him for so long. Your tongue tangles with his almost as if they’re fighting, your hands explore his body just as thoroughly as his does yours.

It’s like two planets colliding. Fucking chaos. It shouldn’t be happening, but it is, and neither of you are strong enough to stop it. The big-fucking-bang. The end and the beginning of the world all over again.

He grabs you by the waist and hoists you up, maneuvers your legs so that they’re wrapped around his waist and pins you to the car. Seojoon’s fucking car, by the way. He has no intention of going beyond kissing, because he knows there are lines that he won’t cross again unless you say so. Especially not so soon.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to get as close as possible to you and bury himself inside of your very soul all over again. The thoughts going through his head are borderline crazy; he’s thinking shit like he wishes he could just crawl inside of you and live there; he wishes you really would treat him like a stray dog, buy him a fucking collar with your name on it, and take him home to keep him forever. Fuck, he would wear it, too. He would eat food off of the floor and lick your fucking feet if you said he could come home with you one last time.

You have no regard for your surroundings for a few moments, or even the fact that if you stay out here for too long people might question why you’re both out here longer than necessary. All you can focus on is how he tastes… how he tastes and feels like home. How for the first time in months, your arousal is bordering on painful just from his hands touching you. You never get like this with Seojoon, and you’re sure you’ll feel guilty for that later.

This is so fucking wrong in so many more ways than it ever was before, but somehow feels so right.

When he left, both of your flowers died. You haven’t bloomed since, and neither has he. You’ve both been dormant as the seasons change. You’ve to get on with your lives… but in this very moment, the seeds are replanted as if it’s inevitable. Spring flowers are dead, but autumn flowers are blooming.

Neither of you will ever be the same for each other again, but this alone is proof that no matter what season it is or how long apart you are… you will always fucking reignite the life in each other.

You’re both lucky, too, because Seojoon and Sena remain oblivious inside. Neither have even noticed that you’re gone, they’ve already helped themselves to some food and are chatting about work.

You know you need to get back inside soon regardless of who has or hasn’t noticed, because eventually someone will come looking. You can’t ravish each other like animals out here, not like this. But just a little bit longer…

“Fuck Y/N I’ve missed you so fucking much.” It comes out as a groan, but he sounds so fucking needy that you feel like you could faint. The way his voice cracks makes you groan back at him. He’s going to kill you acting like this. What a way to die.

Fuck. You need to stop before you go too far. You aren’t sure that you can control yourself.

So with shaky hands, you push him away, nearly fall as your knees wobble when he lets you out of his grip. You’re panting, your lips feel electric, and they taste so potently like him. You point a finger at him and say weakly, “N-no. No. Stop.”

It almost sounds as if you’re scolding a dog… which is ironic considering the canine-poetry he often compares himself to. And of course he stops, but he wonders what the sudden change was. He’s being stupid as fuck, this entire situation he put you both in is stupid, which is fitting because he feels fucking dumb in love all over again.

“Why? Did I hurt you?” He asks dumbly as he wipes his mouth, his fingers are twitching with need to touch you again, but he refrains for now because you said stop. He may be a stray, but he does as he’s told…

Oh, how fucking Jungkook of him to immediately wonder if he hurt you. Because no matter how selfish he is, he will always worry about hurting you, he will never fucking forgive himself for hurting you.

You breathe out a laugh that isn’t out of humor, but out of irony. He’s worried about hurting you, as if that’s the worst thing that could happen here tonight… when you both came here with your fucking partners.

“No, fuck. Jungkook, your fucking wife is inside, and so is my boyfriend. This is wrong. Can’t do this again”

You hate that even with Jungkook, you now feel pressured to call Seojoon your boyfriend. It makes you cringe that he pushed that label on you, and your current confusing feelings do not help at all. Jungkook notices you cringe, too.

He doesn’t like that.

He mimics your laugh, runs a hand through his long hair and shakes his head. He averts his eyes now because he simply can’t stand to look at you. Not when you just called Seojoon your boyfriend when you so obviously don’t see him as such.

He feels himself start to get pissed. He knows he shouldn’t be getting angry right now, has no reason or right to. You’re doing what you’re supposed to do; moving on… but now you’re in front of him again.

And he wants to make it fucking impossible for you to move on.

“Yeah? Your boyfriend, huh? So you’re a liar now too?”

You flinch, your back is pressed against the cool car as you stare at him in shock. Yeah, he’s pissed. Which is making you feel both irritated and a bit intimidated, because his mood switched so quickly. One moment he's devouring you, the next he’s accusing you of being a liar.

You both are so great at moving on! Fucking bullshit.

“What? No, he is my—”

“Does he kiss you like I do?”

He takes a step closer.

Fuck. Please don’t.

“Don’t—”

“Does he touch you like I do?”

Another step closer.

“Does he fuck you like I do?”

And now you’re pinned to the car again. He isn’t touching, because you told him not to. But his body is nearly brushing against yours as he looks down at you. You have no idea what the fuck to say.

“Does he love you like I do? Would he ever fucking be able to love you like I did and still do to this day, Y/N?”

You can’t take it. Fuck. The one thing you never did was compare Seojoon to Jungkook. You may have thought about Jungkook, you may have had lingering feelings for him, but you never once compared Seojoon to him because that would be so fucking unfair. Not only would it be unfair, but you know that if you did compare him, you would never be satisfied.

You never even thought to compare Seojoon to Jungkook until now, because there is no comparison. No one could possibly measure up to Jungkook.

But now, he’s planted those thoughts in your mind like fucking weeds. No, Seojoon doesn’t kiss you like Jungkook does, he doesn’t even seem to enjoy kissing. No, Seojoon doesn’t touch you like Jungkook does, he refuses to leave marks made of love and passion because he thinks it’s tacky. No, Seojoon doesn’t fuck you like Jungkook does, he likes to stick to the same few positions and prefers you on top. And no, Seojoon doesn’t love you like Jungkook ever did, Seojoon doesn’t love you at all.

Fuck Jungkook for putting these thoughts in your head.

You’re pissed at this point. Pissed at him for crossing the line and trying to sabotage shit, pissed at yourself for allowing him to kiss and touch and fill your head with thoughts on how Seojoon is only a tree whereas Jungkook is an exotic fucking flower.

You push at his chest again and grit out, “Fucking stop, I am done.”

You told him to stop, so he should. But he already started… and he isn’t sure he can stop now, not when you are right in front of him, and your face says it all; Seojoon will never be Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t budge when you push him, he stays in place like a fucking boulder. Has definitely been visiting the gym more.

“Yeah? You think we’re done? We’re not done.”

He leans down until he is nose to nose with you, his breath washing over your face, hot and heavy.

“I said we’re. not. done. Understand?”

You fucking hate yourself in this moment. Because Jungkook has done a lot of little things in the past that make you go crazy, a single fucking look could make you drop to your knees and do anything he wants. But this? This turns you on in a way you have never experienced before.

It drives you crazy with anger, longing, and fucking passion for him. He’s crossing a line right now, pushing you in ways that are so fucking wrong considering you both have people waiting for you inside. He’s still married, and you technically have a boyfriend now. So you should tell him how full of shit he is for trying to tell you you’re not done. He can’t make decisions for you.

He knows this, too. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t push you to give into him again in some fucking way. He won’t let you go so easily this time.

But the way he says it… it’s as if he has never been more certain of anything in his life. Because he hasn’t. He is so serious when he says he’s not done. Neither of you are. He will make damn sure of it after the taste he had tonight.

You shouldn’t have planted that fucking seed.

The worst part is that you believe him. You know that look in his eyes, its determination. He won’t fucking stop until you tell him to never come near you again.

You don’t know if you can do that a second time.

You're about to scold him and tell him to back off, but you hear a whistle come from the house.

“Yo, Kook, come help me grill this pork belly.”

Yoongi stares at Jungkook’s back with an emotionless expression, there’s no mistaking how close he is to you right now and it has you so fucking on edge, because Yoongi sees it. What if he fucking tells someone?

This is the exact reason why you shouldn’t be sneaking around. Holy fuck.

It shouldn’t feel this good to sneak around with him again, especially when the stakes are even higher.

“Coming, was just helping Y/N with her purse.”

He stares you down as if to silently say ‘I am so fucking serious.’ And even though he looks borderline angry, there is no mistaking the devastating amount of love he still holds for you. Even when feeling jealous and angry and resentful, his eyes are still glittering when looking at you. It’s as if you’ve siphoned the life back into him.

He childishly pinches your waist, which causes you to squeak, and then he walks away, heading back towards the porch of the house where Yoongi lingers waiting for him.

You watch him the entire time, not sure what the fuck you’re doing or are going to do after this.

It really doesn’t help that before closing the door, Yoongi gives you a look as if to say, ‘I know your secret.’

Fuck, you are in so much trouble. What the fuck are you doing?

One thing is abundantly clear, though; this is either the start of something catastrophic, or it is the last time you will ever see each other again.

You just aren’t sure which one yet.

Yes you are.

You swiftly grab your purse from Seojoon’s car and reapply your lip tint in the mirror. You need to get back inside because now is not the time to start freaking out. People are waiting for you inside, one of which is a man that probably would never expect you to be out here kissing one of his ‘friends’ like a horny fucking teenager.

You have so much fucking thinking to do, but for now, you must pretend once again. You hope so fucking much that Jungkook behaves for the remainder of the night. Otherwise, you just might explode.

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook #jungkook angst #bts fanfction #bts imagines #bts smut #18+ only #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #i love jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts angst #bts x reader

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paradisedumpling · 17 days

Text

So Beautiful

TROPE: idol!minji x idol!reader; falling out of love but it's okay; based on so beautiful by dpr ian

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of homophobia; hidden relationship; not proofread

SYNOPSIS: a love story between two lovers with a flawless ending

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"So beautiful..."

Gentle fingers tracing your face accompany the words, Minji's dark eyes looking with such deep emotion at your features that it makes your heart pound inside your chest.

"So, so beautiful..." A low whisper and Minji's leaning down slowly, her gaze meeting yours and never leaving.

She stops just a few centimeters from your lips, her warm breath hitting your skin. Minji gently caressed the crown of your head, a smirk growing on her lips as she looked deeply into your eyes.

"So mine."

You closed your eyes as Minji finally pressed her lips against yours in a soft, slow kiss. Hand tangling with your hair, she slightly scratched at your scalp, a soft sigh leaving your mouth as she did so.

"All yours, baby." You murmur softly as the two of you pull away to catch your breaths.

Minji hums in a low tone, the familiar smirk returning to her lips as she looks down at you with her dark eyes again.

"All mine..." Giving a quick peck to your lips, Minji hold your face with both hands gently, tilting your head to this side and that as she ran her gaze over your entire face with care. "So beautiful."

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

Minji looked up at the clock on the wall for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, looking down at her phone screen after as it remained black. The words being spoken by her produce director no longer registered in her mind as Minji's eyes once again flickered towards the clock, counting down the second for this meeting to be finally over.

"–And I think that's a wrap everyone! Now go home and rest, we have a lot to prepare for the tour!" The words filled Minji with relief. Not by the true meaning behind them, but the realization she could finally get up and leave.

She would have felt embarassed for getting up from her chair so quickly like she did, but her attention was solely focused on her phone as she texted you. A reply popped up on her screen mere seconds later, the corners of Minji's lips pulling upwards as she read your texted and dashed outside of the meeting room.

Your own studio wasn't too far from where she was, and with only a few minutes of your quick exchange of texts Minji was knocking on your door.

"You came fast." A giggle scapes your mouth as you let her inside, walking back to your desk as you start gathering your things to go home.

"I didn't want to wait any longer to see you tonight." Minji whispered on your ear as she stood behind you, a firm hand on the small of your back as she looked over your shoulder at the papers you were neatly organizing in a folder. "What are you working on?"

"Just a song, lover." You turn your head to the side to give Minji a quick peck on her cheek, stuffing the folder inside your bag as you pulled away from her. "Come on, I'm hungry." Minji laughed softly at your words, nodding as she followed you to the studio door, her hand easily finding the small of your back again, almost in instinct.

The walk towards the elevator was filled with a joyful conversation and a soft exchange of gazes, falling into a familiar dynamic you two shared only with each other.

Your pinky fingers were laced together as the two of you waited for the door to open, face so close to one another as you exchanged smiles that you found yourself being filled with an immense desire to kiss Minji's soft lips.

And you almost did, had it not been the ding of the elevator arriving snapping you back to reality, facing dropping as the doors slowly opened and you could see there was people inside.

Minji watched with a small frown as you immediately dropped her finger, taking a step aside to put a certain, more friendly, space between the two of you.

You entered the metal cubicle in silence, no sights of the loving actions the two of you were just sharing as you both stand in opposite side of the elevator, gaze looking everywhere but at each other.

"Oh, hey! I didn't know you were still here." A mutual friend of yours, a boy from a boy group under your company, greets you with a big smile.

"Ah, you know how it is..." You smile politely back, Minji quietly watching the exchange from the side as she took not of how he leaned closer to you, his smile getting slightly bigger as you replied. "I'm having a comeback soon, I just wanna polish some songs before the album releases."

"You work too hard sometimes." Minji couldn't help the scowl on her face as she forced her eyes not to roll in annoyance at his sudden worry. "You need someone to remind you to take care of yourself!"

Your eyes immediately flicker towards Minji at those words, the two of you exchanging gazes for a quick second before you averted your eyes.

"Don't worry." The smile you held was slightly awkward, but still polite, pressing yourself a bit more back on the cold metal of the elevator as the boy leaned closer again. "I got that covered already."

Before anyone could say anything else, the ding of the elevator signaling you had reached the bottom floor and the doors opening had you leaving quickly, with only a hushed 'goodnight' being spared towards the boy.

Minji didn't waste any second following after you. She looked around when you were both far enough from the elevator, making sure no one was close before she pulled you close to her by the arm.

"Can't he see you're taken?" She whispered in annoyance, and you caught her rolling her eyes as you turned to face Minji.

"He doesn't know."

"I know." Minji sighed frustratedly, pulling you into a tight hug. "We should tell–"

"We can't." You say firmly, looking into Minji's eyes with a familiar pain on your gaze. "We shouldn't even be hugging here in the first place."

"Just because we were almost caught a few times, doesn't mean we'll get caught because of a hug." Voice lowering to a gentler tone, Minji really tried her best to reassure you as she looked around again, squeezing you tighter against her as she saw no one was around yet.

"You don't know that." You say softly, albeit still with a firm tone.

You two remain quiet for a few seconds, each of your minds swirling with thoughts you both new you'd soon reveal in a night you managed to sneak inside Minji's dorm, both too restless with pent up anxiety and longing to sleep properly, instead choosing to exchange deep conversations about the risks of your shared love for one another.

"Did you know..." Minji whispers after a while, a finger softly tracing over your tense eyebrows as she gave you a soft smile. "You're so beautiful?"

"Idiot." You gave her a quick kiss on the lips, looking around nervously before you pulled away from her embrace with a mischievous smile. "Come one, let's go to the karaoke, I miss having you singing just for me." You held out your hand for her to hold your pinky again. "We'll just have fried chicken for dinner today."

Minji laughed at you, nodding her head while lacing her pinky with yours.

"Whatever you want, beautiful."

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

It had been days since you and Minji exchanged more than a few texts, a month since the last time you even saw each other in person.

She had left for tour with her group many weeks ago, but it had only been since you had your comeback that the interactions between the two of you had minimized to simple formality.

You were both busy with your jobs and life moved on. But you would be lying if you said you didn't feel a shift on your relationship.

Minji's replies seemed to be lacking the same emotion as they carried before. You could excuse it as simply tiredness from her tour, but not when Minji seemed so energetic talking to everyone but you.

It felt like her heart wasn't focused on you anymore. You knew Minji still loved you, she cared enough to still text a little everyday. But perhaps the distance had changed something.

And perhaps, even when you still loved Minji so dearly, the lack of time spent together and the lack of Minji's warmth had your love losing it's color day by day.

You just knew that whatever the future held for the both of you, your relationship with Minji would forever remain one of the greatest memories you'll ever have.

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

"Hi."

"Hey."

The greetings were exchanged softly, the awkwardness vanishing as soon as you stood closer to one another, the unfamiliar distance between your bodies symbolizing just exactly what this meeting meant.

This was the first time Minji was seeing you after almost seven months. You looked just like you did before she left, yet you had changed so much. And she figures that so has she, as you look her up and down with curious eyes.

Maybe the two of you had changed a lot over the last months, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's a bad thing. Or that nothing the two of you shared wasn't important.

After all, you both had managed to squeeze in this meeting on your tight schedules just to break up.

"I just want you to know, I loved you so much Min." Your words are gentle and so is the smile on your lips. The past tense used did not go unnoticed by her, but instead of filling her with dread, it brought a warm feeling to her chest. "I'll never regretted anything, despite how dangerous it was."

"You'll forever be a piece of my life I will cherish forever." It was Minji's turn to speak, her eyes tracing over your features as if it was the last time, a warm smile taking it's place on her face. "Can we.... Can we hug one last time?"

"Don't act as if we still aren't under the same company." You giggled softly, stepping closer to Minji as she opened her arms, embracing you with a familiarity that brought a few tears to your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"I know." Minji whispered softly against your hair, engraving this last memory on her mind with great care. "I'll miss us, I'm not gonna lie."

"Yeah." You hummed softly, squeezing her body gently as you refused to let go just yet. "But it's was good while it lasted. We'll just hurt ourselves and our love story if we try again."

"I know." Minji pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, smiling softly as she held your face on her hands. "Goodbye, my love."

Minji wasn't simply speaking to you, but to all the history you shared together, and you knew it was finally time to let go. Yet, you don't feel regretful, and you feel warm knowing she feels the same way.

"Goodbye, my love." You repeat her words, one single tear scaping your eyes as you smiled gently, whispering to Minji your final farewell. "You were so beautiful...."

_________________________________________

a/n: heyyy, guess who's back with another short one they wrote while they should be sleeping?? hahaksjd, I've been meaning to write something based on ian's songs for ages so this was fun to do 😊

thank you for reading!!

#newjeans x reader #gxg imagines #newjeans imagines #kim minji x reader #minji x reader #newjeans minji #kim minji

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 2 months

Note

Damon scrolling through tiktok and suddenly gets recommended a video his darling nerd posted that went viral

Spoiler, It's a thirst trap. ♡°▽°♡

🦪 Anon again !!!! >∆<

Yandere! Jock x Honor student! gn! reader

What if: Darling posts a thirst trap?

LMAO 🦪anon your ideas are so fun HADHSAHDAH

Damon was bored out of his mind.

School was out, summer is in, and he's truly about to lose his mind from the lack of things he's about to do.

He's tired of seeing his parents tip toe around him and he just wants out.

He wants to stretch his body and workout, but he doesn't have any kind of mental energy to do that after fighting with his mother just earlier.

Who in their right mind would cross Damon and tell him that his obsession love for you is getting too much by using the family printer and printing a life size cutout of you?

He's upset, but he still got the cutout anyways.

Mindlessly scrolling through his feeds, he decided to go through tiktok like a drone looking for mental stimulation.

The hours passed by, his thumb sliding across the screen as he drank in countless videos of sports, video games, drama, AITA reddit videos, viral videos, random ones, and sponsored vids.

Not until he saw a certain body doing the baba trend.

Sure, they're wearing a mask, but Damon can recognize that frame anywhere that looked so small beside him.

His breathing became shallow, blood pumping as he watched you lift your shirt up for the camera, showing off your body that's making his own body shiver.

You looked so shy, yet so bold as your eyes gazed through the camera with a cyber y2k filter on.

With the music wafting his ears, his gaze fixated on your body as the video repeats again.

and again.

And again.

And again...

It's engraved to his mind already as he shakily long pressed on the video. Finding it unsavable, he inwardly groaned as he frantically tried to find a way to save the video.

Damon was trembling, desperate to have your video saved on his phone as he downloaded a screensaver app.

Breathless as he may, that doesn't mean he's slow to record your video and saving it immediately on his gallery for future watches and uses.

What uses?

That's for him to know, and that's for everybody to not find out as he obsessively stalked through your profile.

"God..." He mused. "Little nerd, holy shit..."

Your profile was filled with you, in a black mask, doing different types of tiktok videos.

But it's no ordinary videos.

No no no... It's all thirst traps.

Baba, that DPR Ian belt dance trend, silhouette... You were participating in all these videos. And everything was to show off your body that he knows and love.

Yet, you don't tag them at all.

So, what's the point?

People were not discovering them too, as views are only mostly at single digits. Yet that didn't deter his annoyance and jealousy one bit as he bit back a moan, watching you tease the camera. Lifting your mask a bit and licking the air.

"What the fuck..."

Damon can feel himself getting hard down there.

It's a treasure trove just for him.

He can feel a twitching smile creep up his face as he gently clicked on follow.

Your first follower.

Damon doesn't know why you're running a thirst trap account, or why you're doing it in the first place.

If it's for validation, then he's sorry but he's gonna make sure he's the only one who can see the videos.

He doesn't know how, but he's going to do it.

He doesn't need rabid dogs on your account. He can't afford that.

Not when he can't exactly kill so many people if you were ever to go viral at all.

But now, he waits as he predicts your next move. If you're gonna go private, follow him back, ask him how he found your account.

All of the videos are saved anyways.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months

Text

♡ peanut butter & tears ♡

♡ Pairing: idol!boyfriend!minho! x fem!reader

♡ Summary: A week after Minho goes public with your relationship, a ghost from your past posts a stream of tweets on social media revealing your darkest secrets to millions and, more importantly, your boyfriend.

♡ Genre: angst/fluff

♡ Word Count: 1.1k-ish

♡ Warnings: mention of sex, brief discussion of scars/stretchmarks/self harm/people being assholes on the internet (none of it's graphic but still important to warn you of, my loves)

♡ A/N: I love and appreciate @aprilskillstory not only for submitting this but for being super patient while I wrote it and for trusting me to write it at all. I named this after a DPR Ian song btw. If you haven't heard it, it's magical.

This is a nightmare...

Actually, it’s much worse than that. Nightmares you wake up from. This is real life. No alarm clock will ring to snap you out of it. This is happening. Sinking further down into the lukewarm water of your bubble bath, you look on helplessly as your phone lights up with notifications. Every few seconds the number in the top right corner of a half dozen apps doubles, triples in some cases.

Minho’s decision to go public with your relationship had initially gone much nicer than you anticipated. A week had passed with minimal backlash and what you did receive had begun to die down before the stream of tweets that have you preferring to prune than to crawl out of this tub and face him.

There's no telling who would have posted them. Tweet after tweet detailing things that you’ve wanted with everything in you to open up to Minho about. You’ve tried a million times and a million times your admissions have gotten caught in your throat, jagged and barbed, refusing to budge.

But someone dragged them out and your soul along with them, putting your secrets on display for a merciless crowd set on tearing you away from their beloved Minho.

“Trauma like that can’t make her a stable girlfriend.”

“Self harm scars? No wonder she’s always covered up in pics…”

“Our Lino deserves better.”

“She’s dated girls too? Do you think he knew?”

“If Minho knew he wouldn’t be with her.”

You scroll through reply after reply until your screen’s too wet for your touch to register. You’re startled by the sound of Minho shouting, his voice muffled through the thick walls of your apartment but his rage is unmistakable. Placing your phone on the chair by the bathtub, you hop out before courage abandons you.

“It’s gonna be okay” you repeat to yourself, wrapping a towel around you to form a lilac safety blanket, “Everything’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.” Footsteps descend down the hall and you breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow breaths full of intent like the pink haired girl in the yoga pants on Youtube instructed you to do.

“You’re the only big brother I have. Just, please, don’t let them come here” Minho begs, standing in the doorway with his phone to his ear, “I’ll come after. I promise. Thank you.” He hangs up, turning to you, his gaze transforming you into stone like one of the foolish men who dared to lay eyes on Medusa. The rise and fall of your chest ceases almost to the point of lifelessness.

“Minho, I can explain…” He folds an arm across his chest, nervously tapping his phone against his temple, “That you hid things from me?” “I didn’t hide anything. At least, not on purpose. I didn't mean to do it.” “Then what did you mean to do? Hmm? You know what I do for work. What were you thinking?” “Fuck, I don’t know” you weep, sitting on the edge of the tub.

You tilt your head back, hoping to send the tears rolling back to where they came from but it’s no use. They only pool in your eyes, clouding your vision so that the only thing you see as Minho approaches is the distorted silhouette of his figure. “I wanted to tell you, I did, but I was afraid it’d be too much at once. That you’d hate me like other guys in the past have.”

You’re rambling, breathing heavily, blindly reaching for tissues. Minho leans your head forward, resting your left cheek on his stomach while he strokes the other side of your face, soothing your anxiousness. “Hate you? Hate…you?” he asks, more offended by your statement than you expect, “I need you to look at me.” Sniffling, you turn to look up at him and he’s…smiling?

“I love you. Nothing could ever make me hate you. I just wish you’d come to me so I could've protected you. If I had known…” “Wait, you’re not mad?” “At what?” “That I’ve, you know, dated women before.” Minho shrugs, “Jisung’s basically my last resort if we break up so, uh, no.” “But my scars and my stretch marks…” Kissing you on the forehead, he backs away and begins to take his shirt off.

“When you asked me to have sex with the lights out did I ever argue?” For the first time since you met, it sets in that he had, in fact, never questioned why you never wanted the lights on. Come to think of it, you usually didn’t need to ask for them to be off. They already were. Minho tosses his shirt to the ground, running his fingers along the scar that marks his abdomen, “I was afraid you wouldn’t like mine either.”

“Wouldn’t like it?” you scoff, unable to fathom how you’d ever find him anything short of beautiful, “It’s a part of you. I love anything that’s a part of you.” Minho sits down beside you, delighting in seeing you even partially uncovered for the first time, “The feeling’s mutual.” The sound of a vibrating phone grabs your attention. You glance over at the chair. It’s not yours.

Minho digs his phone out of his pocket, groaning as he scrolls through text messages. “Shit, I have to go do damage control” he huffs, jumping up to toss his shirt back on, “But when I come back we have to talk. I have questions about the scars if you’re comfortable? Just to make sure you’re okay.” “Uh, yeah, sure that’s okay. I’ll make us some food for when you get back and you can ask me whatever.”

His phone vibrates again, this time it’s a call. “What?” he whines, “I’m on my way. No, I really am. I’m in the car right now. Oh no, you’re breaking up. Oh…” Minho’s phone hits the bath water with a splash, sending bubbles cascading down the walls. “Oops,” he gasps, knowing very well it wasn’t an accident.

Minho gives you a dozen more kisses on your lips, on your forehead, on your cheeks, before he’s dashing around the apartment searching for his keys. “And stay off of social media unless you plan to make a list of everyone who says something bad so I can fight them! Love you!” he shouts on the way out the front door. “Love you too!” you shout back before it closes.

Left alone in the silence of the aftermath, you nibble at your bottom lip, nervous at having finally found someone this accepting but beyond happy that he exists. That he’s yours. A phone vibrates again. Your phone. Picking it up you see that it’s a call from someone you haven’t spoken to in a while. No doubt with questions about what’s been going on. You stare at it for a moment, contemplating answering but then...

“Oops” you gasp, letting your phone slip into a watery grave beside Minho’s, “Tragic.”

#lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #lee know fluff

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stllmnstr · 3 months

Text

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

part 1 is linked on my masterlist for now!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him.

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer.

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in.

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.”

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view.

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business.

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more.

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend. Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both. Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well. Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something. Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie? Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you.

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part.

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead.

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving.

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly.

“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line.

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one.

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that.

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner.

Maybe, he thought, he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family.

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth.

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out.

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable.

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line.

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship.

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”

Jake nods, moves to the next line.

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract.

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks.

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.”

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses.

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there.

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided.

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words.

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended.

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet.

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year.

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff.

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year.

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures.

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s.

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his.

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another.

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy.

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control.

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing.

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor.

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod.

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order.

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it.

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod.

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session.

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you.

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside.

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline.

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that.

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude.

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things.

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted? Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father.

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’?

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics.

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it.

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands.

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation.

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not. “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience.

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it.

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about.

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions.

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out?

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name.

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed.

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.”

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it.

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing.

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake.

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors.

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car.

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk.

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent.

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract.

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you.

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking.

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned.

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.”

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper.

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework.

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation.

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school.

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client.

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct.

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before.

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it.

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon.

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it.

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you.

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath.

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago.

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything.

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting.

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise.

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans.

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this.

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality.

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more.

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw.

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own.

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head.

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is.

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short.

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident.

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not.

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same.

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end.

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom…

You care. You don’t know why, but you care.

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows.

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life.

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders.

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go.

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you.

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it.

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.”

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty.

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable.

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter.

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment.

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend.

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can.

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away.

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table.

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago.

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought.

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening.

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other.

A beat passes. Two.

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks.

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.”

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class.

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant.

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for.

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it.

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing.

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided.

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.”

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time.

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one.

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go.

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she.

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,”

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything.

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere.

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call.

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor.

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders.

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it.

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again.

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week.

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend.

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment.

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat.

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching.

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious.

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside.

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line.

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter.

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes.

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?”

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares.

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track?

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true.

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front.

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?”

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.”

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.”

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet.

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table.

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better.

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late.

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor.

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

��This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer.

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy.

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously.

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so.

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie.

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little.

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely.

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it.

To swim, even when the water gets rough.

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted.

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming.

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold.

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system.

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks.

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen.

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked.

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait.

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again.

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion.

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed.

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth.

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ.

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages.

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week.

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session.

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time.

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade.

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait.

Oh no. Oh no.

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by.

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship.

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead.

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ???

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little.

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot.

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused.

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon.

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears.

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end.

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.”

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful.

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message.

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down.

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread.

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task.

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything.

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second.

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough?

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded.

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival.

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing.

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by.

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one.

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut.

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem.

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition.

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV.

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly.

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?”

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.”

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing.

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further.

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door.

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie.

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you.

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly.

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag.

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you.

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to.

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot.

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend.

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you.

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it.

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off.

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess.

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it. “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come.

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them.

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.”

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure.

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat.

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you.

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing.

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out.

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid.

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun.

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by.

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead.

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return.

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon.

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does.

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible.

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade.

He lets one breath pass. Another.

Slowly, he opens one eye.

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade.

73. A solid C. A fucking C.

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration.

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day.

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple.

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home.

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you.

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have.

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands.

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use.

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you.

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare.

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind.

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally, he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers.

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from.

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless.

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.”

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place.

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape.

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again.

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.”

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips.

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace.

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long.

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch.

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races.

You say nothing.

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain.

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation.

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either.

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy.

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone.

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed,

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility.

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow.

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve.

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door.

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?”

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut.

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole.

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly.

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now.

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark.

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years.

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room.

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification.

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe.

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames.

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that.

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him.

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be.

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling.

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red.

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for.

You don't bother to knock.

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities.

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows.

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer.

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James. Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night.

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began.

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down.

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention.

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner.

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye.

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one.

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not.

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion.

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend.

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract.

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules.

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is.

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father.

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie.

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror.

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it.

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real.

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that.

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation.

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here.

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs.

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself.

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done.

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks, he can’t seem to locate you.

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly.

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable.

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost.

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake.

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm.

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it.

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice.

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway.

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again.

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse.

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night.

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love.

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead.

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight.

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat.

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go.

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago.

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end.

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks.

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending.

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no.

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back.

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you.

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things?

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest.

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here.

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat.

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw.

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same.

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind.

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way.

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better.

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you.

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward.

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more.

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours.

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing.

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal.

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine.

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts.

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears.

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face.

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment.

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time.

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why.

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong.

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look.

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen.

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed.

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand.

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens.

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder.

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.”

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it.

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling.

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky.

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach.

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood.

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location.

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home.

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere.

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain.

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind.

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction.

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house.

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating.

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his.

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely.

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure.

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her.

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?”

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough.

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name.

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother.

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command.

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door.

Opening it, she steps inside first.

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–”

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you.

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips.

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you.

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod.

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well.

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her.

And then it’s just you and him.

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you.

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion.

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once.

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater.

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone.

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is.

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach.

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real.

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone.

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie.

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away.

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should.

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself.

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision.

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?”

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused.

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact.

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod.

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you.

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home.

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress.

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later.

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear.

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far.

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about.

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way.

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding.

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will.

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you.

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around.

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.”

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge.

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable.

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own.

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs.

...

outtake – sixteen years ago.

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet.

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars.

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count.

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.”

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus.

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now.

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means.

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too.

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth.

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend.

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THE END.

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note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading (seriously, this is so ridiculously long. oops). it is (mostly) edited, but by someone who just spent basically 48 hours straight writing 25k words, so you may have to be a little gentle with me in that regard for now. apologies for any grammatical errors or weirdness.

if you enjoyed this, I would love to know about it!! comments, tags, reblogs, and asks are treasured and motivating and so, so appreciated.

as always, thank you again for reading! all my best to you ♡

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