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whowrotethenote · 22 days ago

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𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

A/N // A short set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place four months after the Prom Night short.

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Fluff...I think lol

Word count // 3.8k

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

September 27, 2024

Well—he’s doing it again.

I haven’t heard from him or Paul in over a month. Counted the days as they passed me by in a blur. The color in my life glitching. Just like it was the months leading up to that first time in the Hamptons.

I don’t know who or what has captured his attention this time around. It’s irrelevant. My life has to keep moving or else I’ll fall into the deepest pit of misery, trying to fill the void he leaves every time.

The trip to Belize was everything to me. It unlocked an entire new universe of feelings toward him. Deeper than anything romantic. I felt bound to him in a way that I do with people I’ve known for years. The way I can recognize the weight Demi’s footsteps in the dark. The way I can immediately acknowledge Chanel 9 and picture my mother’s face because it's been her signature scent since I knew what smell was. The kind of binding and familiarity only associated with one thing. That forbidden four letter word.

I thought that week meant something to him. I was terribly wrong like I always am when it comes to him. Summer is over. No longer in paradise. The leaves are starting to turn. Nights getting unbearably colder.

In a desperate-adjacent attempt to ignite some type of spark or color back into my life, is how I find myself fresh off a first-class plane ride to Green Bay and seated in one of the most upscale restaurants I’ve ever been in. Under the comforting ambient lighting, seated across from me, smelling of that overpowering and alluring Creed scent—is a man that promises so much more than what I’ve been given—and he hasn’t even said it outright.

It’s wedged in the lines of how he had everything already planned, to the point where I haven’t lifted a finger or dug into my pockets once. The way he felt the need to emphasize that this is in fact a date. The way he spoke of the future and included me in it.

I’ve said it before. There’s no guess work with him. I know what it is at all times. It’s healthy. It’s loud. It’s rejuvenating. I can breathe around him. I don’t feel so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m suffocating. I don’t have to hide, duck and dodge. I’m not in an underhanded competition with anyone or anything else. If I am, he does a damn good job at concealing it.

I hate to compare the two. There’s nothing to be compared. Two different ends of the spectrum. Spiraled into my life at two different paces under completely different circumstances. Serving two different purposes. Receiving two different Lana’s.

Maybe I’m being spiteful being here with him. I don’t know entirely. I don’t know what to feel or even how to feel. The lines between right and wrong have been skewed since he inserted himself in my life. Only thing I was certain of, is that I needed a change of scenery and different company. Anything really that doesn’t remind me of him. The sad truth is he’s become a parasite. He’s attached hisself to all the best parts of me and most memorable factions of my life now. Making it nearly impossible to evade him. He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him. Even the man in front of me right now.

Jaire Alexander. I already knew the basics about him from previous late night car conversation or the occasional FaceTime. But tonight he’s dissected himself in a broader manner. Summing up twenty-seven years of life into a nearing hour conversation.

He and I have closer roots than I imagined. He was born in Southwest Philly. Only an hour away from where I grew up in New Jersey. His family packed it up and moved to the midwest just before he hit middle school. He’s the only boy, with two older sisters—which explains the unadulterated softness he displays despite being outline in secure masculinity. You can always tell which men have actually known and been around women before. They just move a little differently.

He was a beast in high school—at least that’s the picture all the articles he showed me painted. Everybody just knew he was going places. The NFL was written in his story before he even received his diploma. That is until injury after injury sat him down earlier than he ever intended.

“It was as if the devil had his hands on my shoulders, pushing all his weight down on me,” he describes.

This all happened after the pillar of his family—his grandmother passed and his father went shortly after. His father wasn’t dead—but he might as well had been. Just left one day and never came back. So the injuries and clipped ball dreams hit him harder than he’d ever knocked any quarterback on the field.

Offers reneged, benched for half the season of his senior year, and all hope disintegrating—he almost gave up on all of it.

“But I’m resilient. And I knew if I wasn’t gonna do it for myself—the least I could do, was do it for my grandma. My mother and my sisters.”

And he did. He pushed through. Molding a way when there wasn’t one to begin with.

He tells me tales of his college years. Says he felt untouchable. The way he glided through the four years like a stingray in the ocean. Earning privileges his peers couldn’t fathom. More girls than he could count, dropping to his feet—literally and figuratively. Willingly finishing his homework and him, for nothing in return but just the opportunity to say they did so.

“If I could spend a day and go back in time to any portion of my life—I’d go back to undergrad. They treated us like gods on campus, man,” he told me. A glint in his eye projecting the past.

“And when I got drafted, it was like undergrad times ten. Only it was more on the line. Money just didn’t stop rolling in. Sponsorships—parties with people I had only seen on TV before—people breaking their neck to make me comfortable.”

He said he got a taste of that world and went a little too off the deep end. He was fresh meat. He had a target on his back and the vultures didn’t waste any time.

“I almost got drowned out—almost lost myself, but God threw me a lifeline. I’m good now.”

All in all, Jaire is a man. Filling in the gaps his dad left behind, he made something out of nothing. And after hearing him break down all his fears and the hurdles he hopped to get to where he is now—he’s earned a newfound respect from me.

My phone lights up on the table next to my half empty plate. Wiseman. My heart skips a beat. Reality of the situation hitting me immediately after. Instead of racing to unveil the contents of the text message, I flip the phone face down. Cupping the back of my neck trying not to let these thoughts infect my brain and mood, but they double down.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think I am?

I can’t even believe I let it get to this point. Spending nearly my entire summer in Miami in that condo where the ghost of him lingers every time he leaves. His scent burned into the sheets and the pillow. Steamy and woody smell of his body soap lingering after we shower and he leaves for the day. His shirts—wrinkled and thrown everywhere, leaving a footmark and telling the story of where we started and ended up upon his arrival. Background noise of Love Island playing, as we opt for the entertainment of each other instead.

I’ll forever remember the summer after I graduated college as his summer. Actual days, lost in one another—following the endless trails, walking the different path’s of each other’s brains—mixed with long humid and lustful nights, turned to morning all over again. First time flying out of the country—exploring the world and seeing how other people live—and it was with him.

“You need to get that?” His voice thrusts me back to the present after sinking into a pit of nostalgia. Sinking so deep I didn’t even feel the consistent vibrating of my phone against the wooden table.

Flipping the phone back over, my lips tighten reading Wiseman again. I push hard on the lock button to reject the call before tossing it deep into the contents of the Dior bag hanging on my chair.

“Nope.”

“Hot commodity, I see.” He laughs.

“Not really.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “What?” A smirk tugs at my lips as our eyes tip toe over each other’s faces. I can’t suppress the giddiness around him. Even in the wake of all the bullshit he’s ignorant to.

He shakes his head. His tongue resting over his perfect top row of teeth for a second. “Still in shock I got you here.” A sting of guilt in my chest forces me to break our trance. Would I even be here if he wasn’t on his shit? “Am I overstepping by asking what all the apprehension was for?” He asks.

I blow out a breath searching for the right words. I don’t even have a rational answer for him. Playing house with a married man all summer had me taking the biggest step back from him. Calls unanswered. Texts responded to only when I got a second to duck off and coach Demi on what to say. No more parked car conversations. And all for what? For somebody that left me in the same state I left Jaire in? Ghosted, without any communication as to why, leaving my head to make up all the worst scenarios.

“I think I have an idea.” He speaks again.

“Let me hear it,” I encourage.

He pauses for a minute. “The normal. I was tryna sit in a seat already reserved for somebody else.”

If only he knew. I call myself forging a seat that is already full. The seat merely exists in my dreams. He never fails to wake up to this harsh and cold reality—that everything about us is temporary and none of it is for real. That he occupies way more space in my life than I ever could his.

I adjust the diamond studded bracelet, now overflowing with different charms he’s added.

“It's complicated,” I finally say.

“We all got complicated,” he counters. I stop for a second, really digesting him and his words. I’ve been so wrapped up in the telenovela that is my life, I think I’ve abandoned the fact that Jaire is still his own person. Selfishly, I’ve reduced him to just a character in my saga when he has own life, his own goals, and challenges—just as I. Women on his line probably in the same predicament I am with him.

I need an anecdote for this hole inside of me. And no—not another person. The anecdote has to work with just me. Just Lana. People are going to come and go as they already have. They’re going to keep coming and keep going because that’s just the natural order of things. The toughest lesson I had to learn as a teenage girl—tossing and turning in the wee hours of the night, thinking every time the phone rang, it was the hospital calling to tell us the cancer had won. While the rest of my peers got to live in fantasy and fairytales—life was teaching me the darkest lesson that everything has to go eventually. Life, people, money—all of it.

I have to figure out how to be okay without anybody else. I have to be able to go on after he goes. Cause he clearly will go.

His head flicks to the right in a slight nod. “Come on—I wanna show you something.” He stands, reaching into his pocket counting off bills. I’m stunned and mostly confused as fuck. Too many Benjamins for me to count land on the dinner table and he holds a big hand out inching to my side of the table.

So, I take it. Willing to go anywhere with him if it means not sitting here to wallow in self pity as the phone rings all night.

He leads us out the maze to exit the restaurant, stopping twice to sign his autograph and take a few pictures. I clutch the fox fur coat tighter to me upon meeting the brisk air of Wisconsin. The consistent fever of Miami had me spoiled. I almost forgot what cold really felt like.

We’re not even all the way out the glass-door entrance of the building and onto the street before we’re being jumped. White and yellow lights at every turn from the faceless men shouting things I can barely make sense of.

He’s so chill and down to earth, I forget he is in fact famous. I use one hand to cover my eyes. The other rests comfortably in his while he leads me to the passenger side after retrieving the keys from valet. He moves with such confidence and ease, as if there isn’t a herd of photographers in his personal space—snapping pictures of a moment as intimate as a first date.

“You’re okay with that?” I study him while blinking at the blinding lights of cameras.

He hooks his seatbelt before resting one tatted hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah, why? You got somebody you need to be ducking?”

It's so far off from cheating but this rush of excitement and anxiety is very reminiscent of cheating. “I can pay them to get rid of them.” He informs after I pause.

Without thinking too deeply into it I shake my head. “No, we’re good.”

The phone buzzes in my hand again and I ignore the fuck out of it like the previous ten times.

In Jaire’s territory, I couldn’t tell you where we are. We flew on the highway for a while, exiting onto a back-way of some sorts, until he led us to a dirt road with land that stretched for miles it seemed, with no signs of human life. I probably should’ve been scared. In this secluded space with a man I didn’t know, in a state I never been. But his energy—familiar and comforting like a hug from an elder—has me suppressing any type of anxiety. The occasional swipe of his thumb on my hand where we connected atop the center console, paired with glances that read, “are you okay,” every other minute—was enough to settle me.

The headlights of his car cascade along a fence with a clear DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from it. Despite the obvious, he hops out anyway. Somehow unhooking and unlocking the chains to open one side for entry.

I use this time to finally open the thread, floored by the endless texts in grey.

He’s asking for you You left Miami? Is everything okay? I’m concerned now Call me back when you get a chance WiseMan 13 Missed Calls

I let all the angst out in the air that puffs from my nose. The fucking nerve. It’s been nearly two months and now I am expected to jump for him? Draining. That’s what this whole thing has been. He’s lifted me up—taken me to heights I never even thought I’d see at this age. Just as quickly he’s popped the bubble and I’ve been free falling since I last saw him.

It might sound ungrateful. He’s done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Got me through my last year of school. Gifted me a G Wagon straight off the lot and filled it with my favorite flowers. I live comfortably in the heart of Manhattan. Blending in with general wealth and nepotism.

My life looks the way it did in a young Lana’s dreams, who snuck to binge Sex and The City and took day trips uptown just to gawk at all the designer through the window. This newfound peace of mind means nothing if it can be taken away just as easy. It’s stupid. I should take what I’m given, be grateful for the adventures and opportunity, and just leave with my memories at best. But that’s the thing. I’m past that now. It can never be just memories anymore. And it puts a chill in my bones to think it's just memories to him—if that.

So when Jaire cuts the engine before rounding the car to open my door—I leave the phone and him behind.

“You gon’ be okay walking?” He eyes my Shark Boots. “It's further up.”

“Uh…” I peak down, assessing the two thousand dollar, leather boots.

“Just jump.”

“Huh?” I look back up. My confusions stumped, seeing his back to me.

I hop on and he carries me the whole way effortlessly. No huffing and puffing—not even breaking a sweat.

Letting me down gently, I scope the scenery. I figured from the walk up—with all its twists and turns that we’d end up on a cliff like we are now—but the sight before me exceeds any imagery I thought I’d find at the top.

The whole entire city of Green Bay from a single vantage point. I felt like a god having access to this much of the world in one sitting.

He’s quiet and I’m grateful for it. The day turning to night. A pink glow on top of the skyline. Nothing but the whistle of wind surrounding us. Everything up here is just…quiet and still. So easy for your mind to go blank.

“Surrounded by noise all the time. Big family. Always apart of a team. Games packed out with thousands of people screaming.” His hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans. “I come up here to drown all that out. Get a break from all the noise. Always so deep in everybody else—in the crowd—I forget about Jaire. Standing up here I remember. I can remember I’m still somebody too.” He steps down sauntering back to me. Sage eyes putting a spell on me. “You just seemed like you needed a second to remember Lana is somebody too. I don’t care who come and go—what’s easy or complicated.” I giggle as he bows his head making wide eyes. “Don’t let nobody drown you out,” he continues. “Not me. Not Mr. Complicated. Nobody.”

I never felt more seen by a man in such close proximity to the first time meeting him. It usually takes moving mountains to get a man to come to his senses and hone in. Not with him though. He’s almost too good to be true.

I nod. Tears threatening to spill, but I suck them up. No more sad girl. I’m better than that. It’s a shame it took a man that barely knows me to tell me so.

“Promise?” He holds out a long pinky adorned with a ring that winks at me. I hook mine onto his.

“I promise.”

He steps back allowing me a path to the spot he left. In these less than comfortable Givency boots, I step carefully over and around the scattered rocks, over the sand and patchy grass until I’m on top of the same flat plated rock he came off of.

The view is unreal. I can see everything up here, but it’s still nothing but echoes of silence. No noise. No world. No expectations. No worries. Just me separated from them. Separated from him.

“I got a game in two days,” he informs me. “I’d really like if I knew you was out there in the stands—watching me.”

I turn still on top of the rock so his voice isn’t hitting my back anymore. “And you better not lose.”

He snickers. “With my good luck charm there? Never. I’ll have to give them motherfuckers the greatest pep talk of their life in that locker room.”

My smile grows. The battle of my heart he didn’t even know he was affiliated with before today, lingering. Yeah, he lost a couple rounds in the beginning. He had all the right materials and couldn’t do anything with them because my attention had been abducted by someone who didn’t even deserve it.

The better man might just win this time.

Finally back in the five-star hotel room, I stare at the name on the screen calling again. I let it ring two more times before swiping.

“Paul?” But I can tell it's not him. I don’t know how I know—I just know.

“You left Miami?” His voice is authoritative—making the question sound more like a statement. “I don’t see your suitcase here.”

“I did,” I confirm after a moment. Heart skipping a few beats. From guilt? Excitement that I resent from hearing his voice after months? I don’t even know.

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home,” I lie. Eyes shut tight. I’ve never done that with him. I never had to.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Every second that passes feels longer than the one before. And for a split second, I feel like he knows the truth or at least knows what I’ve told him isn’t the truth. Like he has his own eyes on me at the moment.

“I’d really appreciate if you came back, Lana.”

Theres almost an underlying desperateness in his voice. Like his wellbeing depends on my presence—when he’s just demonstrated to me that it doesn’t. I remove the phone from my ear. Eyes opening at an agonizingly slow pace to face myself in the mirror. Why do I always feel so weak for him? So helpless like I don’t have any say over my own actions—my own body.

Staring back at the girl in the mirror I shake my head at her. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fall for it…fall for him.

This game he’s been playing—it's unfair. It’s cruel. He’s set it up so he’s the only winner.

The overwhelming feeling he brings to me—congesting my mind and making me forgo all the contempt and smoke I previously had in the chamber for him. Then, the promise I just made to Jaire not even an hour before, forces itself to the forefront of my mind. He won’t drown me or my intuition out this time.

I stick the phone back to the side of my face. “I can’t,” I tell him. Voice so delicate and pliant—not even hiding the fact that I can be easily persuaded. So, to eliminate any chance of it—I press that red button. He won’t win this round.

A/N // it’s been so long friends. so much has happened since my last update…still in shock btw. so let’s disassociate and be delu together in this au😂

1. what the helly is going on with Joe? why has he gone ghost again?

2. do you think Lana genuinely likes Jaire or is she just trying to fill the space?

3. this girl spent her whole summer in Miami—what do you think happened between them? (don’t worry a good portion of the rest of the shorts take place during this time)

4. he took this girl out the country😂 any thoughts?

5. do we think him going ghost again paired with Jaire’s new presence is enough to make her split from Joe?

As always, so grateful for everyone reading especially in light of recent events. Feedback is always welcomed💗

Next update will be another short about Wrestle-mania 40. It will be up every soon. If not tonight, tomorrow night.

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nanaminsmoon · 2 years ago

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5 minutes ~ e.jaegar x goodgirl!reader. mdni. 18+

a/n: i hate the ending for this one, but if i didn't post it now then it'd be in my drafts for years so she had to go lol.

wc: 2976 + not proofread properly.

the saying ‘opposites attract’ was coined for you and eren, with him being the night to your day. he represented the dark cesspools of society that your parents had raised you to stay very weary of. in fact, if there was a textbook definition for the type of boy you’d been warned to stay far, far away from, beside it would be a collage of eren’s mugshots. but first meetings with no knowledge of each other’s histories was the intersection of the paths you’d always considered to be parallel; perhaps walking beside each other, but never converging. and their merging would be caused by the fateful day you crossed the authoritarian line your parents had drawn very boldly since you were very young.

the magnetic field surrounding the young man had been unbeknownst to you, but he was the south to your north pole, reeling you in all night until you inevitably met in the midst of the crowd of moving bodies. you’d been second-guessing your decision to agree to attend ymir’s party with your friends, but any dubious thought in your mind dispersed the second your eyes met eren’s lidded ones. even with the dimmed lighting, you could sense them scanning you—leaving blazing traces of want in their wake. you’d hoped the embarrassment boiling inside of you wasn’t obvious, but it had set your body alight—its heat emanating off your figure to waft into eren’s smug face.

if ‘trouble’ had a look, and smell, it would be eren. it’d have his face—inviting yet seemingly cunning, and unreadable in its arrangement of his perfect features. it’d possess his ability to send a militia of chills up your spine the same way too—unsettlement marching up your spine at the potent smell of cigarette smoke, cologne, and whatever alcohol was in that red solo cup. magnetism brewed in eren’s chest, traversing through his bloodstream to reach the point of his fingertips that lightly traced the exposed skin on your arm. once it’d transfer to you, glances were no longer stolen, and neither were dances—both were given freely. and, alongside the pair, would go your moral compass, making you unrecognisable even to yourself as you moved with him—your ass pushing into his growing bulge. the heat transferring at the point where your bodies met would cancel out that of his burning gaze on you. that and his feverish hands grabbing onto your hips, catching everything you threw back on him. all the while, a cigarette would sit comfortably between his lips, grey smoke slipping past it to escape his mouth every time he groaned at the feeling of you brushing against him.

the newfound courage cloaked you, blurring your presence in the crowd of moving figures thus making it impossible for your friends to find you. sense regained, they stood at the door all ready to go home, but ‘home’ hadn’t been a thought in your mind since the smoke eren blew into your mouth, ascended into your brain to cloud your sense of better judgment. there would be a moment where your eyes would dart to them as they beckoned for you to join them, but eren would catch on quickly. and his fingers, hugging his cigarette between them, would wrap themselves around your chin as they turned you to face him,

“gimme 5 more minutes”, his cheek would be against yours as he spoke into your ear, and you’d nod like a fool as he smiled at you and took your hand in his, leading you upstairs.

and five minutes is all it’d take for the barrier holding back your tears to collapse unceremoniously, making way for the stream to coat the pillow cases of ymir’s parents’ bed. the combination of your wanton desperation, pleasure, and makeup would stain the material pressed up against your face—adhering it to your moist skin in a way that made your conscience pulsate with guilt. but the once clear-cut lines on your morality would fade with every collision of eren’s skin against yours. the moments leading up to this position had gotten you used to the way eren’s fingertips dug into your hips and, though similar to that of when you were dancing together, this time he could clearly see the way your flesh recoiled when your skin met his. finally, he could clearly hear the small, squeals leaving your mouth as his dick bullied its way in and out of you, leaving you a fucked out, dishevelled shell of yourself. and that shell that would soon be filled to the point of leakage when your walls tightening around him, unexpectedly stole eren’s release from him. and, somehow, five minutes would turn into two hours, until you were both dragged back into reality by heavy knocks on the door.

call it naivety, or wishful thinking that your actions would never catch up to you, but you had expected to never see eren ever again after that night. but the following months would be spent interweaved in each other. labels weren’t yet decided, so they changed depending on the day; on random evenings, you were eren’s alibi—voice shaking as you lied for him, assuring his parole officer that you’d been watching movies together when, in reality, you hadn’t even known where he was. and, on saturdays, your lap served as his most comfortable pillow as the incomprehensible words you read from your favourite book fell onto his face from above him.

but skipped classes, and unexplainable disappearances meant you soon found yourself under heavy surveillance. from being driven to and from uni, to not being allowed to meet friends, and being basically trapped in your home. the joy shared between eren and yourself had been for you two only. seemingly, the portions hadn’t been distributed evenly meaning that your friends and family sat with plates full of disdain and worry, prepared for a boy they didn’t even know. all they saw of eren was his effect on you; increased callousness, tanking grades, and constant escapades that rendered you a ghost floating in and out of their lives. and soon there’d be a fury-fuelled war waged between two sides; one side that hated eren for ruining you, and the other that hated your family for taking you from his grasp just as he was about to pull you from heaven into his unprincipled clutches.

unfortunately for your friends and family, armageddon couldn’t stop eren from trying to reach you. no matter how many times you denied him, he’d try his luck at getting to you through any means necessary; he’d call you, text at stupid hours of the night asking you sneak out, this boy even disguised himself as a delivery driver just to see you. but every single advance was (very reluctantly!) declined; calls rejected, texts ignored, and, after gathering yourself, you’d tell him that you hadn’t ordered anything and he had the wrong house. bottom lip in between your teeth, to combat the tears hanging over your waterline, you’d closed the door, taken a deep breath, before making your way upstairs to text him an essay of an apology.

that day, you forbode eren from coming to you but, as anyone who knew eren would tell you, he’d never been good at following instructions. so you’d be doing your uni work, when you’d hear loud ass music playing outside. expecting more self-control from eren, there wouldn’t even be a second where you thought it’d be him. even when incessant honking began, you’d ignore it and continue trying to replenish your plummeting gpa. and you’d succeed at keeping focused. until you heard a small knock on your door.

“y/n, you know that guy?”, your brother asked you.

“what guy?”, a finger pointing to the window would be your brother’s answer. and your limbs would freeze at the sight of the black hellcat outside, but they’d be quick in moving you once you saw eren’s car door start to open. by the time you opened your front door, eren was walking up your driveway and his determined gaze would soften once it landed on you. that was before he saw the frustrated presentation of your features as you marched towards him, then he’d just chuckle at you. both hands flat on his back, you’d push eren back to his car as he laughed and questioned you. but he’d get no answers until you shoved him against the car—his back facing your house—and started lecturing him,

“why are you here?”, you’d chide through clenched teeth.

“what, i can’t come see you?”, he’d ask, leaning on his car and reaching for your hand. stress would have you moving your hands from his own, as you rolled your eyes at him.

“not at my family home, eren, no!”, you’d let out an exasperated sigh, “are you out of your damn mind?! coming here and making all this noise, just because you ‘want to see me’?”,

“i miss us, y/n”, he’d say, eyes flittering all over your face as they examined your vexed expression. at this point, the anger was just a shield protecting you from his words because you knew that as soon as they penetrated your skin to enter your heart, you’d fold like a damn lawn chair. and, opportunistic as he was, eren would take the time you spent processing his confession as a chance to get sit his fingertips, one-by-one, on your hips. too deep in thought, you’d have no time to react before he pulled you closer to him.

“not now, eren.”, you’d instruct, placing your hands on top of his.

“you ain’t miss me?”, he’d tilt his head.

pretending not to want eren did nothing but spur him on. mainly because he knew that there was a mutual longing keeping you two connected. as harsh as you tried to be, eren could feel your internal conflict in your movements—the sour irritation in your words was no match for the way your body instinctually yielded to his touch. it’d be still as eren’s arms enveloped you, his heart joyous at the feeling of your body weight slowly increasing—your every appendage relaxing onto him. naturally, he’d grow smug and pull back to slyly observe the way he knew you’d chase his lips, just like every other time he stopped kissing you, and he’d grin to himself.

“i did, but not here.”, you’d shake your head, “not like this”, you’d say. and, in a successful attempt to still your head, eren’s hands would cup your cheeks before he gently pressed his lips against yours. there’d be a split second where your body would try and move you away from him but, as soon as his tongue gently grazed your bottom lip, you’d neglect your surroundings—hands massaging the back of his neck, as you pulled him closer.

“why not?”, he’d ask, quietly. his fervid gaze possessed enough heat to turn you into a patch of liquid, very similar to the one in the front of your underwear. and, though composure wouldn’t come easy to you, you’d grapple for it anyways, moving from him and ignoring the smirk on his face as he watched you.

“you know why, now get off me before i scream and get the police called on your dumbass”, the feigned innocence would break and eren would outright laugh at your threat. enthralled eyes would watch the joy spread all over his face, the feeling contagious as you slowly felt the corners of your lips rise. that’d be before you realised where you were, and quickly moved your hand to cover his mouth to muffle the bellowing sound.

“i wouldn’t mind hearing you scream.”, he’d say after removing your hand from his face, “it’d make driving here worth it.”, he teased. and, once again, you’d be falling into his deep green eyes, beguiled by his intoxicating gaze. reminders of reality would only come when a quick flicker of your eyes to the building behind eren’s car revealed your front door opening. equally as curious as the young boy stood at the door, eren would turn but you’d quickly shoo your brother back inside, originally aiming to follow him.

“just gimme 5 minutes”, a low voice would ask, stopping you in your tracks. eren’s recklessness always seemed to rub off on you. perhaps remnants of it latched onto you when he held you close to himself, or maybe his lips spoke it to you as he kissed you. but, without fail, it’d rid you of everything you thought you knew about yourself. and it’d also have you following him into the backseat of his car.

though it was never expressed to you, you were just as much of a forbidden fruit for eren as he was for you. a chair occupied by thoughts of your chaste nature had anxiously sat in his heart, as the thought of his sodden fingerprints being the ones to pervert you spun around his mind. that was until eren placed your hands on the back of said chair, bending you over it and making his peace with sending you back to your parents with his depraved handprints, and debauched lip prints singed all over your body. forbidden as you may have been, eren couldn’t get enough of you. you were a banned berry that he couldn’t help but sink his teeth into, letting the taste of you reside in every corner of his mouth—your juices slipping out of the corners of his lips as you squirmed, and scratched at his leather seats. no more than a few minutes passed with you on eren’s lap, his lips busy marking your neck and chest—any regard for your parents’ reactions was absolved the moment your fingers intertwined at his nape to lightly tug at his hair. the only thought on his mind for weeks had been the taste of you, so he’d wasted no time in moving his lips from you and laying you flat on your back on his backseats. and your comprehension of any moment that followed that was wiped out by the tsunami of pleasure that flooded your conscious mind, as well as the white flash that accompanied it stealing your vision. the last thing you remembered was eren’s eyes—locked on yours—as his teeth plucked at your panties, pulling them down your thighs.

for most, self-reflection would be triggered by the fact that their partner’s friends and family hated them with a scorching passion, but not eren. he welcomed the scrutiny with open arms because, as toxic as it sounded, he had learned to love being a terrible influence. he luxuriated in being the guy your friends begged you to leave, those conversations always ending in teary arguments wherein you’d have to fight to justify your want for him. he loved knowing that even as every mouth around you told you to stay far away from him, his devious one always brought you right back. that, sweet as you were, you were addicted to the nasty way he fucked you; bent over in his car, or anywhere he could hide you from prying eyes. and the fact that, with every load he filled you with, droplets of his identity had been inserted into you with all of them being preserved perfectly, with not an ounce of alteration. whether that be his attitude, or his need to fuck the sanity out of you, you resembled eren more and more with every connection of his tip and your cervix. slowly, your vocabulary had matured to match his and you had started using words he’d never expect to hear from such a pretty, innocent-looking face,

“ffuck, i’ve missed this dick so much, eren”, you’d keened, ridding eren of any rational thought. his hips would hasten on their own at the sound of your lascivious wording, deepening every breath your lungs fought to take. and, as good as you felt, corrupting a good girl had never been something eren had wanted to do. usually, he liked his girls experienced, but you had a charm about you.

he liked the way your eyes glimmered at him as he spoke to you, and the adorable way you remembered small details about him. after a while, he began enjoying the way he was disintegrating every single value your parents had instilled in you, as well as you just letting him. but no more than the way you moaned his name, and made lust-filled promises that disgraced the parents who had worked so hard to raise you,

“i’m all yours, ‘ren, i belong to nobody but you”, you’d cried out, and he’d gently kiss your cheek. the romantic work of his lips, was in direct opposition to the cruel way his dick hit that spongy spot inside you, coaxing your release from you and refusing to stop.

“i know, baby, you ain’t gotta tell me. i know. you’re all mine, and can’t nobody do shit about it.”, he'd reply. and he was right. because, as long as he made you feel the way he did, eren was untouchable. whether that be for 5 minutes, or for the rest of your life.

#≡;- ꒰ °nanaminsmooninc.꒱#aot x black reader #aot x black y/n #eren x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #aot eren #eren x you #eren x reader #eren smut #eren yeager #eren x y/n #eren aot #eren jaeger

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nova-is-a-writer-now · 9 months ago

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Hidden embers

Chapter 2

Chapter summary: Tensions rise during a church fundraiser, unexpected closeness with Joel begins to blur the lines between what’s right and wrong.

A/N: It took me so long to post this, school has been killing me lately, my sincerest apologies. This is a fun little chapter, wrote it a while back. I’m currently writing chapter 4 and I can’t wait for you guys to read that one. I hope you enjoy this 🤍

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Age gap, DBF!Joel, some accidental physical contact lol

Series masterlist

Two days after the barbeque, you’re woken up by the gentle touch of your dad stroking your hair.

“Hey, sweetheart.” he says almost in a whisper

You squint at the clock on your nightstand, its red numbers flashing in the dim morning light. The faint glow through your curtains barely illuminates your dad’s face. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, kiddo. Just wanted to let you know I’m off to that church fundraiser we told you about. They need me and Joel to help with setting up lights and whatnot. Didn’t know if you’d wanna come”

You groan, rolling onto your back and closing your eyes. “Dad, it's 6:30 a.m on a Sunday. The only thing I wanna do right now is burrow myself in this bed for at least three more hours.”

He chuckles softly, standing up from where he was crouching next to your bed. “Alright, you’ll have to help your mom with the baking then. She’s gonna be selling all those pastries today and I bet she could use a sous-chef”

Before he can make it any closer to the door, you sit up in your bed and rub your eyes “I’m up. Be down in 5”

You cradle a hot cup of coffee to your chest, the summer heat creeping in very slowly this early in the morning. Your first stop is Joel’s house and even the struggle to keep your eyes open doesn’t distract you from the nervous flutter in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

You've been doing mental gymnastics, trying your damn hardest to keep your mind off of him, convincing yourself this is just a silly fixation and will pass as soon as you get used to seeing him around. Just push through it, and eventually, your heart will get the memo.

Your dad pulls up to his driveway and parks right next to his truck. The front door is in your direct line of sight when Joel opens it, carrying a couple boxes and a toolbelt slung over his shoulder. You have to make a conscious effort to not stare at his arms, at how big they get whenever he carries heavy things around—that proves to be a lot harder when he’s walking in a straight line towards you.

Thankfully, your dad gets out of the car to help, sparing you from further gawking. You hear him ask if there are any boxes left inside and from the way he heads back towards the house, you guess the answer is yes.You roll your window down to ask if he needs any help just as those strong arms you were trying to ignore rest themselves on the window frame.

“You didn’t strike me as an early bird.” Joel says, his eyes now leveled with yours, much closer than you had been two days ago.

Your cheeks betray you, flushing a shade of red that now feels reserved for him. “Do I strike you as my mom’s baking assistant for the entire day?” you retort, a grin sneaking onto your face.

You’d be lying through your teeth if you said you weren’t trying to earn another one of those earth shattering chuckles with your comment. Turns out you’re pretty good at it, because a second later he’s dropping his head, a low rumbly chuckle escaping him. “I reckon you don’t.”

His eyes come back up to meet yours, holding for a beat longer than they probably should, like he’s giving you one more tiny bread crumb to follow the trail, to figure out the riddle. Or maybe you’re just losing your mind, which is entirely possible.

Just when the tension between you two is about to reach a breaking point, your dad reappears with more boxes.

“A little help, pal? It wouldn’t kill ya,” he calls out, breaking the spell.

As your dad parks the car in front of the church, you spot Mrs. Calloway, the lively old lady you spoke to at the barbecue, waving energetically. The early morning sun casts long shadows across the church’s lawn, the air carrying the faint smell of freshly-cut grass.

“Oh good, you’re here!” she greets the three of you as you step out of the car.

“Mornin’, Mrs. Calloway. How’s the day treatin’ you?” your dad asks, hauling open the truck's tailgate.

“Oh, busy, so much to do. I see you brought me an extra pair of hands here,” she says, sidling up to you and giving your arm a friendly squeeze.

“Yeah, he was very convincing, couldn’t refuse the invite,” you reply with a polite smile. You've taken a real liking to Mrs. Calloway. She never talks about your parents when she chats with you. Instead, she asks about your life or shares stories about her cats—which is a refreshing change of pace.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t, pumpkin. I have a bunch of decorations to put up inside.” She leans in closer and half-whispers, “And for all their virtues, I wouldn’t trust these ones with decorating if it was my last day on earth.”

You can’t help but giggle just as a voice comes from the back of the truck. “Heard that.”

You turn to see Joel balancing a couple boxes with practiced ease “Is she wrong?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

He grins, shaking his head. “No, she’s very right.”

“Oh, Joel could help you out” Mrs. Calloway suggests. “There are some pretty big containers stuffed in the back of the storage room with everything you’ll need. Why don’t you go grab them while we start setting up the tables out here?”

“You got it,” you say, trying to wave away the thought of being alone with Joel again.

You walk into the church with Joel trailing just behind, his presence is a comforting warmth against the cool morning air. The quiet of the church envelops you both, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly. You spot a door in the back corner “That’s the one?”

“That’s the one.” Joel confirms, taking the lead as you reach the storage room.

Inside, you find a mountain of containers piled up against the wall, with big brown boxes and plastic bags teetering on top.

“So, how many of these do we need?” you ask, hoping to distract yourself from how close he is.

“Just a couple to start with,” Joel replies, handing you one of the containers. “We’ll come back if we need more.”

You both carry the containers out of the storage room, the clatter of plastic echoing through the empty church hall.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Joel says, setting his container down and opening it. You follow suit, pulling out strings of lights, banners, and a variety of festive decorations.

“I didn’t think we’d be doing arts and crafts today,” you joke, unfurling a particularly colorful garland.

Joel smiles. “Yeah, not exactly my forte, but we’ll make it work.”

You pick a banner out of the container, large enough to hang from one column to the other, and spot metal hooks screwed all the way up—clearly where it’s meant to go.

You notice a small ladder pushed against a corner and leave Joel’s side to fetch it.

He only seems to notice what you’re up to once he hears the ladder scraping against the column

“Leave it, I'll take care of that.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m not a lady in distress, I can hang up a banner on my own, Joel.” You reply stepping up on the ladder trying to test out its stability with a little bounce

“I know you can darlin’, but I’d rather do it myself. That ladder—”

“The ladder is fine, Joel. Go back to untangling those lights.” You’re not quite sure what you’re trying to prove – maybe this was an attempt at stripping away that childish image he had of you.

He disregards your comment and walks right to your side, his hands slightly stretched out like he's preparing to catch you.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you say climbing to the highest point of the ladder.

Sure, it’s old but if it held up this long it could hold for a little bit longer. “See? I’m just fine, I just gotta hook this up here…”

As if on cue, the ladder starts creaking ominously just as you stretch your arm out to reach the hook. Not half a second later, the rusty metal piece that was holding all your weight up snaps and Joel’s arms wrap around your body, pulling you safely against his chest.

For the second time that day, you could say that was the closest to Joel you’ve ever been. His face just inches away from yours, both arms holding you securely, the woody, musky scent your brain had labeled as uniquely his, overwhelming your senses.

Words failed you as you stared into those deep brown eyes, and every part of you wanted to believe it was just the shock of the fall, but it was getting harder and harder to keep shamelessly lying to yourself.

When he finally breaks the silence, it’s pretty much a lost battle. “Will you stop being so stubborn and let me help you now?”

“Favorite color”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Joel chuckles once again, and at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve pulled that off. With Joel Miller, even a small chuckle feels like a major accomplishment.

After spending the entire morning decorating the inside of the church (most of which you spent explaining to him he couldn’t mix the red decorations with the green ones because it wasn’t christmas), you were both assigned raffle duty. You sold the tickets and Joel put them in the big raffle draw, using the lever to mix them up as he went.

The two of you sat behind a little stand, and in your best attempt to hear as much as you could of that sweet, caramel-y drawl, you convinced him to play twenty-questions. Each of you took turns asking the other whatever popped into your heads, and the other had to answer honestly.

Your questions ranged from what animal he would choose to turn into if he could shapeshift at will, to his favorite subjects back in high school, and even who in your family he would take to a deserted island if he knew he’d have to partner up to make it out alive. (He picked you, obviously. Your dad was terrible at functioning in high pressure situations). His questions on the other hand had been generic at best, deadly boring at worst.

You leaned back in your chair, the wooden slats creaking under your weight, and gave him a playful glare.

“You said any question that popped into my head,” he defends himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh and you’re dying to know my favorite color, are you?” you ask back, dripping with sarcasm.

“I’ll lose sleep over it if you don’t tell me” his voice gets low and serious in complete contrast to how ridiculous his statement is.

“Blue,” you admit, “but not the default shade of blue everyone thinks of, more like a ‘clear water lake’ kind of blue” you look back at him and he just kind of stares, like he's too distracted by you to even register the answer to his question. “What’s your’s?” you ask, pulling him out of his trance.

“Brown.”

You laugh at his answer.

“Something funny?” he asks

“Only you, Joel Miller, would have brown as your favorite color.”

“It’s a perfectly normal favorite color.” He says defensively, a little frown creasing his features.

“Joel, it’s the most boring of colors, it’s not even a color in itself, it's all the colors mushed together.” you giggle at the absurdity of the conversation, leaning in closer, enjoying the banter more than you care to admit.

“It’s practical, goes well with everything, looks good in any house—an easy, simple color.”

“But your favorite color isn’t supposed to be about practicality, it’s supposed to be about which one you like the most.” You argue back.

“You tryna tell me how to pick my own favorite color, kid?” he teases you, receiving only a death stare in return.The warmth in his eyes makes your heart skip. “Fine, it’s green.”

“See? That's a normal favorite color”

“Yeah, and you’re a piece a’ work.” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips that tells you he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

Just like that, Joel Miller makes the rest of the day easy to get through. Even with the awkward feeling of being an outsider, looking through a window into a room full of people who’ve known each other their whole lives, he manages to ground you. He’s either pulling you into senseless conversation or letting you bask in a comfortable silence, and both feel like a lifeline.

By the end of the day, you walk around helping Ms. Calloway clear out the tables, throw all the empty cups and disposable plates into a trash back and group up the chairs so your dad can take them back inside.

During one of your ‘picking up leftover trash’ rounds, you see your mom standing next to Joel’s truck. He’s right beside her loadingback up the tools he’d brought with him this morning. You knew Joel was a lot colder and closed off with other people—that's what earned him his grump reputation in the first place—but in the short time you’ve been around him since you came back, you’ve never seen him be so stiff around anyone like he is with your mom.

That is certainly a rare sight, given your mom was one to charm any and everyone who crossed her path. Pageant queen, cheerleader, hair larger than life type—your mom is a sight for sore eyes, even you have to admit that. It was hard to engage in conversation with her and not be dazzled by her looks and also by her bubbly personality, or the persona she put on for others at least. It almost seemed like she hadn’t been told no once in her entire life.

But Joel seemed immune to it, no warm smile on his face, no polite small talk, not even gentleman-like behavior beyond the strictly necessary. In fact, something in his face told you he couldn’t wait to get on his truck and leave. He stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, every line of his body screaming discomfort.

You watch the two of them from a distance, your mom batting her eyelashes up at him, her body leaning towards him slightly, trying to close the gap he’s so obviously desperate to maintain. Meanwhile, Joel looks like he’s doing everything in his power to keep his distance, stepping closer and closer to his truck’s tailgate. His jaw is set like stone, eyes flicking to the side as if searching for an escape route, and you can almost see the tension radiating off him in waves.

Your mom leans in closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thinks is a conspiratorial whisper. Even from a distance, you can see Joel’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something like annoyance passing over his face before he schools his expression back to neutral.

An unshakable uneasiness tugs at your chest that won't allow you to walk away, against your best instincts you decide to barge in.

“Hey, Mom!” you chirp, sliding right up next to Joel. “I think Mrs. Calloway is looking for you. Something about the pies?”

Your mom turns to you with a bright smile, though there’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that’s hard to miss. “Oh, I’m sure she can manage without me for a moment,” she says, but you can tell she’s not thrilled about being interrupted.

Joel gives you a grateful look, his eyes meeting yours with a silent thanks. You catch a slight relaxation in his shoulders, like he’s the one being thrown a lifeline this time.

“Actually, Mom, she seemed really insistent,” you retort, trying to sell the urgency of the situation. “You know… with the wrapping things up and all.”

Your mom hesitates, her gaze flicking between you and Joel. Finally, she relents with a sigh, though the look she gives you says this conversation is far from over. “Alright, I’ll go see what she needs. But we’re not done talking about this, Joel,” she says, her voice carrying an edge that makes your skin crawl, before turning on her heel and striding away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Joel exhales a long breath. He extends you one more polite nod and jumps into the truck without another word. You don’t like the feeling it gives you, not one bit.

Before you can dwell too much in your thoughts, you hear your mom’s voice calling your name, and you turn to see her motioning for you to join her. Here comes the earful.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way over to her, bracing for the inevitable.

“Sweetheart,” she begins in a voice that’s both sugar and vinegar, “you really shouldn’t interrupt when adults are talking. It’s important to know your place.”

You nod, biting back the retort on the tip of your tongue. “I know, Mom. I just thought you might want to check on Mrs. Calloway.”

She narrows her eyes, as if trying to read your mind. “If you go around behaving like a heathen, it reflects poorly on me. You’d do well to remember that.”

You stare back at her, head high and an unfaltering cool facade. She used to intimidate you, this tone used to make you feel so small and insignificant, but it doesn’t anymore. Hasn’t for a good while now. “Got it,” you reply, forcing a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

#dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou joel #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #Hidden embers

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shadow4-1 · 10 months ago

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That lonely farm au with the guy's being barnyard animals is amazing! I'd love to see any other thoughts you have on it! I especially loved dramatic rooster Johnny- his comb being his Mohawk 😭❤️

Haha I'm glad you like it! I'm a Texas girl, and as such, adore barnyard animals. They're just so friend shaped! (Maybe I'll draw the 141 as farm animals at some point haha.)

I have lots of thoughts btw! I love all the hybrid!aus I've seen, but they can get a little squicky for me sometimes. Especially when the line between animal and human is blurred. So I decided to make something to where the 141 are animals at some points, and completely humans at other points.

I'm still on the fence of HOW I would go about writing it. I could write them as being cursed by a witch into being animals during the day and human at night (like Shrek lol) - but I'm not a big fantasy writer, I'd have to explain the magic. Perhaps they were experimented on and turned into animals - and whatever substance is wearing off? But that's kind of Sci Fi and I'd also have to make pseudo scientific explanations. I think the easiest one would be to make it a huge coincedence. Maybe the reader is a witch but doesn't know it - and makes a treat for her animals that turns them human (and it turns out all of her animals are just COD characters)? Or perhaps it's just a giant coincidence that a handsome group of soldiers show up on her doorstep looking for cover, and they just so happened to be named after her favorite animals?

I don't know, I'm stuck. But what I do know is that I like this "lonely farm au" as you put it! I think I picked the right animals to represent them. I guess the real question is-

#call of duty #mw2 #cod imagines #mw2 headcanons #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain price #kyle gaz garrick

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atomicrebelfire · 12 days ago

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Yes, to everything you said about the fandom Tiger that 911 fed for so long. I could never put it into words like you did! The show and especially the people doing the marketing for it have a hand in the state of the fandom. This is a network procedural, it is not prestige television on HBO that would warrant the amount of post episode media discussion that 911 does every week. It becomes a problem when the pronouncements of Tim post episode get treated like part of the story because he treats those interviews as extensions of the episode as if they are discussing deleted scenes. And I have to say to your point about the cast and writers drawing boundaries when things get toxic: I wish they would! I wish people involved with the show would show some kind of spine every now and then and follow up their complaining with actions. I can absolutely sympathize with Tim or Oliver about the harrassement of "fans" but rewarding this behaviour by engaging with them on social media, by insisting on the "everything is up to interpretation" line when you just had one character explicitly state their sexuality IN SHOW, gearing your marketing towards that crowd? No. This is literally just stoking the crazy and I don´t feel sorry if it bites them in the butt time and time again.

first of all, sorry it took me a minute to respond—been having one of those comedy-of-errors kind of days.

Thank you.....exactly this, Hard agree on everything you said. i don’t think even game of thrones had this much pre/post promo, lol.

and yeah, the part about Tim's interviews acting like deleted scenes? nailed it. it’s one of the big ways this show blurred the line between what’s story, commentary, and PR.

to build on what you said: it’s not just the writers or promo team. the main cast—especially the ones active online—have absolutely leaned into this too. Giving vague interviews, playing both sides and never showing support to guest cast. and when it spirals? suddenly it’s “fandom is toxic.”

and yeah… i’ll say it. i think OS enjoys being the center of speculation. the fake scripts, the blink-and-you-miss-it insta stories, the vague interviews—it keeps him the talk of the town. but when the conversation turns chaotic, he steps back. you can’t stoke the fire and then act surprised when it burns too hot.

harassment is never okay, full stop. fans are responsible for their actions but i also can’t feel too sympathetic when the show and cast helped create this dynamic—and now act surprised when it turns on them. this isn’t a one-sided problem. and they’re still running the same PR strategy.

and because that behavior was encouraged for so long—it’s now reached a point where some fans feel genuinely slighted that the story hasn’t gone the way they hoped.

Sorry for such long reply, i guess i spiraled too 😁🤣

#anon inbox #911 abc #anti buddie #fandom culture #911 discourse

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knives-and-narcissi · 2 years ago

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I genuinely think William’s real name is actually still William, just with a different surname.

Hear me out.

#1 — irony.

Remember the omake where Bonde asks him and he’s got his ☺️ face ‘that’s a secret, heh heh heh.’

Lol William is the biggest mischievous jokester going. This would be his exact reaction if people were asking like 👀 omg what is it?? And all along he’s like, lol will.i.am guys, chill. No-one cares about your first name, it’s your surname which means anything around here. You’ve all been barking up the wrong tree. Which brings me on to my second point ~

#2 — symbolism.

I cannot scream enough about how bloody genius it would be for William’s name to be, in fact, just William, but with a more common surname like ‘Smith.’ For the purposes of this discussion, let’s call him William Smith. As an orphan, he gets adopted into the family Moriarty, where there is in fact another William: Master William James Moriarty. Immediately, you have two boys of similar ages with the exact same first names, highlighting how, in fact, they should be equal if we’re looking at their basic information and identifiers. But what is it which sets them apart, and is the very message and theme running through the heart of Yuumori? Class inequality. And what dictated your social class at the time, so very unfairly? Your family lineage.

The name of Moriarty is what gives Albert’s little brother his superior, privileged position in life, over William ‘Smith.’ And yet, they are both young boys, both Williams, both should have the same sort of start in life in the equal world our William wishes to create. But they do not; the moment they are given their surnames — the moment those are penned on the paper of their birth records following ‘William’, the chasm that divides these boys is immense and unfair.

#3 — interesting coincidences, hints and clues in the text.

• William loves Shakespeare — that’s part of his identity in the same way being a mathematician is. He quotes Shakespeare all the time, he grew up in a library and has all of the plays memorised. Shakespeare’s first name was also William. Additionally, Shakespeare’s birthday is believed to be April 23rd. William’s birthday is listed as April 1st — April Fool’s Day, and it has been confirmed that this is a fake birthday, so we don’t know his real one currently. (But my guess is it’s still in April).

• The Moriarty’s never call William by his name, pre-fire, but the children at his orphanage do, and they call him Will.

At the Moriarty house, he is on the receiving end of more hate than Louis; they seem to despise him to the nth degree. I wonder if this might be because he shares a name with their precious William, and this irks them. They refuse to call him by his name because that doesn’t belong to him, filth from the streets, it belongs to their beloved son who can do no wrong.

I can see a mother like Lady Moriarty refusing to call another boy by the name she gifted her son, especially when William reminds her that there is something she had in common with his own mother — someone who she would view as completely beneath her: they chose the same name. What a disgrace, to be associated or viewed as having a similar mind to a woman of such low standing!?

We also see William only ever call William Moriarty with the title ‘master’ in front, as though he also feels the need to make the distinction. This could just be because he’s trying to be polite, though. I could honestly dissect the entire first chapter panel by panel and highlight how William being William is such a simple but perfect concept which highlights this noble family’s insecurities, discrimination and narrow mindedness. William Moriarty feels the need to constantly reaffirm his own identity in the presence of our William.

Because … if they share full names now, with the adoption … the lines are blurring. What makes one William Moriarty superior to the other? A worrying thought indeed for this boy. (Answer: there is no difference, they’re both equally deserving of opportunities in life.)

It all makes such perfect sense and explains away the awkwardness of the writer having to avoid use of William’s name simply because ‘it needs to stay hidden to create the mystery.’ This gives the characters themselves reason within the text to avoid using it, which makes everything so much more authentic and real. It makes sense because it does, not because it has to for the plot.

• William promised not to steal anything. Twice, we see him reassuring and then reaffirming that he wouldn’t steal anything, and both times are in the presence of William Moriarty.

If we want to take this statement in light of names, and toy with that lovely device foreshadowing, William having always shared the same first name would in fact mean that statement holds true — he did not steal William’s name; it was always his own to begin with, and Moriarty was a name given to him as part of his adoption, the same as it was given to Louis. He really didn’t steal anything, despite the fact that he was probably made to feel guilty or worthless every day because of the name he shared with William Moriarty.

This also means that William probably never actively deceived any of the townspeople, either; it really was just a case of mistaken identity which he manipulated for his own cause.

The townspeople made the mistake, rather than William outright lying. William is, by trade, more of a master manipulator who turns situations to his advantage with his quick thinking, rather than straight up lying or deceiving people (see: The Merchant of London.)

• Sherlock saw his birth name but never mentions it. And still chooses to call him Liam. Yes, we might’ve had a conversation happen off screen. Yes, Sherlock might choose to do that because that name is sentimental and William has asked not to be called his true name for reasons unknown. But it would fit so beautifully if William really is his name, and Sherlock’s realisation that day when he read the birth records was that oh, so this — William ‘Smith’ — is Liam’s real name. Naturally, he would continue to call him Liam with no discussion needed, because it’s a shortened version of William.

• We have lots of characters who share the name William, but with different variations on the shortened version; another symbol of how people can be equal in some senses but also their identity can be individual to them also. William H Bonney is Billy the Kid, the mathematics genius William and Sherlock stumble upon in Durham is called Bill Hunt.

#4 — practicality and marketing.

People become attached to characters and their names, and there comes a certain point in a work where it’s very difficult to alter a character’s first name and still retain a fan base’s sense of identity for that character. Calling William say, Robert, from now on, or revealing that as his true name while we continue to see him referred to as William is all sorts of confusing, emotionally. Perhaps it’s just me. But the idea that I’ve been calling William the wrong name all along feels off and sad, whereas the knowledge that he’s at least been able to keep that part of himself consistent, when everything else has had to be an act, is actually really comforting and empowering.

I’d love to write another thought dump on why William being William all along is also, so very emotionally delicious when you explore the implications in the story; it’s heartbreaking and makes him an even more sympathetic character who I just wanna hug, so perhaps I’ll come back to this! Because re-reading those earlier chapters with this in mind really hurts so good.

He stole nothing; he was always the true William, that at least is one thing that always belonged to him — it was only society and us that dictated there was one William worth knowing more — was more interesting and held more narrative power — than the other.

This is still William’s story.

#william james moriarty #william moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuumori #William Moriarty analysis #meta #Yuumori analysis #Moriarty the patriot analysis #meta analysis

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rallentando1011 · 1 year ago

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hi! Saw the inbox was open, and wondering if I could slide in with a rise donnie boy x readerone-shot..

So essentially- donnie is STEM smart right? What if- what if reader was the opposite, like lit/history smart? Like, reads a lot, and almost never puts there book down, even when people talk to them (puts it down for donnie and gives him their full attention tho-) knows a lot about almost any point in history and adores archeology. (The only thing they understand when donnie goes science mode is biology.)

And so what if- what if reader, who's oblivious to almost everything and is a huge hopeless romantic bc of ✨️books✨️, decides to try and come up with ideas to ask donnie out in a more STEM way? But like, before they can donnie sees the list and is just like "smh ur math is atrocious/aff" and then fluffy stuff yaknow??

Lol sorry, went on a tangent. Anywhizzle, love ur writing! Don't forget to take a break, stretch and get some food and water if you need to!Have a good morning/evening/night!!! :))

U + Me = Date?

(this took a minute, but it’s such a fun and sweet request that I had a wonderful time with! Tysm, and please make sure that you’re taking care of yourself as well! Enjoy! Request guidelines are located here btw) Word Count: 2371

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

Everything on earth has a niche, a designated function it gets to act out, a role it gets to fill. The Cape May Warbler, Bay-Breasted Warbler, and Yellow-Rumped Warbler have the top middle and bottom of a spruce tree to eat in, respectively. Humanity has its niche of expansion, whether it be out through the globe or up in towering metropolises.

If you had to specify your niche, it would just about have to be reading. Now, of course your life is filled with numerous aspirations, but your multifarious interests can all be classified under your affinity for books.

Any form of literature, thrillers, epics, romance novels, they all did it for you, enveloped the entirety of your attention in an immersive world.

That was without a doubt: they entertained you.

At least, they made you feel inspired to do things, take action in your personal life, possibly commit to confessing certain feelings to a certain softshell turtle. Actually committing to the bit, though, was a completely different story.

In the extensive library you had under your belt, there were many a meet cute and innovative confession. However, just because it worked out in literature, it didn’t mean that you could actually do it. What if it ended up weird or cringe or downright friendship shattering?

The status quo was comfortable, subsisting off of shared time in your turtle-in-question’s lab, the two of you simultaneously performing your own tasks. You would sit and enrich yourself with a book, Donnie would tinker until he had something that piqued his interest, which happened rather frequently, and your attention would suddenly be on him. It was simple. It worked. Taking action could complicate things.

So, your inspiration remained squandered by doubt, an inkling of hope staying concealed internally.

At least, inspiration wouldn’t make anything occur unprompted, and, luckily, that nudge came swiftly.

Earlier, as you were straight chilling in a cozy bean bag chair in the lair’s living room, you saw Donnie enter the room out of your peripheral vision. However, he only seemed like a purple blur because your attention was on the thick, dense book sitting on your lap. The cover was of a similar slickness and feel to that of a textbook, the size was as well, but this read was solely for entertainment. The content could practically be summed up as history of the entire world, i guess but fleshed out with more anecdotes and primary sources.

You had been soaking in a finely written excerpt entailing early hominid tool use, accompanied by an image of a related artifact, when you felt a presence leaning over your shoulder. You opted to continue your train of thought through the lines until you heard a familiar timbre clear its throat behind you. With a sigh, you placed a finger on your spot and faced one Donatello.

“Something the matter?” You blinked slowly.

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugged, expression seeming intentionally cool, “just checking out the book choice for today.”

You lifted the book from your lap to display the contents to him.

His eyes skimmed over the page before he grinned slightly. “Ah, prehistoric archaeology? I could dig it.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep your thought from spilling out of your mouth before ultimately giving in to your amusing whims. “Leo ahh humor.”

Donnie gaped. “Gasp, you wound me. I rescind my statement and shall not be partaking in any archaeological reading-slash-discussion with you.”

“I’m just messing around, ‘Tello. I can dabble in some crude wordplay.”

“Crude?”

“Crude. Heck, I’d bargain to say that was more archaic than the sector of human history I’m in right now, and they don’t even have wheels.”

He raised a curious brow, visibly less offended. You could work with that.

“Rather intriguing. Care to join me?” You patted the ample space on the bean bag next to you.

Curiously, he stared at you, then the space you were offering, and back, before slipping beside you.

“Care to enlighten me on this subject?” he parried, and with a grin, you were off, describing the main theme of the page, the early development of primates and humans, as well as outside archaeological examples that you knew of, the whole nine yards.

As you rambled on, you locked eyes with him occasionally, and his eyes were intrigued saucers every time you did. It made something in your brain click.

He played along with your banter. He was sitting right beside you, absorbing your words so vehemently and genuinely and ohmigosh this guy of all people wouldn’t judge you for trying something that could be weird. Heck, he’s a fanatic of oddities, anything mystic or scientific, so if he didn’t like you asking him out, at the very least he’d admire the effort. So, you were inspired to try something, finally take some action.

You were going for it.

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

You set to work on your asking-out endeavor as soon as you arrived home.

At first you tried looking at STEM-related pickup lines.

Sardonically, of course. You wanted something that got your point across without seeming too vulnerable, something you could play off in the scenario you got completely and irrevocably rejected.

“I less than three you… That’s not that bad,” you scrolled through the results of your search, perched at your kitchen table.

You only made it down the list to ‘the square root of all my fantasies is you’ until you actually needed to call it quits on that route. There was a fine line between being intentionally corny and the monstrosity that was that line.

So you took the next completely logical leap: concocting a page full of intricate mathematical and scientific questions, the answers of which spelled out an encrypted message.

It was the sane thing to do.

4 1 20 5 20 15 13 15 18 18 15 23 ?

D A T E T O M O R R O W ?

You scribbled the message on a scrap piece of paper. You entertained the idea of writing a whole sentence, but just these two words covered the gist clearly and concisely. Plus, coming up with questions for only two words was enough to melt your brain.

“Limit as x approaches sixteen of the square root of x… equals… yeah, four. That works,” you mumbled. “One down,” you sucked in a deep breath, “eleven to go. Crud.”

The next few hours blended together aimlessly, riddled with just about every mathematical scenario you could conjure up. Sure, derivatives and Planck’s Constant and the unit circle (the bane of your existence) were all ambitious topics to have on the totally inconspicuous worksheet, but, to quote a phrase, go big or go home. When in Rome also works.

By the time you reached ungodly hours in the night, you had curated a functional way to surprise and ask out your best friend. With your brain oozing out of your ears, you put the paper somewhere safe and collapsed face down on your bed.

You would have mentally prepared yourself to give him the paper tomorrow if not for the calculus-derived headache already splitting your mind.

Instead, you immediately dozed off.

You could deal with the minutiae of tomorrow… tomorrow.

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

The next day when you waltzed into the lair, he was conveniently seated at the desk in his lab.

“Heya D! I come bearing gifts.” You presented him with the paper as coolly as you could, keeping all the panic and nerves internal, and took up the chair beside him.

“A calculus sheet?” He grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”

After a moment of looking at it, however, his eyes dimmed and smile lessened. “...You shouldn’t have.”

You faltered. “Oh, gosh, is it that bad?”

“Which letter corresponds with negative one?”

“What?” you exclaimed. “Oh nononono no, I checked my math like five times, it’s not even possible-”

“The derivative of cosine theta is negative sine theta. Not positive. Simple mistake, really. It was a valiant effort of- whatever you were trying to do.”

You blinked, smacked your lips. Well, that was the end of that. You would just take your leave and move out of the city and change your name and never feel anything again. Easy.

“Just forget I did anything, forget this paper exists- like, what paper even?” You reached for the sheet of paper only for him to use the mechanical extensions on his battle shell to hold it out of your reach.

“No, my interest is piqued,” he smirked. You could almost feel the mischievousness emanating from him. “I will gladly continue, if you do not mind.”

You complied and sat stiffly, anxiously glancing about the lab, until you saw him pick up a utensil and start marking on the paper.

“Are you correcting it with a pen? Are you seriously grading this right now?” you muttered. You weren’t mad, just thoroughly panicked.

He stopped writing momentarily. “What? No, not grading, per say. This is just how I’m deciphering this.”

You knew that tone and you knew that was a lie.

“I- ugh,” you flopped your head down on his desk and closed your eyes. “Just tell me when you’re done fixing it. I spent a needlessly long amount of time on this just for it to be terrible.”

He didn’t deny that it was terrible, though you excused that to him being busy and hopefully not him agreeing.

Although, with how quickly his pen was scratching marks on the page, the latter seemed more feasible.

You focused on taking deep, steadying breaths, relaxing to the sounds of the busy pen until it suddenly stopped.

Lifting your head from its place, you saw he had completely stilled, staring at the paper with wide eyes and upturned lips.

“What? Did you spot another comically egregious mistake?” you mumbled, halfway intrigued.

He took another few seconds to answer you. “Something like that.” And with that nothingness of an answer, he started writing again, much more fervently.

“Okay then.” You went to put your head down again before he slammed the paper down before you.

“Boom! Here is the revised and finalized version of the worksheet,” he grinned.

You narrowed your eyes at the comments about your inability to include units, corrections on when something was supposed to be negative, but the markings at the bottom of the page were what caught your attention the most.

When you looked at the corner of the page, you saw an odd combination of zeros and ones.

01101111 01101000 00100000 01111001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101

“Actually, what is this?” You gestured to the code.

“It’s my response.”

“And you had to put it in binary?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk in codes.” He sounded frustratingly nonchalant.

“Yeah, but-” you considered asking him to directly tell you, but maybe this was slightly less nerve wracking. Ripping off the bandaid be darned, you took the coward’s way out and pulled out your phone. “Man, I let you get away with way too much stuff. Has this interaction not dragged on painstakingly enough?”

“The greater the hardship, the greater the reward,” he commented with a shrug.

That pleasant surprise of a response made you copy the ones and zeros faster into the binary decoding website you’d searched up.

Just as you had everything in and your finger steadied over the button that would tell you what he was saying, you hesitated, steadied yourself with a deep breath, and hit it.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of adrenaline and euphoria that washed over you at seeing his answer.

“Ohmigosh, you’re serious?! Because you cannot be joking like this, Donatello.”

“As the plague.” One of his hands rested on his chest, the other was in the air as if taking an oath.

“Haha, yes!” you cheered, spinning the desk chair you were in. The late night and headache had paid off, and it felt great!

“So, where am I accompanying you tomorrow?” He mused.

Immediately, you paused. You’d only spent time thinking about the part where you ask him out, not the actual going out part.

“Where? Uhh, I hadn’t really gotten to that point of the planning stage.”

“You were too focused on biffing a math paper to actually plan out its intended purpose?”

“Yeah, not my brightest decision, nor my best work. It was a rather dumb decision on my behalf.”

“You are a dum-dum, but just because of how needlessly complex you made this, not because of your mathematical errors.”

“I genuinely don’t know if I should take offense to that or not.”

“Maybe you should be thinking about where we’re going tomorrow? Just a thought.”

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, uhh coffee?”

“A little trite for a first date, no?” Donnie propped his elbow up on the desk and rested his chin on his hand, smiling widely.

“Okay then, coffee and we go to the library?”

“Don’t we normally do that anyway? What about it makes it a ‘da-”

“Donnie, I am running on fumes from making the erroneous atrocity that is that worksheet last night. If you don’t have any suggestions, coffee at the library works. If you have a contribution, go right ahead.” You put your hands up in surrender.

Donnie’s smugness faded slightly and he lightly nudged your elbow. “Coffee at the library sounds great. And for what it’s worth, I appreciate that you tried to do something innovative. It was truly a highly admirable effort.”

“Thanks, D.”

“Of course. But from now on, let’s leave the math to the professionals.”

There it was again: the sass.

“Oh, that’s a low blow.” You shook your head, still smiling.

“A low blow would be mentioning how you confused the natural logarithm for a standard logarithm. You see, when you have e to the power of…”

The corrections and banter flourished on from there, the both of you giggling and getting mockingly, lightheartedly angry with each other.

Despite your interests in different subjects, the two of you understood each other. It was wonderful to have a partner that you could be niche with wherever and whenever.

It was almost worth all the math and science it took to get there.

(I actually made inconspicuous math worksheet that reader made for Donnie, and it is linked HERE!)

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #save rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt #rise season 3 #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #save rise of the turtles #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt x reader #rise donatello x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donatello #oneshot #ask response #100

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fantasy-nerdddd · 5 months ago

Text

I'm probably not going to have any memory of this tomorrow since it's about 2:30 AM here but, I find it weird how almost every comparison in the classic "When does a cabbage comet become a meteor" verse is not just something that is reasonable or welcome at first and then destroys, but something more.

When does a comet become a meteor?

comets are just there, going around, doing the job. However, meteors fall on planets and moons, destroying part or all of it while they are destroyed too

When does a candle become a blaze?

As a fire forms and spreads around a building, or maybe part of a building, the heat melts everything, and the candle is not exempt. The blaze was the reason that everything, including the candle itself, was burned.

When does a man become a monster?

The monster is transformed from the man. As it kills and injures other people, monsters come and destroy their shells as they (d)evolve into monstrosity before they become violent. The monster who was once a man is the first to come down.

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

Ripples are just steady small waves. As they become overly strong tidal waves, they eat up everything around them. Then, they go back, becoming even less significant than their beginning forms, since it's further from the beach than the usual tide. In some ways, it renders itself useless as it uses up all its power, and yes, it reappears, but not as quickly.

When does the reason become the blame?

Admittedly, I don't really understand what this lyric is supposed to symbolise. I see it as how the reason one does something bad later becomes the proof one needs to be blamed for said evil deed. Also, it's convenient lol (sleep deprivation pretty much?). Or that you cannot blame someone when you realise they're the reasonable ones, hence the line is blurred, making it so that the reason disappears as the blame is why something bad happens, pushing reasoning aside although that's what it stemmed through. See where I'm going with this?

All of those lyrics, in some way represent how something destroys not only others, but also itself. It blends in with No Longer You: just because everyone from the crew has died, doesn't mean that Ody is unharmed. Nor that by becoming more monstrous, he doesn't also destroy himself. It's the whole point of the song, and the theme of Epic; ruthlessness isn't mercy upon ourselves. In the case of someone who doesn't start out ruthless, it destroys them. Changes, I guess, but is anyone going to argue that being ruthless is good in general (not in the story. I agree, ruthlessness was necessary in Epic)?

This is either the most obvious thing ever or like those analysis by English teachers that find symbolism in pure coincidence and extreme generalisations. The later one, I fear lmao

#epic #epic musical #epic the musical #epicthe musical #epicthemusical #epic the musical shitpost #epic the musical odysseus #the troy saga #epic the troy saga #epic the underworld saga #the underworld saga #just a man #monster epic #monster #Guys is it obvious that this is just a 3 am thought?#I literally put no thought into it

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velnna · 2 years ago

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How do you post so much beautiful art so fast! I’m amazed!

Is it pretty streamline for you now or like do you have tricks up your sleeve to speed the process?

For me it take a few days to make one of those pieces even the memes! So I am in awe

It's a mix of things tbh. Part of it is I worked on my webtoon without missing deadlines for 2+ years (I'm missing them all now but it's for a good cause lol). Which involved making 60-70 panels every week heh. It both made me really quick and less perfectionist, which ultimately cut down the time I used to spend second-guessing things like composition or cleanliness.

Part of it is I streamlined my process in a way that means as long as I have a background reference (or, for instance, screenshots/royalty-free images I can blur out) I colour things in like 10min. I always use the same ish layer combination, automatic actions, etc

I also work at sizes so small that they force me to not even think about detailing or clean lines, and use pencil brushes that make that still kinda work ✏️

Plus I ALWAYS sketch ideas when they come to my head then close the canvas, so at any given point I'm sitting on a pile of WIPs ready to speedrun haha

#q&a

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darcytaylor · 6 months ago

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It is tiring, is it not, trying to be a voice of reason in a fandom hell-bent on indulging in anything but? I admire your conviction and constancy, you're a stronger soldier than I.

Day after day I log in, finding very little in the fandom that interests me. I deleted my original blog because I was getting hate in my inbox on one hand and getting blocked by certain accounts then getting shit-talked by them on the other and people telling me about it. I don't need something like that in my life, especially not about something as inconsequential as a bloody TV show. Now I just mostly observe and occasionally slide into the ask box of people like you.

I think it's important to realize that at its core, this isn't about the show or Nic or Luke at all, it's about people meeting emotional needs by latching onto a piece of comfort media. A lot of the more extreme accounts in the fandom seem to be run by people with substantial trauma who are just trying to cope with the realities of life by rejecting them. It's unfortunate that they're taking it out on real people who just happen to be actors, but my hope is that the outlandishness of the claims makes it very easy for Nic and Luke to dismiss them outright and protect their peace.

I've been protecting my peace as well by not engaging. It just... It doesn't matter that much, none of this does. It's just entertainment. One day, people will delete their blogs, Tumblr will cease to exist, and so will the Universe, eventually. Not to get all existential on you lol, but everything that's ever been created and will ever be created will fade into irreversible nothingness. Do we really want to spend the limited time we have on Earth having bad experiences, especially unnecessary ones? The answer for me is no. But if other people are choosing this distress, it's not for me to tell them not to. It is their job to protect their own peace, if they so wish. And if they don't - well, it's their life to waste.

Appreciate you and hope we get more good career news from Nic and Luke soon! Have a good one.

Well, this is a thoughtful and introspective ask. Thank you for taking the time to share this, and for your kind words. It can definitely feel exhausting sometimes, trying to keep a level head in a space that can be so volatile and toxic. (I wouldn’t call myself the voice of reason - I’m just a human trying to be a positive presence online). But messages like yours remind me why I try - because there are people out there quietly observing, navigating the chaos in their own way, and some who may find some value in what I share.

I completely understand your decision to step back and protect your peace. That’s a smart move, and honestly, a much healthier one in a lot of ways. I’m sorry you had to deal with hate and gossip - it’s so disheartening how a space meant to bring joy can spiral into something so toxic. Like I’ve said before, if you don’t like a take you come across that isn't hurting anybody, there’s no need to respond in a hateful way (I do it all of the time!). People don’t need to belittle others for thinking differently. That doesn’t create an environment where everyone can actually enjoy themselves, learn, or connect. Instead, it just breeds hostility and defensiveness. And when people feel attacked, they’re less likely to engage in meaningful ways and more likely to retaliate. It’s just a vicious cycle of negativity, and no one wins in the end.

You bring up a good point about fandoms being a way for people to meet emotional needs (I mean I guess that's one of the reasons why I'm here). It’s such a bittersweet thing. On one hand, fandoms can be this amazing space for creativity and connection, but it can also turn into an unhealthy escape for some. Like you said, when this need for comfort becomes fixated on, it can lead to harmful projections - where the lines between fantasy and reality blur, and the people involved, like Nicola and Luke, are treated as though they’re part of that escape, instead of being real individuals.

I'm sure that Nicola and Luke are able to dismiss the more extreme stuff. I imagine that as public figures, they’ve probably had the opportunity to get some training or support to help them deal with everything that comes with fame - whether it’s media training, social media strategies, or just leaning on the people around them. They should hopefully have the tools they need to manage.

It’s a bit of a comfort to think that the more outlandish claims might be easier for them to brush off though, but it’s still a shame that they even have to deal with it in the first place. It’s a good reminder for all of us to try to approach spaces like this with more care and awareness.

Your existential perspective makes sense, none of this will matter in the grand scheme of things. What does matter is how we spend our time and the experiences we choose to let into our lives.

Thank you for your kind words and for this reminder about the bigger picture. Take care of yourself, and know that your choice to protect your peace is something to be admired.

Bring on more good news from Nicola, Luke and the rest of the Bridgerton cast! ❤️

#bridgerton #luke newton #nicola coughlan

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hordraomin · 2 years ago

Text

Krita tutorial the way I know it.

Basics: What is where.

Gimmicks.

Specific advice on specific tools.

Basics: What is where.

Upon opening the program this is what you're met with. First of all, must comment: The layout is HEAVILY editable so you can just drag menus anywhere you want, even leave them floating amidst the sheet you're drawing on.

You can create custom art templates, I have two o'mine here as both have my signature background color.

As well, you can edit the custom document settings, as in what size you want it, what resolution, even the initial content of the image. As well you can create from clipboard: Just copy some image from your browser and Krita will recognize it (useful for making meme edits lol).

Now, once you have your file, I will show you what is where.

Brushes:

Brushes are easy to edit and there are tons of free bundles to download online. I myself only got one bundle, Jackpack (bit hard to find now due to original source being lost, it is still available but bit tricky to come by).

There. Are. Tons.

Some of these are my custom brushes for calligraphy in neography, you might even guess which ones. You can edit existing brushes, make new ones from the ones you've edited without changing the original, and all sorts of stuff (more below in the third chapter).

There are numerous packages of brushes once you enter Krita, but only one/two are available when you first open it. To unlock them all, click here:

And make sure all bundles are dark gray in color (example of both dark and light below).

Now Tools Options: those will pop up depending on what tool you're using.

Symmetry: Fun stuff. You can drag the lines depending on how you need them and then center them back to the center of the screen if needed.

Gradients and Textures also have their tools options, you can play with those to get the feeling what they can do (more in third chapter).

The Filters tab is useful too. Blurring, motion blurring, color mapping, artistic filters and all that: Quite fun.

Gimmicks.

Krita allows you to customize your workspace freely. Floating menus, tabs, anything you want. It has quite many drivers at that-

To access the workspace templates, go to Window and choose Workspace.

Krita allows for copy-pasting any image onto the sheet. Though, for me it sometimes crashes if I accidentally copy-paste text into it without choosing the Text tool first.

The software allows for both raster and vector work. It is basically Photoshop sharpened to be used by artists primarily.

There are some interesting mechanics regarding the Eraser (default bind E).

You can use it with any brush, allowing for textured erasure/quick work. Good for sketching.

You can use it on gradients (given there's a transparent point on the gradient preset).

There's a Multibrush tool:

People say Krita is good for animation but my brain can't wrap around it yet honestly @~@.

The keybinds:

B - Brush tool.

E - Erase tool option.

M - Mirror (useful for checking accuracy from a new angle).

Ctrl - Color pick (when used with brush or other color-using tools).

Shift+L.Mouse+drag - Changes the size of the brush by dragging left and right.

Ctrl+E - Merge layer with the one below.

Ctrl+G - Group selected layers.

Ctrl+A - Select whole sheet.

Ctrl+Shift+A - Deselect everything.

F - Bucket tool.

G - Gradient tool.

Ctrl+S - Save document.

Ctrl+Shift+S - Save As document.

Ctrl+N - New document.

Ctrl+O - Open document (will be seen in a new tab on top of the sheet).

Ctrl+C - Copy selected layer or selection.

Ctrl+X - Cut selected layer or selection.

Ctrl+V - Paste copied/cut layer or selection.

Q - Multibrush tool.

R.Mouse - Interesting thing: Opens up a quick selector for brushes and colors you've already used in the piece.

1 - Zoom 100%.

2 - Zoom to fit the piece vertically.

3 - Zoom to fit the piece horizontally.

4, 5, 6 - Turn 15 degrees (4 and 6) or undo the turning whatsoever (5).

Ctrl+I - Negative filter applied to layer.

Ctrl+U - Color editing on the layer.

Ctrl+Y - Soft proofing mode (for color mistakes and stuff like that, mostly annoying for me tbh).

Ctrl+T - Transform selection/layer.

Ctrl+R - Square select tool.

Ctrl+J - Lasso select tool.

Honestly you can just hover your mouse over tools and see their shortcut binds, as well. Or edit them in Settings.

Specific advice on specific tools.

Brush:

Brush editor is a great tool for making custom brushes, and it even has a sratchpad to test them out. Lots of settings, but no need to be afraid; Most of them you might never use on purpose.

Use Brush Smoothing for great and pretty lines in lining pieces or making calligraphy.

Gradient:

The four icons to the right top are:

Mirror gradient.

Arrange by lightness value.

Arrange by color value.

Space the stops evenly.

Click the gradient to add a new stop. The three things to the left are:

Make the stop use Primary Color.

Make the stop use Secondary Color.

Make the stop use a fixed color.

#krita #krita tutorial #art #art tutorial #tutorial #hordraomin

313 notes · View notes

stolenslumber · 2 years ago

Text

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes (pjs)

Jay needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend, and you’re just the person for the job— seriously, you’re almost a professional at this point, regularly charming the families of your idiot twin’s friends who need your help getting their parents off their back. Of course, leave it up to Jay to blur the lines of your fake relationship so smoothly that you catch real feelings; falling in love has never been this easy.

PAIRING: park jongseong x female reader GENRE: acquaintances to partners in crime to fake dating to lovers i guess? lol, college au, vaguely greek life au, vaguely rich kid au, fluff fluff fluff, jake is the mc’s twin bc i thought it would be funny WARNINGS: swearing, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: 14.4k A/N: ik the ages don't line up here shhhh just ignore that okay

NOW AVAILABLE: hang your head low in the glow (companion fic/follow-up)

“WHY DO YOU LOOK SO NICE?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You scoff, tossing the apple you were just about to eat at Jake’s head. Annoyingly, he catches it in mid-air, then makes a show out of polishing it with his shirt and taking a big bite out of it. “Hey, I was going to eat that, asshole.”

“Shouldn’t have thrown it at me, then.”

You roll your eyes at your twin, then go to retrieve another apple from the fruit bowl. It’s surprisingly well-stocked, given that you’re in a frat’s kitchen. Honestly, it’s surprising that there even is a fruit bowl in a frat’s kitchen, but the president of this frat runs a tight ship.

Said president appears in the doorway just then, snatching the apple from your hands as well as the one from Jake’s hands. “Guys, seriously, you have to wash these before you eat them.”

You and Jake both whine simultaneously. “Chan!”

“I already took a bite out of that, bro,” Jake complains.

“I’m starving; please have mercy,” you beg.

Chan whips his head around from where he’d begun washing the apples in the sink to fuss at you. “What? Why haven’t you eaten yet? It’s almost 9pm!”

“Which reminds me— why do you look so nice?” Jake repeats.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you sigh.

“You can just say you were pretending to be his girlfriend; we all know what you mean,” Jake snorts.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you repeat, resisting the urge to throw another apple at Jake’s head. “It was at this ballroom downtown, and of course he had nothing to wear, so I had to take him shopping first, which made us late, and then his parents wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about how I need to convince him to give up the music major, so I couldn’t touch any of the food there. Not even the foie gras torchon,” you recall mournfully. “We just got back, like, five minutes ago.”

Chan hums sympathetically— he knows how much you love foie gras torchon. “You can probably ask for an endless supply in return for your appearance at today’s thing,” he suggests, only half-joking. It absolutely sounds like the kind of thing Mark Lee would agree to, what with his ridiculously large inheritance and hapless generosity (last month, Mark lost thousands of dollars in some animal shelter-related pyramid scheme, marketed to him by none other than Lee Haechan).

You wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m keeping Mark’s favor for something else.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “What else?”

“Whatever it turns out I need in the future, dumbass. What’s it to you, anyways?”

“Just wanna make sure the poor guy doesn’t end up trapped in your snares forever, little sis. Yo, can I have that apple back?” Jake turns to Chan with characteristic puppy eyes.

“You’re only older than me by eight minutes,” you grumble, the age-old retort slipping out of you before you can help it.

“No, Jaeyun, you cannot. And don’t talk to your sister like that— oh my god, why do I sound like Taeyong,” Chan mutters, thinking about his predecessor frat-president-slash-mother-hen.

“Jeez, government name and everything.” Jake holds his hands up, relinquishing his claim to the apple.

“In fact, your sister gets to have both of these apples, after I clean and cut them up, because she is a saint for continuing to save our asses from our parents like this,” Chan lectures, unceremoniously carving out the chunk of the apple with Jake’s bite marks and tossing it into the trash bin.

“Real ones get it!” You reach out and high-five Chan.

“That is so unfair, c’mon, man!” Jake splutters. “She gets just as much out of these fake relationships— seriously, didn’t you drive her around everywhere for, like, a month after she went to that wedding with you?”

Both you and Chan shudder at the memory. “Ugh, my worst cousin and the worst guy he was ever with. They’re still married, by the way.” Chan shakes his head. “God knows why.”

“Love conquers all…?” Jake offers.

“What the hell are you talking about love for,” a new voice grumbles. Park Jongseong strolls in through the doorway, hands full with plastic bags promising wonderful things based on how your stomach reacts to the smell.

“Oh, hell yeah, chicken!” Jake cheers. “Took you long enough, bro.”

“Traffic was hell; something about a ball downtown, and— oh. Hey.” Jay stops abruptly at the sight of you, now munching on the apple slices Chan hands you, one by one.

You wave vaguely in his direction, too busy eating to respond. Jay is one of your brother’s friends who you don’t know that well, since you’ve never pretended to be his girlfriend. It’s strange that you two don’t know each other better, actually— as the social chairs of your sorority and his fraternity, respectively, you would usually have a lot to work on together. But this year has been particularly busy for you, what with your senior thesis and your various things with Jake’s frat brothers, and you had delegated most of your social chair responsibilities to your co-chair, Yunjin, who was far better suited to the social part of the job, anyways. You suspected Jay had done the same thing, since the two of you only ever texted to confirm budgets for any joint events.

“You need to have more than one-and-three-quarters of an apple for dinner,” Chan scolds you, parental instincts back in full force.

You shrug, about to turn around and rifle through the cabinets to see if you can find some peanut butter to add to your apple slices when a takeout container appears in front of you. Tired and still starving, you react rather slowly, your eyes tracing up the hand on the container to the veins of an arm belonging to none other than Jay.

“You look hungry,” is all he says, before popping the container open for you and rearranging the rest of the plastic bags on the counter. “Jake, tell the others to come down for food.”

The others means that soon, there will be an influx of hungry frat brothers in the kitchen, and you have no desire to be anywhere near that, so you mumble a quick thank you to Jay, plop the rest of the apple slices into the takeout container (against Chan’s complaints about the contamination), and move to leave the kitchen, eager to be on your way to your sorority house.

The last thing you overhear before you leave is Jay asking, “Why did your sister look so nice?”, and Jake and Chan responding in unison, “She had a thing.”

A few days later, when they’re doing work in the library, Jay asks Jake, “So how long have Mark and your sister been seeing each other?”

Jake’s pencil jerks across his graph paper, a jagged line appearing on the page at the same time that he swears. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Jay echoes flatly. “Didn’t you say she had a thing with Mark?”

Jake blinks. “Well, sure, in the same way that she’s had a thing with Chan, and Yeonjun, and Vernon, and all the others.”

Jay gapes at him. “Your sister dated all of them? And all the others?”

“What, no, she didn’t date them, she fake-dated them! Just a couple of times, mainly showing up to things with their families so their parents would leave them alone about finding a partner and all that. You know how the parents are.” Jake gestures vaguely, referring to the oddities of the world of wealth they were born into.

Jay nods slowly, understanding dawning upon him. Does he know how the parents are? Oh, does he ever. He has always had a good relationship with his own, but they had been more pushy on the whole love thing as of late, with the not-at-all subtle questions his mother asks about any special someones in his life and the unfunny jokes his dad cracks about how he’s still spry enough to help raise grandchildren. Especially unfunny, given the health scare his dad had given them all in the last year.

Jake’s voice brings him out of his veering-towards-morbid thoughts. “But seriously, bro, how is this news to you? My sister’s been doing this… Cinderella-genie thing for two years now.”

Jay’s eyebrows furrow. “Cinderella-genie thing?”

“Yeah, I mean, she transforms our frat brothers into respectable young men with a respectable relationship, but only for three occasions, and she gets the same number of favors back.” Jake wrinkles his nose. “It sounds weird when I say it like that, and don’t get me wrong, I love to give her shit for it, but it’s all above-board stuff. Sunghoon bought her bubble tea for like, three months. Oh, and no one’s allowed to catch feelings, so everything ends clean and neat.”

“She fake-dated Sunghoon?”

At the mention of his name, Sunghoon pops one side of his headphones off. “What’s up?”

“You fake-dated Jake’s sister!?”

Sunghoon shushes him before responding. “Yeah, don’t you remember? It was a couple of months ago.”

Jay’s ears flush, both at how loud he had unconsciously gotten, and at the reminder that he really has been out of it for a while now. It’s not like he’s been living under a rock, but he has definitely been spending a lot more time with his parents and away from his friends ever since his dad’s health scare.

“She was great, though,” Sunghoon continues. “My mom still thinks I made the biggest mistake of my life ‘letting her go.’ But she’s also been leaving me alone about ‘finding love’ because she thinks I’m heartbroken, so yeah, Jake’s sister works wonders.”

Jake smirks. “Sim genes, man. Elite stuff.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “You wish. Didn’t I hear your mom yelling at you on the phone the other day for not having settled down yet?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Does she not realize what decade this is, I mean, we’re still in college—”

Jay interrupts what looks to be the beginning of a long rant from Jake, cutting him off with, “So where can I sign up?”

Jake stares blankly at him. “Sign up for what?”

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

Sunghoon scrunches his face awkwardly. “Uh, she kind of has a waitlist, buddy.”

Jay waits for him to laugh and say he’s just kidding, but he doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t do the fake-dating thing for multiple people at the same time, and she’s pretty busy with all her shit, so I’m not sure how long of a queue you have ahead of you…”

“Okay, but Jake could get me ahead, right? Cut the line, or something? C’mon dude, I’m your best friend.” Jay is suddenly desperate, remembering the conversation he’d had with his mom on the phone last night, where she had dreamily recalled meeting his dad in college and delicately reminded Jay that he could have a plus-one to the Parks’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary celebration.

Jake eyes his friend warily. “I dunno, she really doesn’t like stuff like that. Unfair advantages, I mean.”

“My parents aren’t getting any younger, Jake, and you know, with my dad last year and everything…” Jay does his best approximation of batting his eyelashes at Jake.

“Are you guilt-tripping me?”

“A little?” Jay’s smile turns a little maniacal. “For real, my parents have their 50th wedding anniversary coming up, and it would be the perfect event to bring her to so I can reassure them that things are going well in my love life.”

“Are things going anywhere in your love life?” Sunghoon’s tone is skeptical, and reasonably so.

Jay has been distant lately because of his family, but even before that, he had always been known as somewhat aloof and unattainable. Devastatingly handsome, yes, with killer grades and fierce ambition, and a business empire to inherit to boot, but he is also his parents’ one and only miracle child, born after years of trying and almost giving up. Jay’s parents are older than all of his friends’ parents, and their family business has always been that— a family business. Jay has two years after graduation to learn the ropes in the business, and then he’ll be due for an MBA, and then a return to helm the business, but this timeline has recently felt more urgent than ever with his parents’ flagging health. They would never say it, but he knows the only reason they haven’t retired yet is because they don’t want to hand over control of the business to anyone but him. Jay has worked his ass off in college, trying to get there as fast as he can, as well as he can. But his parents also want him to enjoy college and find true love, and while he’s been doing pretty well with the former, the latter has been on the backburner for, well, forever. Who has time for true love, in between classes, fraternity duties, the various shenanigans his friends get up to, internships, networking, TA-ing, volunteering, being on the executive board of two clubs, and eating, sleeping, dreaming, and thinking?

So. No. Things are not going anywhere in his love life, and he confirms just as much to Sunghoon with a grunt, to which Sunghoon wheezes out his amusement.

Jake eyes Jay with pity, now. “Alright, that guilt trip was successful, but more so because you just admitted to being bitchless for so long. I’ll put in a good word to my sister for you.”

Jay perks up instantly. There is light and beauty in this world after all! “Awesome, thank you bro, you won’t regret this, I promise!”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but those are famous last words, Park.” Jake raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you can handle my sister?”

“Why not? She seems… nice.” Jay is slightly evasive in his answer, and truthfully, it’s because he isn’t really sure what you’re like. All your interactions to date have been cordial, almost business-like, and you and Jake are fraternal twins, so it’s not even like he’s really familiar with what you look like. He is, however, sure that you look beautiful in a ballgown, even if he only saw you in one in his frat’s kitchen.

Jake chortles outright. “No, my sister is not nice. Yeah, I’m definitely going to convince her to help you, just because I think it’ll be hysterical watching her turn you inside out. Good luck, my brother in Christ, because you’ll need it!”

you: hey jake told me abt ur predicament

jay: … good morning, how are you? i’m pretty good myself

you: ???

jay: just being polite. and it’s not a predicament i’m just… interested in your services

you: good for you? anyways i’m super busy right now and don’t really have time to be taking on anything else so i’m just letting you know that i can’t help you out. good luck though

jay: how about coffee?

you: what?

jay: do you want coffee?

you: like right now?

jay: yeah i’m on your porch

You almost throw your phone to the other side of the room. True, Jay’s fraternity house is across the street from your sorority house, but it still feels absurd to think that he’s right there, less than twenty feet below your room. Is he stalking you?

Accordingly, that’s the first thing you ask him when you throw the door open to him. “Are you stalking me?”

He scoffs. “As if. I asked Jake to ask Yunjin for your location.”

“That’s not not stalking.”

Jay shrugs, though he has the decency to look a little embarrassed as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever. I just walked across the street; that’s all. So, coffee?”

You stare at him for a few moments, weighing your options. Truthfully, you were about to leave to get coffee before your first class, anyways, but you’re not sure how long you want to entertain Jay. You decide to split the difference. “I’m on my way to Nat’s, so you can tag along. But I’m just grabbing a coffee to go, and then I have class.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Gimme a second; I’ll grab my stuff.” For some reason, your heart is beating a little faster than usual when you reach your room. You’d like to blame it on the stairs you just climbed, but something about Jay coming to find you at your front door feels old-fashioned and sweet, though your rational mind reminds you that he literally just walked a couple hundred feet. He even said so, himself.

But when you come back down to see him leaning against the doorway with his hands still in his pockets, looking out into the street, you suddenly remember that Jay is, like, really good-looking. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring the cut of his jaw and how nice his hair is styled. It’s not like you don’t know plenty of attractive guys— hell, the guys you usually fake-date are all objectively hot. It’s just inconvenient that you now recall how Jay has always seemed to be the most mature out of Jake’s friends, even from what little you know of him. Unhelpfully, your brain also conjures up the image of him sliding a takeout container to you last week, and the way your eyes had lingered on the veins of his arm.

God. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid.

Jay’s voice breaks you out of your bizarre trance. “Ready, Cinderella?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jake told me about your whole Cinderella-genie thing. It would be weird to call you ‘genie’, so…” Jay trails off, scratching the back of his head and looking actually embarrassed now.

You can’t help but laugh. “Right, because Cinderella is totally less weird. Alright, big guy, let’s go.”

The walk to Nat’s, your favorite local coffee shop, takes about 15 minutes— 10, if you’re walking fast, which you usually are. Jay’s legs are uselessly long, but he seems determined to walk as slowly as possible, while also staying silent the whole time. Finally, you reach the end of your patience and step out right in front of him, intending to ask him what the hell he’s doing. Unfortunately, you find that you misjudged the distance, and he almost collides right into you.

“Whoa,” he mutters, reaching out to grab your arms to steady the both of you.

“Sorry,” you huff, embarrassed at yourself. A lot of that going around today. “I just… what’s your deal? I already told you I can’t help you, and then you show up at my door and ask me to get coffee, but you don’t say a single word. What do you want from me?”

Instead of answering your question, he asks, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Jake has got to stop calling it that. It’s a long story, honestly.” Sighing, you reach into your backpack to pull out your planner. “Alright, we’re already past the amount of time I scheduled to get my coffee and get ahead on some readings before class, so I guess we can sit down inside.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You have time for me now? Also, that’s the most insane planner I’ve ever seen.”

You gesture around you. You had stopped Jay almost at the door of Nat’s, and you’re clogging up the sidewalk. “We should at least get out of the way of these people. And yeah, I’m sure it is.” You are a live-and-die-by-your-planner kind of person. Everything is in there— social events, studying time, your various things with Jay’s frat brothers, even things like eating and showering and sleeping. It seems psychotic, sure, but you’re a busy person, and there’s no way you’d be able to handle everything without the strict schedule you set for yourself.

When you walk up to the counter inside Nat’s, your favorite barista— a cute high school kid named Riki— is manning the register. You smile warmly at him. “Hey, Riki. The usual, please.”

You expect Riki to tease you about your usual, which contains an admittedly concerning amount of caffeine, but instead he calls out, “Jay! What’s up, my man!”

From behind you, Jay reaches out and fist-bumps Riki. “Hey, long time no see, buddy. How’s history going?”

Riki groans theatrically. “Horribly, ever since you stopped tutoring me.”

Jay frowns. “Wait, really? What are you having trouble with? I know I’m kind of swamped right now but we can always find some time and—”

Riki bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Jeez, you should’ve seen your face. Relax, I got a 94 on my last paper!”

“Oh, very funny, you menace!” Jay punches Riki’s shoulder, but his expression eases up. You wonder at the fondness that twinkles in his eyes.

Riki laughs some more, then he turns to you. “Noona, one cup of liquid death coming up! Hyung, what about you?”

“London fog, please. And seriously, text me if you’re having trouble, okay?”

Riki waves the both of you off, telling you that he’ll bring your drinks over to you.

You make a beeline for your favorite spot, right by the large window that overlooks the sidewalk. Jay surprises you for the umpteenth time that morning by easily striding ahead and pulling your chair out for you, then coughing and turning red when you give him a weird look.

“Sorry, I, uh, yeah. Instinct,” he explains, which is really no explanation at all.

“Are you courting me or something?” You try to keep your tone light and joking, but confusion inevitably slips in. Nothing Jay has done today has made sense.

He seems to have regained his composure when he sits down, because he hits you with, “I guess you could say that. It’s just something I think I’d do for my girlfriend.”

You stare at him blankly. “Thanks for telling me…?”

“I mean, if you’re going to fake-date me, you can probably expect me to do stuff like that, right?”

You groan. “I’m not going to fake-date you, Jay, how many times do I have to say it? I—”

“— don’t have time, I know. But what if I could make it worth your while?”

“Jay, you know I’m Jake’s sister, right? We have money. Besides, I’m helping Mark right now, and I don’t do this for multiple people at the same time.”

“Oh yeah, Jake told me about that rule. What if I could take care of that for you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll help Mark find a real girlfriend, and then you can help me, instead.”

“If it were that easy, don’t you think Mark would have done it himself?”

Jay waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, please, Mark’s been crushing on the girl in his music class for ages. He gets too into his head about asking her out, so he chickens out every time. They’re partners on a project right now, though, so I’ll just give him a push in the right direction.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued by his proposition. Everything Jay just said lines up with what you know about Mark, especially the chickening out part. You’d like to see Jay try, and you figure it can’t hurt either way, so you nod. “Okay, fine. If you can help Mark, I’ll help you. But seriously, what’s your deal? Why do you want my help so badly?”

Jay blinks, then he leans back into his chair. “Oh. Honestly, I haven’t 100% decided that I do, yet.”

“But you’re willing to agree to help Mark Lee with a girl in order to secure my help?” You shake your head. “You’re really strange, Park.”

“I get overly invested in challenges really easily,” Jay confesses, showing you an unexpectedly bashful smile. “So I got a little caught up just now in the idea that I could change your mind about helping me. But now that you’ve brought it up, I’ll still help Mark, no matter what. I’m sick of him writing lovesick songs about that girl, anyways.”

“Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso. And a London Fog,” Riki announces. He sets the drinks down on your table right as the bell above the shop’s door chimes and lets in the pre-9am work crowd. He groans and bids you both a hasty goodbye.

Jay eyes your coffee with disgust. “Liquid death, huh? That’s disturbing.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You tilt the cup in his direction, laughing when he shudders.

“Absolutely not. I can’t believe you order that enough that Riki knows it’s your usual.”

“I usually see him in the afternoons when I order this, actually, so I’m sure he’s going to give me an earful about getting one in the mornings, too. Speaking of— doesn’t he have school?” You whip around in your seat to stare at Riki.

“He has two free periods on Mondays this year, so I guess he picked up an extra shift. He’s a hard working kid,” Jay says.

You turn back around to see him with that same fondness in his eyes. “How do you know him, by the way?”

“Ah, he’s my little’s friend from high school. My little is Jungwon— cat-looking dude?”

You let out a squeal. “Oh my gosh, he’s the cutest!”

Jay crosses his arms and grins, looking amused. “Yeah, he is pretty cute. Anyways, Jungwon mentioned his friend was having trouble with his history class last year, so I started tutoring him a bit, just casually, since I’m studying history.”

“Not economics?” You’ve heard about Jay’s family’s notoriously tightly-controlled company. Everything is within the family, so you’re surprised that he isn’t getting ready to take over.

“Both. I can have two majors, you know. What’s yours?”

“Linguistic anthropology. And studio art. I can have two majors, you know.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I know that was pretentious. What’s linguistic anthropology?”

You clear your throat, not expecting to talk about your hopes and dreams so early in the morning, and with someone who’s only a few steps away from being a stranger. “Languages, and the social and cultural foundations of them. Basically. I want to do linguistic archaeology in grad school, and this is the closest thing you can get in undergrad.”

Jay leans forward and nods enthusiastically. “That sounds really cool. What kind of art are you doing?”

“Oil paints, mostly, and some charcoal drawing…”

Like that, an hour flies by. You don’t even notice the blocks in your calendar getting overwritten by what is essentially a coffee date with Jay until you get the reminder that you have class in thirty minutes.

“Shit, I gotta go soon.” You say it with some regret; surprisingly, you’re really enjoying yourself with Jay. He’s smart, and funny, and a little awkward in a way that makes you think he’s the most sincere person you’ve ever met. And he has interesting thoughts and opinions on history, some of which you even make a mental note to follow up on later for your thesis.

“Before you go, will you tell me why you do the fake-dating thing?” Jay puts his head in both his hands and smiles at you, and…

“Are you batting your eyelashes at me?”

Jay squints at you. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Not really,” you lie, like a liar.

“Didn’t work on Jake, either. Man, I gotta work on it.” Jay gives up the act and relaxes back into his chair. “Will you tell me, though?”

“Sure, it’s not like it’s a big secret or anything. It’s not even that long of a story, now that I think about it. Not something worth trying to seduce me over, but I like your hustle,” you joke.

“So it was working!”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Okay, so it started with Chan. He just didn’t want to go to his horrible cousin’s horrible wedding, but his sister had been arguing with the cousin about Chan and was, like, defending his honor or something? And one thing spiraled into another and all of a sudden Chan needed to show up to the wedding with an impressive partner to prove to his cousin that he could pull.” You make a face. “Boys. I’d actually met this particular cousin before, through some convoluted situation at one of those holiday parties that our families throw, and I knew he was insufferable, so I was willing to help out. Other guys in the frat heard about it, and you know, it’s surprising but not shocking that your frat has a lot of guys with some sort of weird baggage that prevents them from actually seriously dating someone. It’s weirder that a significant number of them also find themselves in situations where they need to pretend to have a girlfriend, but as it turns out, I’m really good at it— being a fake girlfriend, I guess. I haven’t had much time to date myself, so it’s kind of nice hearing how much everyone’s families liked me as their potential daughter-in-law. Plus, I always get favors in return, so it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s like the fun part of dating, without the actual time commitment.”

Jay looks skeptical. “Going to family events and schmoozing with distant relatives is the fun part of dating?”

You scoff. “Whatever. You’re the one who asked why I did it, and I told you. It doesn’t have to make sense to you.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not judging, I swear. I just think that there’s probably better parts to dating, but who am I to talk,” he mutters.

“Ah, yes, Jake mentioned that, too. Bitchless all these years?”

Jay deadpans at you. “I know you aren’t making fun of me for that when you basically just told me that you fake-dated all these guys because you have a raging praise kink specifically for people’s families.”

“Oh, fuck off.” But you’re laughing, almost— giggling? Ugh. Maybe you do need to back off on the caffeine. “Alright, I have to go now, for real. Text me when Mark is good, and then we can talk about our two fake dates.”

“Isn’t three the max?”

“I was serious about not having time, Jay. I have a thesis for linguistics, and a portfolio to put together for art. Mark was going to be my last… thing this year. I went to one event with him, so if you can get things squared away with him, you can have his other two.”

“Okay, fine. Pleasure doing business with you.” Jay salutes you with two fingers.

“You haven’t even succeeded with Mark yet, and you haven’t heard what favors I want in return, either. Don’t get ahead of yourself, hotshot.”

And then you’re gone, leaving Jay to ruminate on the last hour and a half you spent together.

Jake’s right— you’re not nice, not in the traditional sense of the word. You’re kind of prickly, and you seem to run your life like a drill sergeant, but Jay thinks you must be really kind. Aside from Chan, the others you’ve helped (Mark, Yeonjun, Vernon, Sunghoon, good lord) are all variants of pretty boys who can’t talk to women to save their lives but live and die by the words of their parents, who all hope to see them get married sooner rather than later (Jay elects to ignore how he fits into that mold pretty well, too). No wonder you felt bad for them in their plights and wanted to help them; and Jay really believes that you did it to help them, not because of whatever favors you got in return. Like you said, you have money, so it’s not like you couldn’t buy your own bubble tea or pay for a driver. No, he’s seen your calendar, and it’s crammed with volunteering events in between everything else, and he’s seen the way you fuss over Riki, someone you only see a couple times a week while ordering a coffee. He’s pretty sure you’re just a classic do-gooder, and he doesn’t even need your help that badly, but he does love a challenge. Get Mark Lee together with the girl of his dreams is the first one. The second one is to figure out why he cares about proving himself to you so much— it’s not like he’s swimming in free time either, but somehow you’ve gotten under his skin, and he wants to see where this goes.

(Plus, he thinks you’re really pretty.)

When you enter your studio art workshop class, you find Yunjin immediately and pout at her. “Thanks for revealing my location to Jay, traitor,” you whine.

Yunjin grins. “It’s not like the sorority house is a state secret, babe. And I have zero regrets— he’s hot!”

“So?”

“So, I’m sick of you fake-dating these guys because you love to be the most helpful person in the room, and I want to see you actually date someone!”

You snort. “Joke’s on you, then, because he also wants to fake-date me.”

“Eugh, really? What the hell, I thought he was a good one,” Yunjin groans.

“He is a good one,” you respond instantly. You’re not sure why you’re so defensive about him, but from everything you’ve witnessed today, you know that Park Jongseong is the definition of a good guy.

“Well, maybe this will finally be the one that goes from fake-dating to real dating!” Yunjing wiggles her eyebrows at you. “You already think he’s nice, and you didn’t say he isn’t hot, either.”

“I have a pulse, Yunjin, I can tell that he’s hot.”

Yunjin whistles between her teeth. “Wait ‘til I tell Jake to tell Jay that.”

“Do not— and since when are you and my brother so close, anyways?”

She flashes you a conspiratorial wink. “New boytoy.”

“Ew, seriously? Jake?”

“Hey, it’s not that deep. He gets around, too, doesn’t he? Friends with benefits, no strings attached, etcetera.”

“Famous last words, honey.” You start pulling out your art supplies, chewing on your lip as you consider whether to ask her what you’re dying to know. “... So, what do you know about Jay? And do not tell Jake about any of this, Yunjin, I swear.”

“We’re really not close like that, babe, and I’d never betray your trust for dick.” Yunjin puts her hand over her heart solemnly.

“I want you to know that I’m throwing up in my mouth.”

“Noted.” Yunjin sticks the pencil she was using in her hair, then leans back and hums thoughtfully. “Now, Jay… I know what everyone knows about him, I guess. Good guy, nice family, kind of detached, if I had to say so? Not in a bad way, though. I just mean that he seems to hang out with his friends and that’s pretty much it. He’s involved in a bunch of stuff on campus like you are, but I know he had to pull back recently because one of his parents had a health thing— oh no, I can tell you’re already Cinderella-ing.”

You huff. “Jake is so annoying for that. What do you mean, Cinderella-ing?”

“You feel bad for him and now you want to help him!”

“I already agreed to help him, if he helps Mark Lee get a girlfriend, first.”

“Wow, he must really need your help if he’s willing to do that.”

“Funny, he said he isn’t sure if he needs my help, yet.” You shrug. “He’s confusing.”

“Oooh, but you’re interested, aren’t you?” Yunjin peers closer at you. “Oh my god, you whore! You want him!”

“Yunjin!” You shush her, cognizant of the other students around you. “I’m just curious, okay? I wanna know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Sure, sure. I believe you!” Yunjin insists, looking entirely unbelievable. “That’s not surprising about Jay, though. His family is, like, super family-oriented. Introducing them to a fake girlfriend seems like it wouldn’t go well, so it makes sense that he’s hesitant about it. You should ask him for more details when you guys fuck—”

You cut her off with a hand slapped over her mouth. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Yunjin laughs underneath your hand and flicks you off. “But seriously, the rumor is that he’s never dated anyone in college because his parents had the perfect college romance and want the same thing for him, and he’s always been too busy being the prodigal son and heir apparent for true love to just, like, fall into his lap. Despite the valiant efforts of many girls on campus,” she finishes dryly.

“That’s… a really detailed rumor.”

“Chaewon’s little is obsessed with him, so I’ve heard it a million times.”

You both cringe. Chaewon is far too nice to say it, but her little is stuck in a phase of boy mania so all-consuming it borders on clinical.

“Enough about boys; how’s it going with the portfolio?” Yunjin nudges her chin towards your empty canvas.

You sigh. “Pretty good, except for the human portrait part. It’s really not my thing, but Professor Song was so adamant that I try to include at least two of them by the end of the year. I did one of Jake already, but he doesn’t know, so it’ll be hilarious to see him cry at the senior showcase.”

“Oh, he’s totally going to lose it,” Yunjin agrees. You stay silent on the curious display of knowledge she just exhibited on your brother’s behalf. “Who are you thinking for the other one?”

“Beats me. I’d use my parents, but that feels a little bit too on the nose, especially after the one of Jake. It’d be weird to ask our friends, right?”

“Not really, but your portfolio theme is family, isn’t it? Very sweet of you to think of us as family, but then you’re talking about an entire group of people.”

Instantly, you shudder. “That’s way more than two humans. Love you guys, but no thanks. I’ll figure something else out.”

Yujin smirks at you. “If you and Jay date and fall in love and get married, you’ll be family, and then you could do one of him.”

“That is so not the solution!”

You don’t hear from Jay until a week later, at which point you figure he has given up, so you’re shocked to find him at your door again.

“Morning, Cinderella,” is all he says to you before handing you a cup.

“Good morning,” you return, too dumbfounded to say anything else. “What’s this?”

“Coffee. Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso,” he recites. “I got Riki to text it to me,” he admits quickly.

“I appreciate it, but what’s this for?” You narrow your eyes at him. “You can’t possibly think that one of the favors I’ll ask from you is coffee, right? I’m not that easy, Park.”

Jay looks offended. “Hey, you let Sunghoon buy you bubble tea!”

“Yeah, but he was really pathetic about the whole fake-dating thing.”

“... Fine, I’ll give that to you. That does sound like him. But no, this is because I wanted to ask you something, and I figured I’d take up the time that you usually schedule for getting your coffee.”

“Ooookay. So, what’s up?” You start on the walk to the library, and he’s quick to fall into step beside you.

“I’ve been thinking about how to help Mark with his crush, and I have the perfect idea, but I need your help.”

“You need my help to help Mark so that you can get my help for yourself?” It sounds absurd coming out of your month, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Wow, try saying that ten times fast.”

A surprised laugh erupts from Jay’s chest. “That was corny as hell,” he says, but he’s still laughing, high pitched and delighted. Laughter transforms his whole face, his eyes slipping into crescents and his nose scrunching with the force of his happiness, and you’re left dazed looking at him like that.

“Don’t tell anyone you witnessed that. I know where you live,” you threaten him half-heartedly. It really doesn’t carry much weight when you’re beaming in response to the mirth in his expression.

He stops laughing to grin at you, still bright and lovely. “Yeah, right. Who’s been coming to whose front door?”

“You don’t think I could walk across the street? I’m there all the time, Jay. So many people in that house owe me; it’d be a piece of cake to get your room number.” You say this with a stupid smile still on your face.

“Right, consider me properly frightened.” The wattage of his grin finally turns down a couple of notches, giving you room to breathe properly. “So, about Mark,” he starts.

“Yeah, this just sounds like more work for me,” you respond skeptically.

“Hear me out, okay? Mark has all these love songs written about this girl, and I found out that she always eats lunch at the same table at the same time in the dining hall on Tuesdays, so I figured he could play one of his songs over the dining hall speakers and then confess to her.” Jay makes little jazz hands at the end of his sentence, and it prompts a giggle out of you.

You have to fight your smile down when you speak. “A couple of things. One: that is so incredibly over the top for a confession, but sure, I like your spirit. Two: there’s no way Mark is slick enough to pull this off. Which leads me to three: what do you need from me?”

Jay nods. “Exactly, Mark could never do this on his own, which is why I’ve enlisted a bunch of guys from the frat, and you, of course.”

“Me, of course?”

“Sunoo and Jake are going to sweet-talk the lady at the dining hall who has the keys to the staff office with the dining hall audio hookup and microphone— she loves Sunoo, and Jake will flash her the ol’ puppy dog eyes to keep her sufficiently distracted. Heeseung will walk past and swipe her keys, and Jungwon is going to make sure that Mark’s crush is actually in the dining hall at the right time. Chan is going to apologize on everyone’s behalf if this goes wrong.”

You tut. “Poor Chan.”

“It’s his presidential duty, god bless.”

“And where do I fit into this?”

“You and I need to hold Mark’s hand, figuratively, and keep him hyped up enough to actually go through with it. He agreed to the plan, but I can totally see him chickening out again, which is why Sunghoon and Yeonjun are also going to stand guard outside the staff office so he can’t escape.”

“I feel like you could hold Mark’s hand on your own,” you argue, but you don’t really mean it. This sounds so chaotic and harebrained that you would normally want to stay a mile away from it, but Jay’s enthusiasm and seriousness about it is rubbing off on you. Plus, it would be nice to see one of your fake boyfriends actually succeed in their love life.

“He has two hands, and I can’t hold them all by myself because I have to operate the audio hookup,” Jay proclaims solemnly. “And I said figuratively! He trusts you, clearly, or at least he trusted you enough to be his fake girlfriend.”

“I come highly recommended,” you intone dryly.

“And he trusts me enough to go along with the plan, so I think we’re the best suited to be his moral support,” Jay continues, ignoring your smartass comment.

“This is a ridiculous plan, Jay.”

“So you’re in? Oh, wait. Are you free at 12:30 today?”

You stop to check your planner and confirm that you are. “What would you have done if I wasn’t?”

“Reconfigure the time-space continuum so you could be in two places at once. Mark’s future happiness depends on this,” Jay insists.

"I see what you mean about getting overly invested in challenges really easily… Alright, text me where I should meet you later, then?”

“You got it. Have a good day, Cinderella!” He yells this part as he jogs away from you.

“Stop calling me that!” But you can’t remember the last time you smiled this much this early in the morning.

Hours later, you smile instinctively upon seeing Jay’s name pop up in your notifications.

jay: coast is clear. meet me outside the dining hall staff office in 5 minutes. operation is a go

you: omw, 007

jay: stop ur making me blush

you: fr?

jay: no this is just banter

you: omfg mark just texted me to say that ur actually blushing

jay: im going to end him. after he gets a gf, ofc

“Hey,” you whisper in Jay’s ear, making him jump.

“Holy shit, how’d you get here so fast?”

You shrug, jostling his shoulder as you’re pressed up against him in the tiny recessed alcove across from the staff office. “I’m a fast walker. Places to be, people to see, you know? Speaking of…” You motion to the open office door. “Should we go inside?”

Jay clears his throat. Up this close, he can count the eyelashes that flutter against your skin. “Yeah, Mark’s already there. I’m surprised he found the composure to pop his head out and see me, or text you, honestly. He’s been a nervous wreck since this morning. Oh, finally, way to be on time, losers!” Jay beckons Sunghoon and Yeonjun closer from down the hall.

“We’re fine; Jungwon says Mark’s crush hasn’t even sat down at her table, yet. Hey, how are you? Long time no see.” Yeonjun flashes you a smile.

“Committing questionable acts in the name of love, you know, just living the dream,” you joke. “How’s your mom?”

“Great! She still asks about you. By the way, if I had known being a little more pathetic would get me this level of commitment,” Yeonjun gestures around him, “I would’ve asked for a real girlfriend, too.”

“I’m told I was pretty pathetic, and even I didn’t get this kind of treatment,” Sunghoon reminds you.

You pat his arm consolingly. “Maybe if you had Jay on your side, buddy.”

“Yeah, what the hell, best friend?” Sunghoon eyes him accusingly.

Jay pats his other arm. “Sorry, I have ulterior motives with Mark.”

“Oh, so now Mark gets a girlfriend and a secret male lover?”

Jay scoffs. “Not those kinds of ulterior motives, but please. As if Mark could bag me.”

“Ladies, ladies, there’s plenty of Jay to go around,” you say placatingly.

“Guys, I’m freaking out in here!” Mark wails from inside the office.

“Fuck, Jungwon said she’s sitting down now. Go!” Yeonjun pushes you and Jay towards the office.

In quick order, Jay gets the audio hooked up to Mark’s laptop, and he starts the song. While Mark hyperventilates between the two of you and you actually do share in the holding of his hands, Jay finds himself staring at you as you try to encourage Mark. You really are quite kind— he doesn’t think many people would have agreed to be dragged into this silly scheme, but here you are, throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly because there’s a chance it might secure Mark’s future happiness.

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky just then, streaming in through the windows behind you and drenching you in golden light. Jay’s not sure if he’s nervous about getting in trouble for this or if he’s just been looking at you for too long, but he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest. It’s positively outrageous how pretty you are.

“Bro, what the fuck do I say?” Mark hisses, interrupting Jay’s very important investigation of the color of your eyes. “The song is almost over, please, you gotta help me!”

“Just tell her how you feel,” Jay offers. It’s not his best attempt at advice, but he’s distracted by the way your hair brushes against your neck.

Mark splutters and fumbles and curses under his breath, but then the song is over, and Jay is turning on the microphone for him to speak. “Um, hey, so, yeah! Yeah. Uh, I’ve liked you for a long time… which you can probably tell, because of the song and everything.” Mark giggles nervously. “There’s, like, at least five more where that came from. Because I like you a lot, but I’m not great at talking in person, so I wrote all these songs, and oh god, this is super weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry if it’s weird, I just, well, I wanted to tell you. What I feel for you is so big I think I might explode; it makes me lose my mind and my breath and my ability to speak, and it leads me to do stupid stuff like this. And now you know. Okay, cool!” Mark reaches over and slams his hand to turn off the microphone.

You and Jay share an exasperated look over Mark’s head.

“Mark, you didn’t even say who the song is for,” you remind him.

He pales. “I didn’t?”

“Or who it’s from, but I think that part is pretty obvious,” Jay sighs. “Just text her right now, and tell her it was from you, and ask her out!”

“What? No, I can’t do that, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Mark moans.

You roll your eyes. “Mark, do it right now, or I’m telling your mom you cheated on me.”

“What? But I didn’t! And we weren’t even dating for real! And I just told her we broke up!”

“Right, I’ll say we broke up because you cheated on me.” You stare him down. “Seriously, I’ll call her tonight.”

“Nonono, I’ll text Mina, okay? See, I’m texting her right now.” Mark pulls out his phone and types frantically.

Jay throws his arm around Mark’s shoulder, using the leverage to hit the send button on his phone. “See, that wasn’t so hard!”

“I need to go walk into traffic,” Mark declares.

You smile breezily at him. “Sure, whatever. Love conquers all!” Behind his back, you and Jay high-five.

Jay says you should have dinner to celebrate Mark and Mina’s new romance (ignoring Mark’s pained “What romance? I’m dying.”), but you tell him that you’re volunteering at the community kitchen that night. Jay doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, I’ll be there. We should talk about my thing, anyways.”

That’s how he finds himself in a hairnet and disposable gloves that night, making funny faces at the head of the community kitchen’s daughter, who’s running around underfoot. He’s been put in charge of chopping vegetables, while you’re stirring a huge pot of stew at one of the stoves.

“Watch your fingers,” you scold him half-heartedly. He’s devastatingly cute like this.

He has the audacity to wink at you. “I know my way around a kitchen, don’t worry.”

“Very cool, trophy husband.”

“What, no more 007?”

“Depends on the outcome of Mark’s text to Mina. Did you hear anything from him?”

Jay scoops up his vegetables into a large bowl and brings it over to you, nudging you aside with his hip so he can add the vegetables to your pot. “Not yet, but I don’t have him freaking out in my messages either, so I’ll take that as a win.”

You let him take over the stirring and turn around to lean against the countertop. “Cute hairnet,” you quip.

“Thanks. You think they’ll let me take it home?” he jokes.

You nudge your chin in the direction of the little girl giggling at Jay. “I think she wants to take you home.”

He winks at her, then lowers his voice so that only you can hear him say, “She’ll have to get in line.”

You swallow and wonder if the stove is turned on too high. “Right, so what’s your thing about?”

“Later, yeah?” Jay gestures around you, and you suddenly remember that you’re in the middle of a busy kitchen, with everyone hustling to get ready for the dinner service starting in half an hour.

You spring into action again, embarrassed at how easily you’d been absorbed into conversation with Jay. Something about the way he talks to you makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world— he’s always so attentive, nodding and responding to your every comment. You have to wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone seriously in college; he seems like he’d be the dream boyfriend. Hypothetically.

He only proves this point further when he reveals two containers of mac and cheese that he had picked up before getting there, which he microwaves for the two of you to eat after the dinner service is over. You turn on the lights in one corner of the cafeteria and sit at the only table that’s still left out: a children’s table where you have to balance precariously on seats that are too small for you. But it’s entirely worth it, knocking knees and elbows together, laughing too hard for what the situation warrants.

“I would’ve made you something myself, but I didn’t want to use up the kitchen’s ingredients,” Jay comments off-handedly.

Your heart glows in your chest. “That’s really thoughtful, Jay.”

He smiles and scratches the back of his head, suddenly shy. “Nah, it’s common sense, right? Come on, eat before it gets cold.”

Right then and there, Jay learns that he loves to watch you eat. You make exaggerated faces and ooh and ahh over something as simple as mac and cheese from the 24-hour diner down the street, and he finds himself itching to make something with his own two hands that will make you react like that.

When you’re done eating, you sit back and sigh in satisfaction. “That was exactly what I needed. Now, tell me about your thing— what kind of mess have I gotten myself into?”

Jay hems and haws for a good minute before finally telling you about his parents’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary. “It’s a little complicated because they had this, like, fairytale relationship, and of course I’m happy that they’re still so in love all these years later, but it’s kind of… a lot to live up to. Not that I’m complaining, because they’re awesome, but I don’t have that kind of relationship with anyone yet, so I haven’t brought anyone home to them.”

“So the rumors are true,” you mutter under your breath.

Unfortunately, Jay seems to have heard you. “What rumors?”

Flushing, you explain what you’d heard from Yunjin, who had heard it from Chaewon’s little. You’re quick to add, “I wasn’t asking around about you or anything!”

Jay just smirks at you, something wicked and slow that only contributes to the heat in your cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You hesitate before speaking up again. “So, if you don’t mind me asking… How come you haven’t dated anyone long-term in college? You’re, you know, perfectly okay to look at.”

Jay deadpans at you. “Wow, thanks, that really means a lot to me.”

You let out a huff of a laugh. “Shut up, it’s not a secret that you’re hot.”

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up, and you swear to god, he blushes to high heaven. “Th-Thanks.”

“Mm.”

It’s silent for a few long moments, then Jay clears his throat. “If I’m being honest, I haven’t dated anyone long-term in college because my parent’s relationship is a lot to live up to, and it’s not like I have a ton of time to find my perfect life partner in between everything else.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Yunjin tells me I should try actually dating again, but it’s kind of a lot, right? Putting in the time and effort to get to know someone from scratch, when you’re not even sure how it’s going to pan out? And you’ve seen my calendar.” You laugh quietly. “And, honestly, I have this problem with dating where I get bored pretty easily.”

Jay leans forward, pushing into your personal space close enough to count your eyelashes, again. “Are you bored right now?”

“No,” you answer, although you’re not sure why he’s asking. “Um, so, why do you need a fake girlfriend, then? I don’t think it’ll pass muster with your parents, if they want you to be in love for real.”

Jay fidgets with his fingers on top of the table. “Yeah, it’s kind of stupid, to be honest. My dad was hospitalized for a month last year, and it really shook us all. My parents are on the older side, and I’m their only child, and, well, I’d like to make them happy while they’re still around. Sorry, that was morbid. And I know it’s not like we’d be doing this forever, and it’s wrong to fake it, but still. They’d be overjoyed to see me in a relationship. I want to give that to them, even if it’s only twice.” He tells it to you like it’s a secret, and your chest caves in with the force of his sincerity.

“I don’t think that’s stupid. It’s sweet, Jay, really.” You reach out and still his fingers. “Listen, you know I’m really good at being a fake girlfriend, right?”

“You come highly recommended,” he mimics you from earlier, mouth quirking up in the beginnings of a smile. It lifts the atmosphere slightly, and you’re glad for it.

“Right, so don’t worry. Leave it to me. Your parents won’t suspect a thing,” you promise. “When’s the anniversary celebration?”

“Six weeks.”

You pull out your planner to start scheduling. “Great, so you can send me information about yourself, and I’ll do the same for you, and then we can find time to meet up and quiz each other about it and get our answers on our relationship straight—”

Jay’s hand lands around your wrist, stopping you from writing further. “Not that I don’t appreciate your… efficiency, but I don’t think that’s going to work. Like you said, my parents want to see a true relationship, and I don’t think flashcards are going to cut it. How about we just… get to know each other?”

You blink. “What, like daily one-on-ones, or something? Office hours, but just for each other?”

He bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He lets go of your wrist to hide his face behind his hands as he continues to laugh, which makes you smile despite yourself. He’s so goddamn cute.

You decide to humor him. “What do you suggest, then?”

“As much as I would love to monopolize your time, I don’t actually want to take up any of the precious few free spots on your calendar. You need to set aside more time for yourself, by the way. But for now, how about you give me the thirty minutes you schedule for getting to Nat’s and then back to campus every day? We can get to know each other then.”

“You want to walk me to the coffee shop and back?”

“Among other things.”

“… Such as?”

“Just you wait, Cinderella. I’m going to sweep you off your feet so hard, you won’t know what hit you. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

In the dim light of the after-hours cafeteria, with his long legs stretched out on either side of yours and the soft crescents of his smiling eyes twinkling at you, you’re inclined to believe him.

Jay keeps his word. He shows up on the sorority house’s porch every morning, backpack slung over his shoulder and hands in his pockets at 7:45am. He doesn’t even have class until 11am (you know because you asked Yunjin to ask Jake), so his dedication impresses you. Sometimes, you’ll watch him approach the house from your window, bopping his head along to whatever he’s listening to in his earbuds.

When you open the door to greet him, he always smiles sleepily at you and reaches out to grab whatever’s in your hands (usually art supplies or heavy reference books for your thesis). It’s a small gesture, but it shoots through your cotton-candy-soft heart as true and straight as an arrow.

Most mornings, the two of you will chat about anything and everything, swinging from homework to Greek life drama to pet peeves to Mesopotamian history. Occasionally, you’re both tired from your busy schedules and just end up sharing his earbuds, listening to something slow and soothing. More and more often, you find yourself stuffing supplies and books into your backpack until it’s grossly misshapen, just so Jay can have his hands free to brush against yours on the walk to Nat’s.

It’s not just the coffee shop, either. Suddenly, he’s everywhere in your life, as if someone had penciled in his name as one long continuous block in your calendar. He comes to the library with you, and you work on your assignments in companionable silence. He’s now a regular volunteer at the community kitchen, and he’s helping them design a new menu for the colder days coming soon. He even shows up outside the studio art workshop, bringing you takeout when you’ve forgotten to eat. At parties, the two of you dominate beer pong, with him bouncing balls off of his bicep into the cups just to make you fake your fawning adoration at him. He doesn’t have to know that it comes easily to you, especially when he’s constantly looking at you the way you know you look at beautiful works of art.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually courting me,” you comment thoughtlessly one day. You’re perched on the kitchen counter at the frat, watching Jay make ramen for the two of you. It’s almost three in the morning, and neither of you should be awake, but there’s something special about the quiet privacy afforded by the strange hour.

Jay forces himself to keep stirring the pot like usual. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know any better, either, but he doesn’t want to look too closely into that at the moment. Instead, he opts to flirt. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it, smartass.” But you let him off the hook, now preoccupied with reaching over to re-tie his apron.

“Ooh, ramen!” Jungwon’s face lights up as he walks into the kitchen, led by his nose. He looks like he just woke up, rubbing at his eyes with the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves. You have to stop yourself from cooing at him.

“What are you doing up so late?” Jay scolds him gently.

“Oh, hey, Dad. Hey, Mom. I just woke up; I had a weird dream.” Jungwon nods at you both and takes a seat at the kitchen island.

You gape at him. “What?”

Jungwon blinks a couple of times, looking more alert by the second. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? Sorry, Niki’s been rubbing off on me.”

“Niki calls us Mom and Dad?” You’re not sure if that’s sweet or weird.

“As a joke! In a jocular manner. Jovially.” Jungwon throws up a peace sign, as if that helps.

“I’m glad to see the English degree is paying off,” Jay remarks dryly. He looks like he took the Mom-and-Dad thing much more in stride, except for the tips of his ears, which burn red. It’s a dead giveaway that makes you smile fondly, because it’s so him.

“Will you make some more ramen?” Jungwon bats his eyelashes at the two of you.

“See, it works much better when Jungwon does it,” you tease Jay.

“Can’t argue with you there, honestly.” Jay puts another pot of water on the stove to boil. “You should have more than just sodium and carbs, though,” he tells Jungwon.

You nod, hopping off of the counter to rummage through the fridge. “Yeah, you don’t eat enough vegetables. Maybe that’s why you’re having weird dreams. Aha!” You emerge triumphantly with a salad kit.

Jungwon laughs. “And you wonder why Niki calls you Mom and Dad.”

Jay scoffs. “That’s just because he hasn’t met Chan.”

“Fair enough. What are you guys doing here so late, anyways?”

You pause in assembling the salad to point a salad tong at Jay. “This guy just follows me everywhere.”

“We’re in my frat house,” Jay retorts.

“I could be here for someone else,” you argue.

Jay’s gaze pins you down, warm and earnest. “You’re not, though.”

You smile at him. “No, I’m not.”

Jungwon coughs. “Get a room.”

You reach over to ruffle his hair. “You’re standing in it.”

The three of you eat your ramen and salad in silence for a bit, all falling victim to varying degrees of sleepiness. Without noticing it, you’re scooched up next to Jay, shoulders and knees and ankles pressed together in one long line of comfortable intimacy.

Jay thinks about Jungwon’s question as he slurps at the noodles. What are you guys doing here so late? The answer almost eludes him. These days, he finds himself drawn to you like a magnet, pulled in by forces far stronger than himself.

He remembers that the two of you had been doing work in his room after the main library had closed, and you had fallen asleep on his bed at some point, a sketchbook dangling from your fingers. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time admiring your sleeping form, indulging in his favorite pastime of counting your eyelashes and resisting the urge to lay beside you. Eventually, your stomach had woken you up, and he insisted on making you some food, even if it wasn’t as nice as he would have liked to do for you. Now, looking at you chatting and joking with Jungwon, Jay feels his heart expanding into his lungs. You fit into his life so perfectly, and he’d like to think that he fits into yours, too. It’s almost too good to be true— could this be what his parents started with?

When you’re done eating, Jungwon waves the two of you away, insisting that he should do the dishes since you cooked. You’re not about to argue with that, so you pat him on the shoulder before following Jay back up to his room.

“He’s a good kid,” you tell Jay as you hop on his bed again, grabbing your sketchbook to pick up where you left off.

“He is.” Jay tuts at you. “And you should go to sleep.”

“I will, I will, just let me finish this sketch, okay? Besides, I don’t see you turning your laptop off, either.” You jut your chin out stubbornly.

Jay glances at the Wikipedia rabbit hole he’d been going down before your stomach had growled loudly an hour ago. He’s done with his work for the day, and he had just been keeping you company for the last two hours. “I have super important, time-sensitive work to finish,” he lies solemnly.

“Jay, I can see that you have the Wikipedia page for sinkholes open.”

He slams his laptop shut. “Actually, I’m done,” he declares, flopping down on the bed beside you. He turns his cheek from where he’s level with your stomach to look up at your hands moving across the page. “What are you working on in there?”

You make a displeased face. “People. I have to do one more human portrait for my portfolio, and it’s driving me nuts. Here, this one is of you.”

Jay lifts his head, astonished to see himself reflected back on the page. In smooth, sure strokes, you’ve captured him in tender detail: strong jaw, sharp eyes, and mouth twisted in concentration, probably from earlier when he’d actually been doing work. Jay’s jaw works as he struggles to figure out what to say. He’s unbelievably touched that you would draw him. “Can I keep this?” he asks finally.

“It’s not even done yet. And it’s not that good,” you warn him.

“It is to me. C’mon, please?”

“Maybe when I finish…” You trail off, swayed by the senseless patterns he’s tracing on top of your knee. “Which I won’t, if you keep distracting me.”

He smirks and stills his hand, looking like he’s about to tease you before he interrupts himself with a yawn. “Alright, goodnight, Cinderella.”

“'Night, 007.”

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds the lingering scent of your shampoo and a complete sketch of himself, now decked out in a tux worthy of James Bond. It makes him laugh out loud, and he knows he’s in trouble when he slides out a picture of him with his cousins from a picture frame to put your sketch in the frame, instead.

Before you know it, the day of the Parks’ wedding anniversary celebration has arrived. You’re on a four-way FaceTime call, with Chaewon lounging on your bed as you try on various dresses.

Kazuha is more invested in asking you about your relationship than helping you decide what to wear. “I’m just saying, I think it’s interesting that you and Jay have been, like, glued together for well over a month.”

“We’re getting to know each other better, so we don’t mess up in front of his parents,” you explain for the millionth time.

Kazuha wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Suuuure. Why didn’t you just send him one of those scarily detailed questionnaires like you did with all the other guys you fake-dated?”

Chaewon motions for you to spin in the billowy dress you’re currently in. “Too beachy,” she decides. “But ditto to what Kazuha said.”

“It’s because she like-likes him,” Sakura sing-songs.

You stick your tongue out at her. “Grow up, will you?”

“Forget about that— have you guys hooked up yet?” Yunjin demands.

“Yet? No, Yunjin, what the fuck,” you complain.

“Gross,” a familiar voice groans from Yunjin’s corner of the FaceTime. You, Kazuha, Sakura, and Chaewon all zero in on her square.

“Jake?” You exclaim.

Yunjin giggles and moves the camera to show Jake sitting at his desk in his room, wearing his nerdy glasses and hunched over a textbook.

“Did you guys just hook up?” Kazuha blurts out.

“Gross,” you repeat.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Grow up, will you? And no, I’m just here because it was too loud at the house.”

The rest of you fall silent on the call, especially you and Chaewon, demonstrating how decidedly not loud it is in the sorority house.

Yunjin blushes and clears her throat. “Whatever. Hey, you should totally wear that sparkly navy velvet number! The one that cinches at your waist.”

You rummage around in your closet and pull out the dress in question to try it on. “This one?”

Sakura whistles. “Oh, for sure. Good eye, Jen.”

Yunjin blows her a kiss. “Of course, of course.” She points at you. “That’s the one, babe. You have, like, the sluttiest waist ever, second only to Sunghoon; you have to wear that.”

Sounds of agreement abound, except from Jake, who whines, “You guys don’t think I have a slutty waist?”

“You’re a whore in other ways, don’t worry,” you reassure him dryly. You do another spin for Chaewon. “This isn’t too much, though?”

Jake suddenly pops into view of the camera. “It’s a formal event, and Jay is going to lose his mind no matter what you wear, trust me.”

“That’s not the point,” you insist.

The girls respond in unison, “Yes, it is!”

And you have to admit, the way Jay’s mouth stays open as he gives you the once-over a few hours later is gratifying, to say the least. For good measure, he does it again, letting his eyes linger at the dip between your collarbones and the curve of your mouth.

Molten heat spreads through you in response to his wandering eyes, ratcheting up in intensity when he smirks at you, purposeful and knowing.

You elect to check him out, too, knowing that you’re not the only person who can get flustered here. He cuts an unbelievable figure against the setting sun, leaning against his sleek black car, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankles. The tuxedo he wears fits criminally well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what he’d look like taking his tie off. On second thought, this may have backfired; you only find yourself feeling warmer the longer you stare at him.

Thankfully, he starts moving, coming up to the porch to hand you a bouquet of baby’s breath.

“Oh, good idea— should I hand these to your mom or your dad?” You ask, taking the flowers from him.

He laughs, surprised. You are too cute for his own good. “The flowers are for you, Cinderella. My parents and I are allergic to pollen, actually.”

“Oh.” You hold the flowers closer to your chest, giddiness touching you from head to toe. He got you flowers, even though he’s allergic. “Thank you, Jay.”

He hums and reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Happy to do it. I saw the flowers in your room dying the other day. Go put them inside; I’ll wait out here. I can feel Chaewon’s stare drilling into the top of my head, anyways.” He looks up and waves at Chaewon, who’s hanging out of your window shamelessly.

She shouts, “Have her home by midnight, or she’ll turn into a pumpkin!”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes, but okay!” He throws her a thumbs-up.

Inside the house, you’re seized with the urge to splash some water on your face, just to calm yourself down, but that would ruin your makeup. Instead, you place the flowers in a vase of water and trust that Chaewon will bring them up to your room for you, after she’s done heckling Jay.

“Leave my guy alone,” you yell in her direction, pulling at his arm to get him down the stairs and to his car.

“Your guy, huh?” Jay looks at you with uncontrollable fondness.

“Just for the night,” you say, but you don’t miss the way his smile widens at the way you don’t deny it.

Ever the gentleman, Jay opens the passenger door for you, helping you gather the ends of your dress and tucking them in under your legs. He remains crouched for a moment, looking like he’s debating with himself about something, and then he goes for it, leaning over and buckling you in.

When you raise an eyebrow at him, all he says is, “Precious cargo,” and then he’s shutting the door, leaving you flushing once more.

The car ride to his parent’s place is easy and comfortable, even with the charged atmosphere that lingers between the two of you. Conversation always flows like water with Jay; you’re debating the finer points of how to determine provenance for historical artifacts when you arrive. Guests are littered across the front lawn, conversing with each other but centered around his parents.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. “Do you think they’ll like me?” You ask Jay.

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Are you serious? Of course they will. You’re you.”

You swat at his shoulder even as you smile widely. “Your unconditional faith in me notwithstanding, I’m serious, Jay. I want to be able to live up to this fairytale romance thing.”

He takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Believe me, you’re a dream come true. Let’s go, Cinderella.”

You gulp and curse your thundering heart, but then you’re five feet away from his parents, and you’re exclaiming at how in love they look, all these years later. Jay’s dad is distinguished in salt-and-pepper hair, and his mom is all smiles when she tells you that you’re too pretty for Jay.

“Mom,” he whines.

“Oh alright, come here, my beautiful boy.” She brings him in for a hug and beams when he kisses her cheek. Your heart melts like ice cream in the summer; he’s a mama’s boy, through and through.

Jay’s dad asks, “So, how did you meet?”

You open your mouth, prepared with your story. “I’m Jay’s friend’s twin sister, and then we kind of got caught in a scheme to help one of our other friends ask out the girl he liked, and we just got closer after that. Jay’s easy to like.” So far, it’s all true.

Jay doesn’t look like he’s faking anything when he continues, though. “She’s easy to love.”

“Way to one-up me,” you joke, but you feel like you’re floating, cradled by the buoyancy of the affection in his eyes.

“Seriously, she’s so smart it makes my head spin, and her heart shines brighter than the sun. She makes me laugh and work harder to keep up, and I’m lucky to just stand by her side. Being with her is the most natural thing in the world, like breathing, or my heart beating.” Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time he’s speaking; he wants to commit every change in your expression to memory, from surprise to fondness to something deeper.

Jay’s dad hums approvingly. “Good work, son. You sound like I did when I met your mom.” He brings his wife in to kiss her temple.

“Enjoy the party, lovebirds,” she coos at you, and then they’re gone, off to greet other arrivals.

You’re frozen in place, with one hand still clutching at Jay’s like a lifeline. “We didn’t practice that,” you mumble.

He shakes his head and rubs his thumb over your cheek with his other hand. “No, we didn’t. Are you mad?”

“Mad? I think I’m jealous of your future girlfriend,” you say, forcing a laugh. It sounds wooden even to your ears.

He frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act as if you don’t know how much I like you.”

The world stops turning on its axis. “What?”

His gaze slips down to your mouth, tracing your cupid’s bow. “You heard me.” He turns hopeful eyes on you. “Do you… feel the same?”

Just like that, the world resumes its motion, and you can’t let him go a second longer without knowing how much he is loved. “Desperately.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and you think he’s going to kiss you— you need him to kiss you— but he hugs you close instead, lips hovering against your ear. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmurs.

“If it’s anything close to how happy I am, I probably have a good idea,” you laugh. You’re surprised at how quickly the burning urge to have his mouth on yours has tempered into something more grounded and permanent.

“I have to go do something for my parents, but I think I’ll die if I have to leave you. Will you come watch?”

You’d go anywhere with him. “Of course.”

He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, doll.” Against your will, your hand spasms in his. He giggles, delighted. “Duly noted.”

“Shut up,” you complain, but you follow him all the way to the tented dance floor set up on the grounds behind the house, only letting go after he kisses each of your fingertips in turn.

You’re surprised to see him pull out an eight-string guitar, and even more surprised when he explains to the gathered crowd that he’ll be playing the song from his parents’ first dance. They look perfect, swaying in the center of the floor, but you only have eyes for Jay.

You watch as his fingers pluck deftly at the strings, a romantic Spanish melody that barely reaches your ears over the rush of all your adoration for him. As soon as the song is over, he catches you in his arms, lifting you up and spinning you around twice before setting you back down, hands at home around your waist.

He asks if you want to dance. You teeter back on your heels, looking at the graceful curve of his mouth and thinking back to the nimbleness of his fingers. “Honestly? I want to kiss you. Really badly.”

He exhales and holds you tighter. “You won’t let me take you out first?”

“If you count the last few weeks, you’ve taken me out, like, a million times.”

“But a real date, doll. I want to cook for you, and we can get tea lights, and a picnic blanket, and— god.” Jay sucks in a sharp breath when you move his hands higher to cup underneath your chest. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I hope so. Stop being so nice, and take me to your room, please?”

Jay’s eyes flick heavenward. There’s only so much self-restraint left in him. “You win.”

And when he finally kisses you, pressed up against the door of his childhood bedroom, you nearly cry from how tender it is. He kisses you slowly, reverently, like you’re one of the saints from his history books.

“Sometimes, I think I’ve dreamt you up,” you confess to him. The words hang precious and delicate in the space between your lips.

“Let me show you I’m real then, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then licks right into you, eliciting a gasp from the back of your throat. Your fingers find purchase in the soft hair at the back of his head, and you realize that you’ve been breathing the wrong air your whole life; the groan that passes from his mouth to yours is the only thing you want in your lungs from now on.

Liquid desire pools in your stomach, rising until you think you might choke on it. “Jay, please.”

“Please, what? Use your words, doll.”

“Touch me.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Quicker than you realize it, but just as urgently as you need it, you find yourself laid out on his bed, and then he’s demonstrating that he knows more than just how to play guitar with those thick fingers.

When you make it out of his room an hour later, you’re still glowing with happiness. Jay knows he looks equally lovestruck, not least because his collar is hiding several lipstick stains from you.

You offer to help him redo his tie, so he anchors you unnecessarily close to him, hands sweeping up and down your side. “I don’t think I told you yet, but you look really nice tonight,” he murmurs. “You look really nice all the time, actually.”

You bury your face in his chest. “I’m going to explode if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

He presses his smile to the top of your head. “Nooooo, you’re too pretty to explode.”

“Jay!” But you’re both laughing, bathed in the soft magic of newfound devotion. You couldn’t dream up anything better.

(Dating Jay is a lot like fake-dating Jay, as it turns out. In some ways.

In other ways, Jay still manages to take your breath away with new and inventive methods. He really does make you dinner, with tea lights and a picnic blanket, ensconced in the twilight of a park you drive an hour away to get to. He even makes foie gras torchon for the occasion, from scratch, and he watches you intently as you moan in delight at the taste. You joke about your breath being fishy when you kiss later, but he just shrugs, unbothered and already moving so that his head disappears underneath your dress, making you moan in a different way.

So, yes— there’s a lot more kissing, and sex, and intimacy that makes you want to curl up in a ball and hiss at how vulnerable it makes you. But Jay is always welcome in the prickly patches of your soul, and he wants those parts of you as much as he wants the parts of you that paint him in aching affection.

When he finally tells you he loves you that winter— in so many words, because it shows in his every action otherwise—, it’s three in the morning again, and your hands are fluttering across his brow, smoothing out the creases from a night of worrying about whether he’s really good enough to take over the family business. Your fingers, lovely and dear to him, stitch together the cracks in his self-resolve, and he can’t help but let the words out. His heart absolutely sings when you repeat the words back to him.

Some time later, you ask him to sit for a portrait for you. He doesn’t think too much of it, especially as the seasons bleed into one another and spring brings an influx of senior events, pollen, and the impending question of the future. He’s at your senior thesis, asking you detailed questions during the audience Q&A and wrapping you up in the biggest hug when it’s over, and you sit in on the final class he TAs, applauding when he’s done.

At the showcase of your final portfolio, his jaw drops when you reveal the second portrait (after having laughed his ass off at Jake blubbering over the first one and Yunjin kissing him in public to shut him up).

The second portrait is of him, and his parents. From his dad’s strong brows, to his mom’s smile lines, to his own hands; every detail is captured, shimmering in loving light.

He finds that his eyes are wet when you come up to him and brush your thumb against his eyelashes, smiling brightly at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. I love you, so much, like crazy, you don’t even know,” he rambles, laughing through his tears now.

You kiss him quickly but firmly, just a reminder that your mouth was made to fit against his. “Love you more, London boy. Speaking of…” You lean back to stare at him through your eyelashes. “I got the Rhodes,” you whisper.

His eyes widen like saucers. “You’re coming with me?”

“More like you’re coming with me,” you say, knowing that Jay had requested to be placed at his family business’s England location to be close to you in the event that you got the scholarship.

“Obviously,” he relents without missing a beat. “I’m going to follow you everywhere. Can’t get rid of me now.” He dips his head to kiss you longer. Lightning still shoots through his fingertips, just like the first time, and every time after that.

At graduation, you tell him, “You know, I think I’ve decided what I want your favor to be.”

He smiles at you, familiar and true. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Just love me, for a long, long time.”

“Easy, Cinderella.”)

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