#I just need a universe where he lives and they’re a happy family

[its-been-rose]

Listen I needed this ok

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

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

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

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

part one can be found on my masterlist!

note: reuploaded from my old blog with the same name! welcome back if you've been here before, and enjoy the conclusion to part one if you're new. happy reading ♡

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

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

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

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PART TWO

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Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend.

Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? 

Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both. 

Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well. 

Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something.

Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie?

Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 

“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 

Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 

You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.” 

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 

A beat passes. Two. 

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait. 

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 

You say nothing. 

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 

You don't bother to knock. 

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.” 

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.

[catcake24]

Through the power of dimensional travel, I WILL make both KOBD and Breakbee coexist.

Here’s my idea (not sure if I’m going to write it as a fanfic, but I like it enough to share):

During a space/groundbridge incident, TFP Knockout and Breakdown from another dimension are pulled into Earthspark. They soon flee after seeing the sight of so many Autobots

Eventually though, the Maltos + Megatron (since they are “Decepticons”, they think they might listen to Megatron) track them down and explain they just want to send them home. But surprise… it turns out Knockout and Breakdown actually really like the ES dimension even more than their own.

They were already on the run from the Decepticons in their own world after Breakdown nearly died, they both already like earth and don’t mind staying, and they find the idea of being able to actually make a life outside of war appealing. Since medics are desperately needed, even with the few remaining still working, they are allowed to stay in Witwicky and even give medical help with the kids when needed.

Ideas!

they are their usual selves with everyone else, but when they hear about the Terrans they go absolutely soft. They’re the rich aunties now, and will not be hearing otherwise (this includes Mo and Robby too, once they find out they’re family.)

They get along with Alex and Dot well, since they genuinely care for the kids and just want a life outside of war. (Breakdown admits they did awful things at some point, expecting the humans to recoil, but Dot says “My best friend is Megatron, I know many Cons who made mistakes. But everyone deserves their second chance.”)

Knockout notices ES Bee has been looking at him weird, sees ES Breakdown and Bee together for five minutes, and goes “I’m gonna set them up”. This breakdown deserves a happy relationship too, and Knockout can see how close ES Breakdown is with Bee since he’s already married his own Breakdown, so he ends up giving bee the perfect advice to finally confess. Or he messes with him, 50/50 really.

TFP Breakdown is the best babysitter when Bee is away, since he actually knows how to handle younglings very well. ES Breakdown sees this as competition for HIS Bee, and there’s a lot of silly shenanigans around it until TFP BD goes “pfft, I already got a conjunx, and I’m already with someone wayyy above your Bee”

This is how the Terrans learn what a conjunx is, and react the same way most kids do to learning what marriage is (curious but also going “ew! Kissing!”)

Knockout isn’t a great babysitter because he spoils the kids rotten. He needs Breakdown supervision at least so the kids don’t gain an extra pound from sweets lol

Knockout and Breakdown stay in Witwicky because it’s a nice change of scenery, and because they need to be under the supervision of Autobots until they can be fully trusted. They do sneak off for dates sometimes, but over time the bots just get used to it

At some point TFP KOBD and Breakbee go on a double date on a racing track. ES Breakdown is horrified to learn his alternate is slow as fuck. Luckily Knockout can match them for speed, and have a good time with TFP Breakdown on the sidelines offering coolant to the racers (and kisses for good luck for his Conjunx).

Basically this is a wish fulfillment au where Knockout and Breakdown can live happily while in the more wholesome Earthspark universe (until the horrors come for the Terrans again)

Feel free to add extra ideas for this AU :3

[tragedybunny]

Dance With Me Under the Diamonds, See Me Like Breath in the Cold - Astarion x F!Reader

I've been waiting to write this for some time. I'm absolutely thrilled with it and I hope you think it's beautiful.

Reader and Astarion have come a long way since that meeting on the beach. They've made it all the way to their wedding.

“Where in the hells is Gale?” Astarion fusses while fidgeting with the brocade crimson overcoat he’s wearing. “That man is always late.”

“He’ll be here Love,” you give him a small kiss on his cheek and take his hand, trying your best to keep things calm. "He's not even actually late yet."

“Still haven’t found patience to be a virtue I see,” Shadowheart strolls over to the two of you where you wait under an arbor of night-blooming jasmine, her arm hooked in Lae’zel’s.

“Would you expect any different,” Lae’zel adds a wide smile to her words, an attempt to make it clear she’s joking. The Githyanki has certainly seen her share of change since you met her, really hadn’t you all though?

“While I’m glad you two have finally developed a sense of humor, I’d rather not be the subject of it.” You can feel his agitation rising and it’s your turn to silently plead with the universe for Gale to hurry up.

“Perhaps he’s nervous,” Lae’zel turns to her partner, pretending Astarion isn’t right there fuming.

“I am not!” Before he gets any more worked up, they both pull the pair of you into a sudden embrace, leaving Astarion stuttering and you trying not to giggle at his expense.

“Congratulations you two, we’ll go mingle and pray for Gale’s safety if he’s any later,” The two of them join arms again and make their way back over to the crowd greeting an enthusiastic Mol and her gang of children that’s expanded beyond just the original tieflings. They’re becoming quite the criminal enterprise. There are so many people here, lives you’ve both touched. Originally you’d planned to just stay at your little house for the event, but when more requests to attend kept coming, you had to choose somewhere else. Duke Ravenguard had graciously offered you private use of Bloomridge Park.

“You are nervous, aren’t you,” you whisper mischievously and watch him try to hide it.

“Of course not, I managed to convince you to come this far, now it’s all formality,” your heart skips a beat when he smiles, the tips of fangs peeking out from under his lip. Smiles like that were all too rare when you first met him.

“I don’t recall needing much convincing.” Truthfully, you don’t remember what had brought the subject up, but Astarion had reminded you that it wasn’t a point, legally speaking, as neither of you technically existed.

“It doesn’t have to be in an official record anywhere, it’s just a promise we would make to one another. And we do know the perfect Cleric for a nighttime ceremony.” The way he’d just stood there for a moment you thought you'd said something wrong. Perhaps it was bringing up a Cleric and making it a sworn oath, he didn’t exactly have any love for religion. But then he was dropping to his knees, taking your hands in his, and begging you to be his wife. It was appropriately dramatic for him. And now, here you were, gathered with friends and found family, waiting on a late wizard.

“Brother!” Beside you, Astarion braces and a pale figure collides with him, embracing him tightly

“Hello Dal,” he gingerly returns her hug, as you notice Aurelia remaining a respectful distance behind them. “It’s good to see the both of you too,” he nods in Aurelia’s direction. His relationship with his “siblings” is complicated, but the horror they shared bonds them, and some of them have tried to make a family out of what is left to them. Dalyria seems to be the most persistent, she even had the two of you come visit their home in the Underdark.

“I’m so happy for you Astarion,” she finally releases him but leaves a hand on his arm fondly. “You’ll have to come visit again. I’ll even make Petras promise to behave.”

There’s turmoil in him only you can see, he would love to forget about anything that reminds him of Cazador, but the sisterly love Dal tries to give him is something he’s missed in his life. “At least it will be safer for him that way.”

“Stop,” she smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll talk more later.” As she walks away, Aurelia gives a stiff wave.

“His time is up, he's de-” A flash of light interrupts and when it fades two figures are standing amongst the crowd, a wizard you know well and one you briefly met.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gale begins awkwardly, trying to ignore Astarion’s considerable glare, “we were occupied in a bit of an undertaking…”

“But I am sure you will find the reasons most acceptable,” Elminster takes over, giving your floundering friend a reprieve.

Another flash of light as two more figures appear and you can't believe your eyes. Your heart leaps and you shout inadvertently. "Karlach! Wyll!" Without a second thought, you launch yourself at both of them, Astarion following along more reservedly.

"Steady on there, Soldier," Karlach pulls you into a smothering hug.

"How," you ask, smoothing the cream lace of your dress as she lets you go, still stunned she's outside Avernus without exploding.

"Wizards," Wyll smiles, glancing at Gale and Elminster. "We had to find a way back, there's no way we'd miss this."

"It won't hold forever, but we think we've got a way I can come back for visits. Until we get something permanent. Good news is Zariel's seemed distracted by something lately."

"I suppose overall this is an appropriate excuse for being late," Astarion finally relents.

"Aww, come on Fangs, don't be sour, it's your wedding." Karlach has a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Do not," but it's too late, the tiefling picks him up in a crushing hug. "I missed you too Karlach."

Tears suddenly start to form in your eyes, seeing them all together again, it was something you feared might never be. Wyll gives Asatrion a less brutal greeting and you turn to Elminster. "Thank you. You will stay right," it's the least you can do.

"Gale has assured me there are to be many culinary delights after, and of course, I've never seen a vampire spawn get married. So I believe I shall."

"Ah. I see Father made it," Wyll waves to Duke Ravengaurd who had been waiting a respectful distance away. "Best go see him, we'll catch up more after."

"You both better save a dance for me," Karlach calls over her shoulder, taking his arm, and kissing his temple.

"Tell me you have them," Astarion has fixed his attention back on Gale, and you rush to his side before he can begin another tirade.

"Worried I would eat them?" Gale has recovered himself from Astarion’s initial onslaught and is smiling brightly.

"Yes," your beloved is still in no mood for jokes.

"Honestly Astarion," you give him a look.

"Ugh, fine, I'll calm down. Once he hands them over." You're lost as to what Gale has that's so important considering the occasion.

"Never change my friend," he laughs and pulls a small box from a pocket on his robes and opens it gently. Inside there are two gold rings with small red stones set in them, you can feel the hum of magic in them.

“Sending Stones?” You glance at Astarion as he takes the box from Gale.

For a moment he seems almost shy about it. “I thought it would be nice if we were always able to speak to each other, no matter what. I know it’s not feasible to never be separated.” The two of you had spent almost every moment of the last couple of years in each other’s presence, but as Astarion continued to heal, he seemed more comfortable with time spent apart.

“You’re adorable, you know that,” your lips brush the tip of his nose, the gift is an incredibly sweet sentiment, and you’re so proud of how far he’s come.

Under the right circumstances, vampires actually can blush. “I..” he starts, sounding like he’s going to grouse about something, probably being called adorable in front of everyone, but stops. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why you think that my Love, after everything I’ve done.”

You reach up to brush his cheek and run a finger through his curls. “That wasn’t who you really are.”

“I take it, we're ready.” Isobel joins you under the arbor, eyes already fixed on the moon above, and you both nod in response. “Then let us begin,” her voice carries to the crowd and silence falls. “We come here, under Our Lady’s Light, to bless this couple and sanctify their bond.”

You honestly don’t remember many of Isobel’s words after that as Astarion takes your hand and you get lost in his soft, crimson eyes. Maybe it’s a bit terrible of you to ask Selune’s blessing and then not pay attention, but you think she can understand. “The rings,” Isobel prompts and Astarion retrieves them from his pocket, opening them so the Cleric can bless them. “May the Moonmaiden’s light ever guide your hearts toward each other.” A nearly imperceptible mote of silver light seems to land on them and lends the jewels in them an unearthly glow.

Astarion tenderly picks one up as you proffer your finger. Isobel had agreed to let you both speak your own vows, as long as they didn’t directly offend any of Selune’s teachings. You’d reassured Astarion every step of the way that you didn’t need it to be a sworn oath in front of clergy, but he’d oddly insisted, saying he wanted to swear himself to you to the fullest. “As long as it’s Isobel though, she’s the only trustworthy one.” Shadowheart was still figuring out how much religion she wanted in her life, though it seemed Selune was patient as she continued to have a Cleric's gifts.

The ring slips on your finger perfectly and your heart stutters, your vision getting watery again. You do the same for him in turn and you both entwine your hands, speaking in unison. “Unto thee, I vow, mine heart and home, mine life and love, for now, and all seasons. Let me never from thy side be parted, and unto thee, no evil do. Until, at last, my life shall leave me, this my beloved, is my pledge to you. So I do swear.”

“And so sworn before our Lady, I do pronounce thee wed.” The crowd behind you applauds, and you can barely see Astarion through the tears.

Lae’zel and Karlach are shouting raucously, “Kiss! Kiss!”

You start to lean forward and notice his eyes are just as wet as yours. “Hells, why did I agree to do this in public,” he laughs, dabbing his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

“You couldn’t miss being the center of attention,” your laugh is lost in a happy sob. “Damn it, kiss me before I pass out or something.”

Softly, he pulls you in, lips finding yours. The chaste peck turns deeper, giving the crowd what they want judging by the noise. But then something unexpected happens, there’s the tinkle of mischievous laughter, as though a woman stands near to you. A voice that’s both honey-sweet but radiating power whispers in your ear, “congratulations my dear child,” and you feel a surge of fae-touched magic, reminding you of that day you took a different oath.

The kiss breaks and Astarion is staring at you, surprise clearing away his tears. “I know you.”

Everything goes numb in the rush of terror that follows, he’d learned some of who you were before the Nautiloid, but there was much still to tell. “Astarion I’m so-”

A slender finger is pressed to your lips. “Hush Love, tomorrow. And it changes nothing, I still love you with all my unbeating heart. Now let’s indulge everyone since they came all this way to celebrate us.”

The night is full of feasting, drinking, song, and dancing. The two of you mingle with old friends and those whom you met only briefly, the scents of a delectable feast wafting through the air. When the music starts, you share a waltz under the night sky, Astarion holding you close and whispering in your ear, “love you Sunlight.”

True to her word, Karlach insists on a dance with both of you, surprising you with her talent for it. “I’ve been teaching her,” Wyll looks over at her and Astarion lovingly from where he’s dancing with you. “Once you find a safe place to rest, Avernus can be a bit boring.”

You stumble across Lae’zel, angrily giving gold to Mol and her crew. “She lost a bet,” Mol says proudly.

“Oh really, and what sort of scam bet did you get her to agree to, my favorite tiny criminal” Astarion asks fondly. Mol comes to visit you sometimes and you’ve decided you’d rather not know what he’s been teaching her.

“She thought you might light on fire as soon as it got religious,” Mol laughs and scampers off.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve seen me in temples before.”

“Chk, but never swearing an oath.”

“She has a point,” you nudge him playfully.

“Oh you are going to pay for that later,” he leans in to nip at your neck, causing you to shiver.

Dawn nears much too soon and you can see some of his happiness evaporating. There still was no solution you’d found to let him live in the light. “We should go,” you whisper in his ear, “what’s a wedding without the wedding bed?” Ever so lightly, you let your tongue brush against his ear, a spot of divine torment for him you’ve found, and listen as he gasps softly.

“Indeed my Love,” his mood revives and the two of you make your good-byes, your friends having promised to clean up the aftermath of the night. A young woman you think you recognize passes you an open bottle of wine on the way out of the park, “a gift from summer’s best,” she says and it fills you with a strange sensation for a moment before Astarion’s mouth is on yours again.

Your house isn’t far from Bloomridge and the two of you stroll the streets in a blissful, dreamy state, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing drinks from the wine that tastes of sweet berries and summer rains. Lights dance in the morning mists and everything feels transcendtly perfect as you ascend the steps to your home. Astarion pins against your front door, kissing you hungrily and letting his hands wander your body. “My wife,” he breathes against your skin as his lips travel down your neck.

Heat sparks inside you, ravenous for him. “My husband,” you sigh, lost in your love for him.

[jellojelli]

Welt, Blade, Luocha, & Svarog: You’re Pregnant

*a/n: for all intents and purposes Svarog has the necessary accessories lmao*

Tags: fem!reader, pregnancy, slight angst, fluff

Welt

If you were to tell Welt that you were pregnant he would love for you to tell him in a silly or a way that makes him think about it for a minute. Something like putting buns in the oven or sitting next to two piles of ice while giving him a goofy look

When you told Welt you were pregnant expect to be literally lifted into the air as he looks at you with so much love it’s almost unbearable

He’s never been happier than to hear you say you were pregnant

It doesn’t matter if you two are only dating at this point or married or if this baby was planned or not, Welt is so happy. He loves you, he’s pretty sure you are going to be his last love no matter what so he’s happy to start a family with you

If you’re scared or unsure about going through with the pregnancy don’t feel conflicted on his account. He is going to love you through it all. No matter your decision he’s okay with it. And if you’re worried about being a parent Welt will gladly hold your hand and help you learn and become more confident in raising kids. He's also more than happy to essentially show you how he deals with March, Dan Heng, and the trailblazer

Welt is pretty rational, but I feel like this man has already bought and/or built everything a kid ages 0-4 could ever need and assembled a nursery on the express before you’re even done with your first trimester. Not to mention everyone is so ecstatic for you both that they’re also buying and decorating the entire express

Please don't expect to lift a finger during your entire pregnancy because if it's not Welt doing it for you its literally every other person, minus Dan Heng if it's something that you can clearly do on your own (he still offers his help because lets be honest he is a gentleman and if you’re with Welt he has mad respect for you)

Blade

Blade is a somewhat reasonable man, he's strong, and while sometimes he doesn't necessarily think everything out when he goes out to fight he can always find a way out. However, this news has left him literally shell shocked. It's gonna take you or another Stellaron hunter to snap him out of his thoughts

He is not going to sugarcoat the fact that he isn't exactly thrilled by this news, and if you tried to be cute with it he's not to happy you weren't just upfront and straightforward about something like this with him. But, Blade will not leave you or hate you for whatever you decided to do regarding the baby

He makes sure you know that he is less than ideal for a father, he's losing his mind, sometimes it's hard to control his violent tendencies, and he's not the most tactful person in the universe. He understands that these things make others view him as toxic, and he would never deny that, so he wants you to know that this child is likely going to go through hardships because of him

Blade didn't make the connection when you first told him about your pregnancy, but eventually he'll realize that his regeneration ability has a chance to pass onto the child and the scene of destruction you discovered after that was horrendous and also the most emotion you've seen on Blade's face. he looks haunted by the idea that his child will live like him and have to suffer an eternity without any out. It takes a lot of comfort and logistic talk with Blade, you, and the other Stellaron Hunter including Elio for him to feel even a shred of peace about this possibility

Surprisingly, Blade will set up an amazing nursery for you and the baby. You have no idea where he got the items, and its probably best not to ask, but the nursery is beautiful if not a bit bland

Blade will leave all color, toy, clothes, and baby care items to you. Not that he isn't trying to be involved with you and the kid, but he doesn't really know or care about those things, so he will leave them in your ever capable hands since you are bound to know leagues more than him. He will of course accompany you in shopping and offer whatever opinions he may have with some of your choices

Please expect Kafka and Silver Wolf to throw a baby shower for you. Not only that, Kafka is incredibly happy for you and Blade and helps you out anytime Blade isn't there. Silver Wolf also joins in with helping you, but it's less so since she's still young and to be honest doesn't know how to properly help you other than just handing you stuff and being there for you when your hormones are getting the better of you

Elio also gives you some cryptic, but somewhat kind words for you, Blade, and the baby's future together

Luocha

Luocha probably knows before you do. He's not a licensed doctor or trained in pregnancy symptoms and care, but like? He's traveled for who knows how long and he's seen a thing or two out there, and he's 99% sure that you are pregnant before you ever sit him down to tell him about it. I mean the weeks of morning sickness were a huge sign, especially when his treatments failed to do anything for you

Don't take offense, but Luocha isn't either ecstatic about the baby or displeased about them. He is happy to start a family with you, but he also brings up that this is going to be tough for you, him, and the newest little member if you plan on coming with him around the universe. He can't exactly stop being a traveling merchant as how would either of you make ends meet if he quit his job and eventually you can't work for an extended amount of time, but he would never force you to travel around with him where you may be in some less than comfortable areas during your pregnancy

No matter how you plan to do this, Luocha is 100% on board with your plans. He loves you, you are his everything, and even if he has to travel back and forth or carry you, the baby, and his coffin he will do what he must to be with you

Luocha will likely set up a house for you regardless on if you plan to come with him or not. He wants a stable location for his family once the little guy is out

You can bet that he has the house furnished and everything built and in place in no time. I feel like he's got connections and knows people that know people to get the job done asap

He leaves some fun aspects for you to do though, picking out nursery designs, clothes, toys, decorations for the home, he will leave it all for you and do what he can to get you everything you need or desire for the baby and y’all's new home

And don’t worry, if you go into labor on the road you are with the most capable healer and will make sure you and the baby are safe and happy

Svarog

Okay so, telling him you're pregnant is pretty much going to make Svarog do the equivalent of a blue screen. You’ve legit made this robot man crash and reboot

Svarog 100% knew that he could get you pregnant, you know this man has run 1000 and 1 different simulations and calculations to see if pregnancy was even possible for you two. And obviously the chance was a 0.0001% probability and he ignored that the possibility wasn't zero because those odds were supposed to be impossible, but here you were telling him you both beat the impossible and and beat the 99.9999% chance of this not happening

You would have to call in Clara to help Svarog and also tell her the amazing news. Clara is so excited by becoming a big sister that it kind of helps Svarog regain his composure and reboot his systems

He will want to discuss a lot about what is being created inside of you. This is a situation that he is not equipped to deal with and there is no simulation or calculation he can run that will tell him anything about what is going to happen now

However, Svarog is ever responsible and dependable and will never leave you uncared for during this time. Please rest assured that he will have you and Clara on baby proofing and baby planning duties until the baby comes, all while granting your every desire to assure your 100% happiness

Would never admit it, but he’s happy to have a second child, and he’s even happier that Clara is so hyper about the newest addition, if not a bit sad that she’s already maturing more and more in preparation for becoming a big sister

Expect some very confused and joyful congratulations from some of the prominent figures in Belobog. Bronya and Seele are the most confused, but offer their congratulations and Bronya even offers to accommodate you in the best hospital when you go into labor. Natasha is also happy for you and offers to be the one help with the delivery. Sampo…Sampo gives a lot of teasing comments that probably get a rocket fist sent his way and a pouting and scolding Clara on his heels

Taglist: @stygianoir

[queensunshinee]

I told you things || Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings: mention of a drunk driver (DON'T do that!!!), also it's kinda sad so be aware of the angst. Word Count: 2.7k

I told you things

This is a foolish event. You look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that all you need to do is smile, shake hands, stand beside your grandmother, and eat an oyster. Sip champagne. Get drunk on the champagne. Ignore Art Donaldson. Piece of cake. You take a deep breath and enter the hall, seeing the fancy dresses of people who were once your friends and their parents. People who are almost strangers but also so familiar. "You made it, good. Please don't slouch," your grandmother reminds you to straighten up every three minutes when she's beside you. "It’ll help you project presence," she always says. She's a powerful woman; the way she speaks and carries herself is filled with a regal and noble quality that you lack. You’re your father's daughter, and he's been denying the fact he's her son since the day he learned the meaning of the word "deny." You feel out of place, but you're standing tall, and that's all that matters to her right now.

By the tenth handshake, you've lost count. By the third glass of champagne, you've lost meaning. Because Art only looks at you when he thinks you're not looking at him. He stands in the corner with Patrick, who greeted you with his dad, but Art looked at everything in the room except you. You find yourself making small talk with Art's mom, who was always like a second mom, maybe even the first if you consider your relationship with your own mother. And she tells you how well he's doing. How successful he is at Stanford. That he’s never been this happy.

So you say you're happy for him because you really are happy for him. Everyone wants to see the people they love happy. Everyone wants to hear that they're doing well, that they've found their purpose. That they’re not wandering lost in the world. That they live in a universe full of meaning. Art Donaldson is the best you know at meaning. He decided he'd be that figure, that player everyone knows. A name mentioned at family dinners when people talk about what's new in American sports. He’ll be the one who makes dreams come true.

"(Y/N), it’s been a while since we've seen you here," one of your grandfather's friends approaches you and pulls you into a hug for no apparent reason. It’s always the same middle-aged people. Always men. Always letting themselves hold on four seconds longer than appropriate. More than socially acceptable. The only thing it made you think of is that every other time you'd encountered behavior like this, Art was beside you, pulling you away with a pretext no one could resist. You almost started crying in the middle of the hall. In the middle of a charity event. In the middle of life. Just like that, crying. Like when you were younger. When you didn’t need an excuse, when it was okay because someone would already be your advocate and say, "She's tired."

Now you're tired too, but no one finds it necessary to be your advocate. . . . Between forced smiles and small talks, you found yourself sneaking outside to smoke a cigarette, nearly ignoring everyone you once considered friends who now live in a parallel world. A world where choosing between you and Art is simple because you're far away. Because you come once a year, and Art is an inseparable part of their lives. Their smiles are apologetic when they glance at you, quickly returning to their conversations, to the laughter you used to be part of.

"It's not sexy, you know?" Patrick's voice came from behind you, laced with a hint of arrogance. He didn't see, but you definitely rolled your eyes. "I thought everything was sexy in your opinion," you shot back, not looking at him as he came close enough to light his cigarette with yours. "Except for self-pity. That's pathetic," he said, taking a deep drag. "I'm not pitying myself," you replied, too quickly for it to sound convincing. "Why didn't you say hello to anyone?" he asked, not taking his gaze off you. "I said hello to everyone." Another eye roll, this time one he could see. "Bullshit, sugar, you did a round with your grandpa and hugged old folks. You said hi to your friends' parents—that doesn’t count," he didn't let anything slip by. It was infuriating.

"It's just one night, Patrick. I won't have to see anyone here again." You said with determination, as if trying to convince yourself it was true. Both of you knew it wasn’t just one night. "And what will you do all summer? Sit in their house and cry about how awful your life is? Unbeli—" "That's enough, Patrick." Art's voice made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t seen his face, or his curls, or his crossed arms, but you already felt panic wrapping around you. "Give us a moment," he added, still not coming closer. He didn’t stand beside you or in front of you. He stayed in his position of power. He could see you, but you couldn’t see him. You looked at Patrick as if he was the only one who could save you at that moment. You let the tightness in your throat show, and the plea in your eyes was unmistakable. You weren’t too proud to beg if it would make him stay and not leave you two alone. Patrick looked at you for another moment, showing not an ounce of mercy as he shrugged and started to walk away. Bastard. Absolute bastard. "Dickhead," you muttered, watching his clumsy steps until he disappeared from view.

Art's chuckle was faint but just loud enough to make you regret the cigarette you stepped outside to smoke. What was so urgent that you had to edge closer to death? Why couldn’t you hold back before giving in to this stupid addiction? "Want one?" Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the slight tremor in your voice as you offered Art a cigarette. Anyone else would’ve interpreted it as confidence. He saw it for what it was, a defense. It was all you had to place between the two of you—a stretched-out hand and a pack of Winston Lights. Patrick was right. It really was all pathetic. "I don’t smoke anymore," he sighed, leaning against the makeshift railing next to you, not looking at you but straight ahead, the same way you weren't looking at him.

"That's a nice dress," he broke the silence. "Thanks, my grandma chose it," you mumbled, trying to find meaning in this conversation. A conversation with a stranger who knows all your secrets. A stranger who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. A stranger who holds half of your heart in his hands. "I'm not surprised, she has good taste. She always picked the best movies and took us to the best restau-" he began, slipping into nostalgia. "I’ll suggest she divorce my grandpa because she might have a suitor," you interrupted, glancing at him just for a second to see his face fall slightly and to hear his bitter chuckle. You turned your gaze the other way, ashamed of what you'd done. That you'd knocked the wind out of him in an instant.

"How are you?" he asked. "We haven't spoken in a while." You could sense the tension in his voice. It should've made you feel better, realizing that you weren’t the only one who was anxious, that he felt bad too. But it only made you shift uncomfortably. He was supposed to be okay. He’d moved on. He wasn't there anymore. You were the only one stuck a year back. The only one who couldn’t move forward with her life. Everyone else was at a different stage. Everyone knew what they wanted, and Art was no different. More than that, Art could be the leader of those who know what they want. "Everything’s fine, you know, routine," you found yourself mumbling. "What's the routine?" he asked, this time looking at you, his voice desperate for information. For details. "You don’t want to know," you gave him a forced smile. "But I’m fine, really," you quickly added. "They covered it all up as if nothing happened, so you don't have to worry."

And again, he let out a bitter laugh, and if it made sense, he would’ve stomped his right foot and shaken you. Because you have to talk to him. Because he's to blame. You know he's to blame. He knows he's to blame. Patrick knows he's to blame. But you’re not willing to talk to him anymore. And how is it fair? That he continues as if nothing happened. As if he once dreamed of you and you’re just a character he invented to pull him out of any quicksand he stumbled into.

"I'm really sorry, Shug," he said, not knowing how much longer he could hold back the tears. Not knowing how long he could keep his composure. He hadn’t expected to see you here today, but here you are, looking so beautiful and good and distant. Keeping your distance, keeping it safe. As if you were born to protect him from the world. As if you'd always be there but would disappear the second he didn't need you anymore. And how is that fair? He asks himself over and over- how is that fucking fair?!

"Art, I chose to do this." Your voice didn’t waver as you looked at him this time. Because you truly believed it. You chose. No one forced you. You decided. "I told you to leave. I told you not to be there. I chose." You repeated it. Your gaze was piercing. His blue eyes glowed as if he were listening to a prayer. As if God were speaking to him. Last summer, you both went to a party, and Art drove drunk. He didn’t hurt anyone, but he sped and crashed into a bridge. You told him to leave before the police arrived. No one got hurt. There was no reason his entire future should be ruined. He was supposed to start at Stanford. You both were supposed to start at Stanford. He went on to college, and you started community service. And that’s fine; you convinced yourself it was completely fine because you chose it.

"Shug, what’s your routine?" he asked again, desperate for a piece of information. You hadn’t answered calls, and your grandparents had wiped you off the map. They’d cut you off from everything you knew to get their beloved granddaughter (who they’d once seen as an angel until that moment) back on track. Whatever, so you had to collect a little plastic and paper in Kentucky. So there were more racists there than you'd expected in any place. So someone once called you a "filthy Jew" for asking him not to throw his can on the ground. So what? Your grandparents had been through far worse. And they’re fine. You helped a friend, and he’s fine. You’re fine, too. Everyone knows you’re fine.

"I'm working, and this year I'll start college, so it’s like I took a gap year- no big deal." You shrugged. "Are you starting Stanford this year?" Art straightened up for a moment, the spark in his eyes rekindling. He couldn’t believe everything could just be left behind. That everything was working out like this. That he only had to wait a year, and it would all be behind you. "Oh, I gave up on Stanford. I don’t really vibe with California," you said, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if your grandfather hadn’t tried to convince the university administration to take you back despite the criminal record. "Fuck, (Y/N)," he started pacing back and forth, unable to believe the nonchalant tone coming out of your mouth.

"Art, it’s not a big deal." You put the second cigarette in your mouth, unable to stand this conversation any longer. "How is it not a big deal? Your life was ruined," he wanted to shake you, wanted you to get mad at him. To hate him, even if just for a moment. "I lov-" "Don’t say that," you cut him off, taking a step back. "Why not, Shug? You know it’s true. You know that I-" he tried again, more determined this time. "You don’t love me. you feel guilty, but there’s no reason, Artie. Really, there isn’t," you tried to convince him. "I told you to leave. You didn’t ask. I wanted it to be exactly like this. I wanted you to go to Stanford. You dreamed of Stanford," you nodded toward him as you spoke, trying to project confidence instead of the fragility you felt inside. "We dreamed of Stanford," he stopped pacing and stood in front of you, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Tell me about Stanford," you said softly, feeling your tears well up, almost betraying you and the resolve you tried to uphold. "So many people. Most of the time, I don’t know where I fit. But Tashi’s there, Patrick’s girlfriend." He paused, taking a breath, and you could see he was fighting his own tears. "Tell me more," you asked. "The courses are hard. I’m not good at most of the subjects, not like you. I’ve never played tennis at this level." He continued, "You’d love the library. I’m lost there. No one is kind enough to help me find a book." You both chuckled, too afraid to move. "What else?" you asked, almost desperate for more details. "I ranked first at Stanford by the end of the season. Maybe next season they’ll want me to start a campaign, go pro. Nike reached out." He said, watching you, seeing your smile grow.

"That’s amazing, Art. It’s everything we wanted." And it really was everything you wanted for him. He was exceptional. You always knew he was exceptional. He’d walk into a room, and the room would skip a beat. Almost fall silent. Sometimes you wondered if it was the room or just you. "It’s not all I wanted," he returned. And you both knew what he meant. "You’re going to leave a mark on America, Donaldson. You’re going to be the biggest thing to come out of here. You’re going to change American tennis. Ten years from now, little kids will have your poster on their walls." You smiled at him, as he brushed a rough but gentle hand against your cheek, wiping away the tear that managed to escape.

"And you? Where will you be in ten years?" he asked, and in response, you pulled him into a hug. Because maybe you lost a lot over the past year, but it was worth it. You didn’t know what your dreams were, the ones you had felt so trivial and small. Like eating pineapple for dinner, learning all the lyrics to Linkin Park songs by heart, managing to read three books a week, loving Art Donaldson. While your small dreams sometimes flickered to life, Art Donaldson's dreams would change the world, and that was such a clearly humbling thought that no one would ever understand.

The sad truth is that everything you once told him about your dreams and hopes doesn’t matter anymore. Everything you shared about who you wanted to be flipped over to help him become who he wanted to be. And that’s okay. Really okay. Soon Art Donaldson would be everyone’s and no one’s at the same time, and in ten years, he would be where he was meant to be, and you would be someone he once knew, someone who told him secrets he wouldn’t remember. . . . As you walked back into the hall, leaving him behind and wondering how smudged your mascara was, you remembered to stand tall. maybe it will help a little.

Hey there, so here we are with the saddest thing I could possibly write. It's lacking any smut, so sorry for that. I guess it's the only mood I could deliver to the table LOL I'd like to hear your thoughts as always ❤️

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

You know when you read a fic and love it so much that you want to find one exactly like it but different. Anyways, more Alternate Universe fics.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

These first few fics are all by elanev91 on ao3 (ao3 account required).

Force of Habit

Lily's been riding the same train back and forth to work for the last two and a half years and lowkey fancies the guy who sits one row up from her usual seat.

TW: parent death discussed

The fic that inspired the intro (I love it so much you don't understand)

Waffle Wars

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

every day I like you a little mower

Lily was JUST trying to be a good daughter and help her father with his yard work. Too bad the bloke next door is always outside and also the most annoyingly talkative person on the planet.

we could be gigantic series

Lily and James have been best friends since they were kids. Uni, a band, a trip abroad, a few tours and a couple of albums later, things start to change. Half an email fic, half a regular ol' narrative.

it wasn't a pity invite

Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omg i’m so sorry

The one where they’re both doctors - also Northern Irish Lily.

One Direction on the A4

James and Lily are having quite the morning. James thinks a little nonsense might fix it. Or James is a dork and Lily loves it.

Ye Olde Smut Fic

Student recruitment fairs suck, but never fear -- Professor Evans and Professor Potter have figured out how to make it a little less annoying.

Professor AU, Modern AU, Muggle AU. Smutty ridiculousness. Plot questionable.

The tragedy is that they live in America

The Yeast I Can Do

Dr Lily Evans had an absolute shit day at work. Luckily, there's a bakery nearby that offers a course that she hopes will take her mind off of things.

For my fellow jily & wolfstar enjoyers, go do yourself a favour and check out their other works on ao3.

Teenage Kicks by @arianatwycross

It all starts with Lily being hired to be the bands tour photographer, then she actually meets the band and she quickly becomes absorbed by their fast lifestyle, their pranks and the hot lead singer. But its not exactly simple to be crushing on a famous Rockstar, is it?

Foam Hearts by Sleepinghookah (on ao3)

Coffee shop AU. A story in which James and Lily are blind - both in entirely different ways.

I promise he's not a bad person. You've got to read till the end and it'll make sense

When The Skies Are Gray by @athenasparrow

“Carry me?” Lily scoffed, biting her lip so she wouldn’t laugh in his face. Because he was about to do something nice for her. “I’m not some damsel in distress who can’t walk! I just need a bit of cover to make it to the tube.”

OR: two strangers, one umbrella, and a little bit of fate.

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along) by @thelighthousestale

Prompt: I thought I went skinny dipping alone but oh my god this beautiful human is also here naked and I am a fool

All Lily wanted to do was take a nice, quiet swim on a hot day. And then James Potter showed up. And Lily had already removed her clothes for the private swim.

it would have been sweet by @firefeufuego

‘Lily,’ he says in her ear, voice slurred and barely audible above the pulsing bass of the music, ‘is there a reason I shouldn’t marry her?’

She can taste the truth bittersweet on her tongue: Yes of course there is, you colossal, darling idiot, you’re meant to be mine. But there’s the ring on Charlotte’s finger and there’s the one Lily found in Eddie’s sock drawer, and how can she be this person? The one who steals someone’s fiancé on his stag night? That’s not who she is, that won’t be who she is. ‘Of course not, James. You’ll make each other so happy.’ She nearly chokes on the lie as it leaves her mouth, all the more so because most of it isn’t even a lie at all.

For my second chance romance girls

This Hope is Treacherous by @tinyluminaryzombie

Lily Evans and James Potter: Aquentiences, Academic rivals, and now, Friends.

Except "friends" doesn't exactly feel right but Lily's too scared to do anything about it. But as James and her keep acting like more-than-friends she's unraveling with the uncertainty of it all.

OR: Choosing to fall in love can be just as thrilling and terrifying as love at first sight.

The Viscount's Daughter by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The beautiful, vivacious, and decidedly redheaded daughter of the 16th Viscount of Rowena has stolen the heart of young Prince James. Trouble is, she couldn't be less interested in him.

Thought it was abandoned but the author posted a snippet recently so maybe not?

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition by @elliemarchetti 

Lily and Petunia read the Queen of the Quills' latest column on James Potter, while the bachelor announces to his friends that he intends to get married.

Quest for Camelot by the incredible @petalsthefish

After the legendary Excalibur sword is stolen, Lily and James embark on a quest to retrieve the lost weapon. Lily searches for the sword to prove she is capable of being a knight despite being a girl. James searches because his falcon, Marlene, is desperate to find it for her master, Merlin. Along the way, they attempt to outwit the sinister Ruber, navigate through magical obstacles, decode puzzling prophecies, and uncover surprising similarities between themselves.

As their journey progresses, they both cannot deny the feelings growing between them with each passing day. Will they make it out of the quest alive, or will one of them perish in the ever-growing darkness that threatens to swallow the entire realm if Ruber gets his hands on the sword?

Based on the 1998 movie Quest for Camelot, but with more plot and less singing

Fearlessly Red also by @ /petalsthefish

Red. It was such an interesting color to correlate with emotion because it was on both ends of the spectrum. On one end there was happiness, falling in love, passion, all that. On the other end was jealousy, fear and frustration. Maybe that's why James thought the nickname fit Lily so well.

or Bodyguard!James/Celebrity!Lily

Get A Room bt @chierafied

The long-awaited trip to London goes awry when Marlene chooses to spend time with her boyfriend - forcing Lily to share their room with none other than James Potter.

you don't know me (but I know you) by @emeralddoeadeer

Lily has a crush, she knows his face well but can only imagine his name; until they meet that is.

About Time by heartablaze (on ao3)

Before his final year started, James Potter offered to be a resident advisor for a first-year dorm. What he didn’t count on was dealing with a confusing redhead across the hall, hospital visits, hallway parties and writing his thesis the night before it was due. Blimey. (Muggle Uni AU)

Unexpectedly in Love by jamespotters_exgirlfriend (on ao3)

When Lily Evans entered her final year of uni, she certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with James Potter. And well, let’s just say love isn’t the only unexpected thing to come out of their relationship.

Far Post by @eastwindmlk

James Potter and his friends are very serious about their pub football league. So, when the new roster comes out and there is a new team on there, an all women's team, he and Sirius set out to investigate.

You Know How To Ball, I Know Aristotle by @wearingaberetinparis

Now that the global superstar, Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Lily Evans and professional football player James Potter are together, they have to juggle the difficulties of a relationship in the public eye. Fresh off her World Tour, Lily Evans arrives at Wembley Stadium one year after James Potter first attended her show, to perform there for one final weekend before heading to the studio to record her next album. Her boyfriend, in the meantime, is off to Germany to play at the Euros for England. How will they ever make their relationship work when Lily is - so the press loves to imply - the least supportive WAG of the tournament?

sequal to And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!)

It's been a long time coming and it did not disappoint

I've recommended Three Swipes, You're Out by @naireides before, but I recently came across it's sequel making spirits bright

Sports star James Potter tries to pick Lily up on tinder. Lily Evans, a dedicated not sports fan is offended by the idea that someone thinks she wouldn't recognize James Potter's face. She laughs about it with her friends at a bar, until James Potter, who also frequents that bar, comes over to clarify that nope, he's on tinder, and he's definitely hitting on her.

...

She should have expected it to be hard, dating a celebrity, but somehow she and James make it work.

[hugsandchaos]

Follow-up to Halfa Dash AU

Believe it or not, Danny starts to get jealous of Dash. In his eyes, Dash got everything while he got little to nothing. Everyone in town knows Dash’s “secret” and work to hide him from the GIW or prying eyes. Valerie and the Fentons work together with him, and Vlad learned to let go of his anger a long time ago and isn’t in the picture.

When Danny helped in his universe, he was called a menace for accidentally causing property damage in ghost fights, half of which is caused by the other ghost attacking him and the other half is Danny being thrown at buildings or the ground, so he literally has no control over it! Even when he tried! He still tried to help the best he could, but it was never enough for the town.

“I gave all I could for them, and then some, but what did I get? Hunted! Torn open! I didn’t expect anything, not even a thank you!”

When Dash does it, he’s considered a hero, gets pats on the back, that kind of stuff. His fire core in still underdeveloped, but he warms up the area when he’s in ghost form. People love that, unless people are already hot and sweating, but no one lashes out. Danny’s ice core lowers the room temperature, and sometimes his body temperature. No one wants to hold hands that are cold.

As you can tell, Danny is pissed about this. He’s happy Dash doesn’t have to deal with what he did, but he’s still pissed.

As for Sam and Tucker, I have two ideas.

They went along with him to the alternate universe, where none of them existed, and all live and work together to get by and help each other out. There was no way they were leaving him alone.

The alternate Sam and Tucker like Dash. They think he’s a pretty chill guy, and they don’t understand why Danny keeps avoiding him or flinching. A part of Danny feels betrayed by this, even though he knows they’re not the Sam and Tucker he knew.

I think the last straw for Danny would either be Vlad or Lancer.

When Vlad comes into the picture, he’s not just… well, not a fruit loop, but he helps Dash! He helps him with his ghost powers, he teaches him, and Jack, and Maddie! He gives tips and advice on what to expect in the future and how to deal with it, and gives him his number incase he needs him!

Danny’s anger reaches a whole new peak.

If it’s Lancer, then it’s when he figures out that Danny has no parents and is living on his own. When he talks to Danny about this after school, he blows up at him. He goes on a rant about how Lancer thinks that he knows what’s best for him when he doesn’t know the full story. He lets it slip that he’s from another universe and had really bad experiences that made it hard for him to trust people and asks how he can be sure this isn’t a trap of some kind.

Eyes are glowing green, the room is freezing, and Danny’s cussing while trying not to have a mental breakdown and failing. He doesn’t want to be put into any adoption or foster care, especially with some strangers, and he’s determined to not let that happen. If anyone, he’d allow Frostbite to adopt him.

Surprisingly, this Frostbite and the one he first met are very similar and recognize him. It’s as if they’re actually the same! Like the Ghost Zone didn’t change, or at least, the Far Frozen didn’t.

Or maybe I can add the Nightingale Family from the PenPal AU! They’d be the one able to adopt him because he meets them all over again, and they’re some of the few people who are still the same. He knows he can trust them, so when they offer adoption, his answer is yes and a big hug.

I think that eventually, he and Dash might have a rivalry-type friendship. Ish. Danny’s constantly pushing Dash to get better with his skills. Dash likes to challenge him to a sparring match or race. Or maybe it’s like this closer to the start, but Danny’s genuinely mad under the mask. He’ll start to appreciate this Dash sooner or later.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

you can do a one-shot about human yandere klaus mikaelson in his viking age in a universe where esther never turned her kids into vampires and they lived a normal human life, klaus has known y/n in town since they were kids and he was a small crush on her and when they meet again as adults he resumes his crush on her which becomes an obsession.

Okay, this turned into something different than what I think Anonymous asked for so if you want me to try again in a more Yandere way, just let me know but it became this and I wrote it almost all at once!

Please note: that this is NOT historically accurate, I just made it up, I get that people lived differently to what I’ve portrayed, I just wrote it as I needed to. Also there will be Smut and they’re drunk (as most people are after a wedding) so it’s Dub-con in a way but not really.

DD:DNE

Y/n had been Klaus’ best friend when they were children, he also had a bit of a crush on her but no one needed to know about that. When her family had left to be with her moms family when he was 10 and she was 8, it was the first moment he had known heartbreak.

Klaus missed Y/n every day and not one day went by that he didn’t think of her and as he got older his feelings…changed. His feelings for his best friend became something more, something darker and more serious. He was 14 the day he decided she would be his, no matter what it took to find her, and no matter who he had to get rid of if her father had already married her off. He didn’t care if he had to slaughter 1000 men to get her, he would do it.

Klaus noticed his brothers spending their time trying to get girls attentions and they often made fun of him because he did not, he didn’t need to. You were already his. And not even Tatia and her incessant flirting with him would sway him, eventually Elijah got her attention for the most part and he was left alone.

Finn was married to Sage when Klaus was 18 and not a year later, Elijah was married to Tatia despite Mikael wanting Niklaus to take her believing he could only deserve a girl who had already given herself to another man. As soon as they were married though Klaus began to worry, Mikael would be pressuring him to find a wife to fuck some grandkids into and he would have no way of avoiding it.

It turns out Klaus’ luck was about to change.

A few weeks after Elijah and Tatia were married, Y/n and her family moved back to the village, to their old home as her grandparents had passed. Klaus could honestly say he hadn’t been so happy for people to die ever before.

Klaus was now 19 years old and you were nearing 18, almost 10 years since you had seen each other and his breath was taken from him when he set eyes on you for the first time. You had become the most gorgeous young lady he had ever seen in his life. You nodded and waved as you saw him a few yards away and he was nervous that maybe you didn’t remember him the way he did you, you had been younger than him, not by so much that you could forget him though, surely…could you?

Klaus had left his home early the next morning under the guise of going hunting and he watched you from the woods, watching you interact with your family and friends, doing your chores and helping your parents before eventually leaving before the sun went down to go and bathe, you always did prefer to do so in the evening while other women seemed to prefer the morning. He followed you down to the water, it was a place you both went often to spend time together and just as you were about to undress he stepped on a stick loud enough to startle you and cursed himself.

‘Niklaus? Is that you?’ You sounded…hopeful? Is it wrong of him to hope for that to be true?

‘Hello love. Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ She shook her head as she approached him before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Klaus wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into his arms, twirling her around happily.

‘I’ve missed you so much Niklaus! Not a day went by I didn’t wish to be with you again!’ In that moment he didn’t care how people would react if they were to see them together, he didn’t let her go, pressing his lips to her hair excitedly.

‘Do you really mean that?’ He felt her nod and he felt as if his face would split in two from his smile. ‘I missed you too, every single day! I thought I was going to have to come find you myself!’

‘Really? Why would you do that, I…aren’t you happy?’ She asked and he was confused instantly.

‘Happy without you? Impossible! How could I?’ He pulled back, looking down at her sweet face and noticing she had untied a few of the laces holding the front of her dress closed, as she had been about to bathe.

‘Is your wife not everything you imagined? I thought-‘

‘Wife?! What are you talking about Y/n?’ Where had she heard such nonsense?!

‘Tatia, you got married, didn’t you? I was told it was lovely, I’m sorry I couldnt-‘

‘Elijah! Elijah married her, not me. Mikael wanted me to, he thought I deserved only a women who had already given herself away but I wouldn’t, I…couldn’t. My heart belongs to another already.’ Y/n had smiled upon his explanation before her face fell once again.

‘Oh! Well that’s wonderful Niklaus! You must introduce me to-‘

‘Y/n! It’s you!’ Her mouth hung open as he said it and she didn’t seem to know what to say. ‘It’s always been you Bunny. You’re my everything, that never changed…’ her face was red and nervous but she placed a hand on his cheek.

‘Niklaus. That was lovely…I love you too. That will never change, even if we can’t be together. I have never stopped loving you-‘

‘But we can! We can be together now Love, and I can give you a life. I can give you our own home and food every night, give you a warm bed by a fire and children to raise, we can-‘

‘Niklaus!’ She shouted, stopping his rant from continuing. ‘My darling, you paint a lovely picture as you always have.’ He couldn’t help his smile at her speaking of his paintings that he had only ever shown her which he had only gotten better at these 10 years. ‘My father has promised me already. Bjorn has asked my father for me…I’m sorry but it is done. I would give anything to change that but I cannot go against my father…’ Klaus felt his heart shatter as she said this, knowing that no other man could love Y/n the way he could. She deserves to be worshipped, to be cared for like the Angel she is and he would give anything to worship at her alter, spend his days kissing her perfect cunt before filling it with his seed so many times a day that they’re expecting 2 days after they get married.

‘I will just have to change his mind then-‘

‘Niklaus, my father does not change his mind. He likes you but we were told you were married already.’ It had to have been one of his parents but as Mikael hated him and Esther disliked Y/n, it could have been either.

He took hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, wiping her tears with his thumbs. ‘Trust me my Bunny, I will take care of this. You will be mine, you have my word…do you believe me?’ She hesitated but nodded her head none the less.

‘How? Bjorn is determined, and he will be here tomorrow. I don’t-‘

‘He can’t marry you if he never gets here. And your father will take it as an insult to his name if he does not. I will have you in my bed by the weeks end, you can be sure.’ With that he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers tenderly making her gasp, pulling back quickly. ‘It’s okay my love, I mean what I say. You are mine, he will not come for you, trust in me.’ His lips found hers again but this time she allowed it, allowing him to enjoy the feel of her warm lips on his so tenderly and it was everything he dreamed it could be. ‘You are so perfect. I imagined what you looked like for years and none of my fantasies did you justice. So perfect Bunny, just look at you.’ His fingers trailed from her neck down her collarbone and to her chest making her gasp and pull away, hiding herself as if just noticing.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-‘

‘None of that my lovely. Just…allow me to watch.’ She looked up at him, confused. ‘Finish your bath Bunny…I will watch over you.’ Y/n’s eyes went wide but she paused, blushing a dark red as she stepped away from his body, unlacing her dress and turning around, dropping it and revealing her backside to Klaus for the first time since they were nothing but children, the action meaning so much more now than they ever imagined. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall behind her as she sank into the water, turning back around and Klaus groaned as his cock hardened so fast it hurt. He sat on a log not far from the water and covered his length, ensuring he kept it hidden so as not to upset his girl, and there he stayed, watching his girl as she washed her hair in the water, staring at her glorious chest as he ground his hips up against his hand like an animal. She was everything he knew she would be and more, leaving him no option but to turn and leave, barely getting far enough away before pulling up his tunic and wrapping his hand around his angry, red cock. It hurt how badly he needed to be inside of her and he felt as if he was going insane.

She is his and no one can take her away from him, not Mikael, not her Father, and definitely not Bjorn! How dare he try and steal his wife, she belongs to him! She’s been his since they met when he was 5 and she was 3, nothing could take her from him, he would make fucking sure of it! He would get rid of this idiot and then he would ask her father for his permission to wed her, she would be his in 2 days time and he would fuck her so hard that everyone in the village knew who she belonged to!

That was the last straw for him before he began spilling in white ropes against a tree, groaning out her name and trying to come back down to earth. Y/n would know who she belongs to very soon. He’s going to make sure of it.

That next morning Klaus was up before the sun and on his way. It didn’t take long to find Bjorn at all, he was only about an hour from the village, following a worn trail with a bag over his shoulder and as soon as Klaus knew who he was, he had run his sword straight through the man’s chest. He felt a shooting pain through his head but ignored it as it passed quickly. He needed to get rid of the body and get back to the village with some kind of game to show he had been hunting, and that’s what he did after taking the money that Bjorn had brought with him. Something about the idea of this man spending his money on Y/n was enraging to Klaus, a white hot anger coursed through him that he had never felt before and he needed to see her, needed to get to her now before someone else does. Klaus isn’t there right now, any man could make his way to her home and steal her from him. He took care to put the body somewhere it wouldn’t be found by anything but animals before he was sprinting back to the village. His need for Y/n felt like it had tripled almost instantly and he just needed to hold her to him and breathe in her scent, feel her soft skin on his and rut his cock into her cunt so hard she wouldn’t leave his bed for weeks…Klaus didn’t know what was happening to him but he loved it. All of a sudden he felt faster, stronger, he felt more possessive and needy for his Bunny and it made him almost deliriously happy…if this is the feeling you get when you kill people why don’t more men do it? It’s fantastic!

He caught several rabbits on the way back to his home, dropping 3 of them onto his mothers table for her to make dinner with. He knew that his mother would bring one to Elijah and Tatia who were still ‘honeymooning’ before taking off down the path to Y/n’s home.

It was well into the evening and Klaus could instantly see that her father, Erik, was upset, leaving him to approach cautiously.

‘Niklaus! Lovely to see you again son! How is your family?’ He asked immediately.

‘Oh, very well sir. Mother is doing fine, and Elijah and Tatia are enjoying married life, they’ve barely been seen in 3 months.’ He joked while also ensuring Erik knew that Elijah was married to Tatia and not him.

‘I’m sure they won’t be for a while.’ They laughed together and he invited Klaus inside where he saw Y/n and her mother getting ready to make dinner.

‘I’ve brought you something. I hope you hadn’t had dinner prepared quite yet.’ He handed Y/n’s mother the rabbits and she was stunned, grinning ear to ear as she realized he had brought them food for the evening and she wouldn’t have to buy their dinner from another hunter tonight. Y/n’s father was injured in a hunting accident so they mostly bought their food, thankfully they had the ability to do so but Klaus knew it was a bit of a hassle as the accident had happened when he was 9. He had been very close to death but his mother worked a miracle, Niklaus held a 7 year old Y/n on his lap sobbing for nearly 3 days and while it was awful, he loved every second of the cuddles she insisted upon.

‘Oh Niklaus! That’s so thoughtful! You saved us the trouble of trying to find our own meal, such a sweet boy!’ She grabbed his face and kissed his cheek before beginning to skin the 2 creatures.

‘That was very nice son. You didn’t need to do that but if you ever want to sell your hunt I’ll be happy to pay you for your service.’ Klaus waved the thought off immediately.

‘No need. I was actually hoping to have a word with you sir, if you have a moment?’ Erik looked surprised but gestured Klaus back outside.

‘What’s on your mind Niklaus?’ Klaus steeled himself and knew he had to be sure to let Erik know how well off Y/n would be with him.

‘Well sir, I’m sure you’re aware that Y/n and I have been friends since we were able to talk. I have loved her since the moment I knew what love was, and I know that I’m not the eldest son, or even my fathers first choice but I want to ask your permission to marry your daughter.’ Erik somehow looked both shocked and not at all surprised at the same time. ‘I helped Elijah build his own home for himself and Tatia, and he helped me with the same. It’s a decent sized home, and I may not be the richest man but I can take care of your daughter, she will never want for anything as long as she’s by my side, she will never be cold, she will never be hungry and she will never be lonely…I love her with all my heart and I hope you will allow me to show her that love every day for the rest of our lives.’ Erik looked down at him smiling by the time he was finished his speech and just clapped Klaus on the shoulder.

‘You’re in luck son, the man I had betrothed her to seems to have pussied out on her…she’ll be happier with you than she ever would have been with him either way…Welcome to the family Niklaus.’ Klaus sighed heavily, unable to hide his grin before Erik hugged him tightly and pulled him into their home. ‘Astrid! You’d better get back to sewing that dress, Niklaus here had just asked for our daughters hand.’ Astrid dropped the rabbit on the table and practically ran to embrace him in excitement.

‘I always knew it! From the moment you were little babies and snuggling up with each other in front of the fire for naps, I knew it!’ She was so proud of herself and Klaus looked up to see Y/n standing there with tears in her eyes and he quickly moved to her side.

‘Those are good tears, yes?’ She nodded her head and he took her hand, kissing the back of it gently before she hugged him as tight as she could. As she did Klaus felt the need to rub himself all over her, as if making her smell like him was a necessity. ‘I will make you so happy, I promise. I have a home all ready for us.’ She looked up at him, shocked by that but laid her head onto his chest, letting him hold her as he wanted.

‘Plenty of room for children, yes?’ Astrid questioned and while Y/n groaned, Klaus just laughed.

‘A room all for them. My parents will have so many they won’t know what to do with all of them so I’ll make sure you have plenty of grand babies to spoil.’ He promised and she made him look down at her.

‘You’d better. You’ll get to work straight away, I’m not getting any younger-‘

‘Mother!’

‘Don’t “mother” me Y/n! You’re nearly 18, it’s a miracle you haven’t started yet! Now you two get, go tell your parents!’ Astrid insisted and Niklaus took Y/n’s hand and pulled her towards the door. ‘2 days from now, everything is already prepared, may as well use it. I will let everyone in the village know to prepare for a wedding celebration!’

Klaus took his brides hand and pulled her towards his home, running with her and loving the excited giggle she let out. ‘How did you do it?’ She asked when they slowed down, approaching his home.

‘Do what?’

‘Get rid of Bjorn? He didn’t just not show up, and you’re not even bruised so-‘

‘I killed him.’ He stated, coming to a stop and looking Y/n in her eyes, seeing them widen. ‘I will kill any man who thinks he can take you from me. You are mine my love, all mine and no one will take you away. Do you understand?’ She nodded slowly before grabbing him by the back of his neck and pulling him down to press his lips to hers.

‘My husband loves me so much he killed for me, I can’t be upset about that.’ Klaus enjoyed the feeling of her hands on his cheeks before he heard her name being called and turned to see Kol pulling her into a hug which Klaus quickly stopped before it started.

‘Kol, don’t touch my wife.’ He warned, taking her hand and pulling her into his parents small home, gaining the attention of his parents, as well as Rebekah and Henrik who were helping with dinner, Kol following them and staring at Y/n in wonder.

‘Are you sure? You can say “no” you know?’ He told her and Klaus shoved him onto his ass.

‘Niklaus!’ His mother scolded.

‘Mother. I have an announcement.’ She looked curious while Mikael looked angry and Rebekah looked like she knew exactly what was going on. ‘I’ve asked Y/n’s father for her hand and he has given me permission to marry her. Y/n is going to be my wife.’ He was a bit surprised that his mother got as excited as she did, throwing her arms up and hugging them both excitedly.

‘The wedding will be in 2 days, my mother is already informing everyone. Someone will need to tell Elijah and Tatia if they can make it-‘

‘Oh, they’ll make it! They will be at your wedding Niklaus. We need to get you-‘

‘You cannot marry this girl, boy! You will have to live in her parents home because you will not be living here, and I-‘

‘Elijah helped me with a home for us a bit after we finished his to propose to Tatia. Don’t worry Father, I will not inconvenience you.’ Mikael looked ready to argue but Y/n cut him off.

‘I must see it! Please?’ She begged and he looked down at her, smiling.

‘It’s a surprise, my darling. It has 4 rooms, a bedroom for us, a bedroom beside ours for the children to share, a separate area for your kitchen and a sitting area with a big fireplace. I remembered what we talked about as kids and I knew what my Bunny needed. Don’t you-‘

‘How are you going to fill this home? You have no money.’ Mikael snapped, clearly upset that his sons both now have bigger homes than him.

‘I’ve been selling my hunts to several families who can’t do it themselves in both our village and a couple a few miles away. I keep the best for us of course, but I always get a few extra rabbits and squirrels.’ Klaus turned to Y/n who was learning this for the first time as well and loves how strong of a provider her soon to be husband is for her and their babies. ‘There’s one family that I feed almost everyday, I got them a deer last week and used the money to get you the most comfortable, soft, warm furs you will have ever slept on. I love you so much Bunny, and you will never want for anything while I’m here.’

‘Is it like the blanket you got me several weeks ago?’ Rebekah asked and Klaus nodded.

‘Picture an entire bed of them.’ Her jaw dropped and his Bunny nuzzled into his neck, kissing the freckle on the side of his throat she had always thought was ‘cute’.

‘Will you come and help me get ready Esther? If you can of course, I would love your input.’ Y/n asked and his mother looked thrilled. Even if she never liked Y/n very much, she preferred her to both Sage and Tatia who wanted nothing to do with Esther on their wedding day.

‘I would be happy to help sweet heart. You should get home now though, it is dinner time and you’ll need to work on the dress.’ Y/n nodded.

‘My mother is already working on it but yes, I should get home. It was nice to see you all, good night.’

‘I’ll walk you home.’

Only 2 days and they would be man and wife. Only 2 days before Klaus could claim her and ensure he never has to share his Bunny with anyone ever again.

The entire village came to celebrate their wedding, though honestly it was mostly just to get drunk and dance around a fire while ‘celebrating their eternal love’.

They did the ceremony, Klaus swore by his sword to protect his wife and their future children to his dying breath, taking her under his protection and into his home. Y/n swore to serve, obey and love her husband for the rest of their eternity as well as give him as many babies as he wanted (which is 4 by the way). Y/n’s mother wants 9.

Elijah and Tatia showed up and enjoyed the party for a while before retiring again, finishing their Honeymoon where their family would bring them food and whatever else they need while they enjoy each other for the first several weeks of married life. (Theirs went on for 3 months) Elijah will now participate in doing the same for Klaus and Y/n, bringing them food and water and whatever else it is they need.

The day had been wonderful, Klaus couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling he got when he saw Y/n for the first time in that dress. He was bewitched and he knew he would never get enough of this women as he stood there, her walking through the village towards the elder binding them together.

They were practically force fed so much mead and wine they ended up at the party much longer than they wanted to be, Y/n could barely stand up she was so drunk. Everyone in the village had made food to gift the couple as well as small gifts from other married couples that they will ‘need’. It’s usually bedding supplies or some kind of weapons for hunting. Or hurling at each other.

Klaus couldn’t keep his eyes off of his wife as he sat and watched her dance with his siblings and her father. She was so beautiful he couldn’t believe she was all his as he tried to pull together the strength to stand and take her back to their new home. He’s so in love with her.

‘Wife?’ He called out to her as he approached and she spun around a bit too quickly, making him catch her and pull her into his chest.

‘Husband! You look so pretty in this light, such pretty blue eyes. Look at you.’ Klaus smiled, kissing her lips tenderly, finally being able to do so in public and as she wrapped her arms around his neck he could feel his cock hardening in desperate need.

‘Says my stunningly gorgeous wife who looks perfect in any lighting.’ He teased, kissing her again, holding her close as she tried to spin around to see who was yelling for her attention. ‘Would you like to go see your new home now, wife? I think you’ll enjoy everything that’s waiting for you there.’ He held her close as he was also finally allowed to do in public, pressing his hard cock against her ass and causing her to squeal.

‘Home! Yes!’ She giggled, turning in his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘I want my husband to fuck me in every room we have.’

His eyes widened and he slapped her ass before scooping her into his arms and hearing the people around them cheer. They knew the party wasn’t over, it’s just done for them now. ‘Good luck brother! I will bring you food tomorrow, and I expect details!’ Kol teased and Klaus once again shoved him, his little brother collapsing as he was so drunk, into a fit of giggles.

Y/n waved goodbye to everyone as he walked them back towards Klaus’ family home but continued down a newly laid path, far enough from his parents house but not so far into the woods that they’ll be in danger. Elijah’s home was about equally as far in the opposite direction.

‘Wow!’ Y/n exclaimed as she saw the house, it was modest, but bigger than either of them had grown up in. She tried to be let down but Niklaus didn’t budge, continuing to carry her as he opened the door and took her inside and barred the door behind them. It opened up to a sitting area with a fireplace that would warm the entire house it was so big. There was a large padded chair across from the fire with a foot rest and as Klaus set her down on it she realized how comfortable it was.

‘I made this for you, just in case you get tired of laying in bed when you’re very pregnant and want to sit by the fire.’ He was startled by the tears in her eyes and moved to wipe them away quickly, allowing her to pull him into a kiss.

‘You are the most perfect husband I could ever ask for and I love you!’ She stood, wobbly on the footrest and hopped back into his arms with her legs around his waist now. ‘What?’ She questioned as he looked at her with a sly smile. ‘You carried me this far, show me the rest of the house before you give me a baby to fill it.’ They were both startled by the growl that exploded from his chest but it was a turn on for his beautiful wife as he held her to his chest and moved to grind his hips up into her making her gasp. ‘Dear Gods you’re going to split me in two!’ Her head fell into his neck as Niklaus pressed her into the door, continuing to rut himself against her for a moment.

‘I’m going to make my wife feel so good, you’ll be begging me for more! Don’t you worry, you’ll love every second of it.’ He held her close and turned to carry her through the frame into the Kitchen he had for her with all of the cooking tools she could ever need. ‘It’s perfect! I can’t believe you did this for me!’

Niklaus didn’t stop to let her look around, instead he walked through the smaller bedroom which she barely got to glance at before he dropped her onto the large pile of furs and padding. The largest pile she had ever seen honestly. ‘Remove the dress Bunny, because if I do it myself it will be in tatters.’ He yanked his clothes off, crawling towards her and pulling her dress the rest of the way off of her, exposing her to him for the first time…at least the first time that he is able to touch her. His hands traced along her skin tenderly, feeling every inch of her that he could before pressing their lips together and kissing her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth and tasting her for the first real time. ‘You’re so gorgeous…and all mine.’ His voice had taken on a growl to it that he didn’t recognize and while neither did Y/n she was turned on by it enough not to complain as his hands grabbed ahold of her chest and he kissed his way down her neck, biting into her soft skin and making her cry out.

‘Niklaus!’ Her legs wrapped up around his waist and pulled him closer but he pressed his palm into her waist, pushing her body back down.

‘Not so fast gorgeous. There’s something I want to do first.’ She whined, desperate for him and while he loved it he knew she would be happy he made her wait as he pulled away. He took ahold of her thighs which he stroked as he kissed his way down her body before his lips pressed to her sex, causing her hips to fly up and her to scream.

‘What…what was that?’ She panted but Klaus just smirked up at her, tongue flicking against her clit as he held her eyes on his, mouth burying itself into her pussy and eating her out almost ravenously. ‘Nik-Niklaus! Oh- I…I can’t…Ah Fuck!’ She squealed, cunt pressed hard to his mouth as she couldn’t hold still to save her life but he did, pinning her down as he continued tasting her, tongue shoving itself into her hole as deep as he could while his thumb rubbed at her clit. ‘Oh Gods Klaus! I can’t take it! Husband, please I can’t-OH GODS!’ He jumped back this time as her juices actually squirt out and all over his mouth which he quickly decided was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. ‘I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to-‘

‘On the contrary my lovely wife, I’m thinking I can make you do it again.’ He chuckled but she stopped him, pulling at his hair.

‘Niklaus, please? Please? I need you…fill me with your babies, I need you so badly!’

She was begging. She. Was. Begging. HIM!

Klaus had only ever dreamt that Y/n beg him to fuck his children into her, in fact he had dreamt it a lot. ‘If my wife wants to give me children then who am I to deny her?’ He asked, eyes having gone dark and possessive as he crawled back up her body, kissing her hard as he lined his cock up with her sopping wet cunt. ‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’ He assured her and she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. As badly as Klaus just wanted to fuck her he didn’t want to cause his precious Bunny pain, and he knew he was going to no matter how he fucked her. He pushed himself into her hole slowly, clutching the furs underneath them to stop himself from just ramming his cock into her heat, her tight, wet cunt being nearly overwhelming for him. ‘Fuck!’ He cursed as he bottomed out, stopping his movements and holding his face in her neck to steady himself. He began breathing again after a moment and realized she was running her fingers through his hair as if to comfort him and he looked up, seeing her happy face looking at him, waiting for him to move himself.

‘Take your time husband, enjoy yourself.’ If she were anyone else he would think she was teasing him but Y/n would never do that to him and it brought him a wave of comfort and acceptance that he never knew he needed.

‘Are you alright?’ He asked, beginning to come back to his own mind, kissing her jaw tenderly.

‘I am now, it is a painful stretch but not too bad…you are thicker than I imagined.’ She admitted and his eyes widened, moving to be face to face with her now.

‘You’ve imagined this?’

She hesitated, blushing a dark red shade before answering. ‘Would it upset you to know I have touched myself, imagining that it was you?’

‘Upset? Upset is the last thing that makes me feel Bunny, you think I haven’t touched myself thinking about you? Fuck! How many times?’ She shrugged and he waited.

‘I don’t know…many times. I imagined your fingers inside me, your tongue, your cock, I’ve dreamt of it many times as well.’ His eyes widened and he smirked now, looking down at her suddenly much cockier.

‘When did this start? It couldn’t have been recent if you can’t recall how many times.’ He teased her playfully and when she didn’t answer he pulled his hips back, shoving himself back into her hard and making her gasp.

‘Fourteen! I was fourteen! I saw you on a trip with my father and I knew it was you right away, you were so handsome, I knew you would be.’ She traced her fingers down his face tenderly and the way she looked at him just made him feel a sense of overwhelming love and it was everything he ever wanted in his life. All the love and adoration he had never gotten, his beautiful wife gives him, his children will give him, Klaus can finally be happy and it was in this moment that he truly realized it.

‘And I knew you would be the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And I was damn right!’ He pulled his hips back thrusting into her again and adoring the noises she made for him eventually hitting a spot inside of her that made her squeal and he paused before doing it again.

‘Oh Gods! Yes! Please More?! Niklaus Please?!’ He was back to pounding into her with his cock head hitting that same tender spot that she seemed to love and just as he felt his stomach and balls tighten she cried out and he thrust as deep into her as he could, shooting deep inside of her body.

‘My beautiful wife. Look at you, did so well for me. Going to give me perfect little babies, so perfect for me.’ He kissed over her face until she was breathing normally again, holding her to him and allowing her to rest on his chest, covering her with a heavy fur blanket.

‘How long did you know you loved me?’ She whispered, clearly tired and he was going to let her nap for a while before fucking her again, seeing how much she needed it after this and after the party and drinks as well.

‘I’ve always loved you. Since the moment I knew what love was, I knew I loved you…why? When did you know you loved me?’

She looked up at him with sleepy eyes and he loved her soft, tired expression. ‘I always loved you but…I was 7 when I knew I wanted to be yours. My father had gotten hurt and you stayed with me…your father beat you for ignoring your chores but you always came right back to me. You never let me go the whole time I needed you and you cuddled me…I enjoyed that a bit too much. I thought it was the only time we would be that close…look at us now.’ She joked and he snorted before kissing her head.

‘Look at us now…I’m going to give you a family, and a life. I will make you happy Bunny, I promise…don’t ever leave me. Okay?’

Y/n reached up to stroke his face once again and he leaned into it, lovingly. ‘Never. You’re Mine Niklaus Mikaelson. Always and Forever.’

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[grievedeeply]

hi! do u think u can write some platonic miguel o’hara x reader headcannons ? where the reader is around miles and gwen’s age (they’re also a spider-person) and they develop a father-child/mentor relationship

soooo i decided to combine this request with another one since they're so similar. so at the end of this, there's a short drabble about the scenario they requested! enjoy!

gn!reader | tws: mentions of death and loss, ivs, hospitals in general, everything that comes with being hurt

platonic miguel o'hara headcanons + drabble

he has trouble thinking of anyone as family. he lost his daughter, and his family.. it feels wrong of him to think of anyone else in the way he thought of them

until you come along. you, so happy to be involved in the spider society, so happy to be helping.. it always puts a grin on his face. an expression that had felt somewhat unfamiliar to him since the losses he experienced

it takes him a long time to ever get him to admit to anyone that he cares about you. he's a tough person with an equally tough exterior, so expect him to keep up that act for awhile

you're just so young. you're learning and growing and he wants to be there for all of it. it's a weird thing for him to feel and he doesn't really like it

eventually, he'll start to crack. he becomes a bit of a mentor for you, teaching you everything you need to know about being a spider person (even if you already know it)

miguel doesn't know how to express his emotions very well, but he does care about you. he just shows it in different ways than saying it verbally. he'll buy you something you mentioned liking and leave it in your room in your universe to find

you think of him as a father, but you don't bring it up to him. it feels weird to say something like that to his face. why would he think of you in a familial way anyway? you were just some extra spider.. right?

you were too reckless. he remembered telling you that one day. all you did was shrug your shoulders and laugh it off, telling him you'll be fine. you didn't stay true to your word, and he wished that he was there. he didn't even know what happened, but as soon as he was told of your injuries he rushed off to see you.

critical condition. he repeated the words over and over in his head. he couldn't go through another loss like this, he told himself. he should've never gotten so attached to you. what was wrong with him? doesn't he know better by now? all of his relationships end in flames. why was he so intent on keeping you by his side, of keeping you safe? you just reminded him so much of her.. too much.

his daughter was younger than you when she died.

he couldn't protect her, but he could protect you. he should've protected you, and he berated himself for not being there. he should've given you something easier. he knew you could handle yourself well, but he couldn't help but to think that he was at fault for your injuries. you were always so reckless. what did you do this time?

he repeated your room number in his mind now, over and over like a mantra until he stood outside of the door. was he even ready to see you like this? he imagined the ivs poking through your skin, the oxygen hooked up to you through your nose. no, he told himself, but he will anyway. it was better to see you if you were to..

he pushed the thought out of his head at the same time he pushed open the door. the room was completely empty. the steady beating of your heart through the monitor filled the air, and he took in a deep, shaky breath. you were asleep. good. you needed to be. you looked just as he expected, only worse. your body was covered in bruises and bandages that covered up cuts you received in your fight.

whoever did this would pay.

he pulled up a chair, making sure to stay as quiet as he could to risk waking you from your slumber. hesitantly, he lived his hand to yours.

he sat it on top of it. your wrappings that covered your hands were drenched in blood. he clenched his jaw. they would pay.

he wouldn't let his family get taken away from him again. he couldn't. he stared down at your face.

you were his own, and they would pay.

[detectivestucks2]

Escape with the Cursed King

Pairing: F!Reader x Sukuna

Summary: You start your new job at Jujutsu University serving as a professor and resident life coordinator with your best friend Gojo when you notice his student Yuji acting strange. You go on a dangerous mission together where all hell breaks loose.

Warnings: Mild violence but mostly fluff

Word Count: 4.7k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

As a fresh graduate from Jujutsu University, you were enjoying the increased pay that came in your checks during your missions. A special grade sorcerer, graduating with honors a year early. Your favorite professor was none other than Saturo Gojo. Little did you know, that same professor was working behind the scenes trying to secure you a job that required less field work and would keep you local. All you knew is that he invited you for lunch at your favorite cafe which left you excited for your favorite signature macchiato. 

You had just returned from a mission and stopped by your home to quick change into something more comfortable. The day was hot so you changed into a pair of jean shorts and a thin flowy top. Hair thrown up into a pony, you grab your phone and keys and head out to meet your favorite sorcerer. 

As soon as you walk into the shop, Gojo is already at your usual table with two cups in front of him. You sit down, appreciative that he ordered for you and you strike up a conversation, catching up on everything you’ve done since graduating. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you blurt out what you had been thinking.

“So what did you have to ask?” 

Gojo was by far your favorite professor. He always found a reason to talk to you after class and he happened to like a lot of the same things as you. He felt a lot less like a professor and much more like a friend. Your teamwork during exorcisms was impeccable. Your bodies and minds in sync with each other every step of the way.

Gojo looks down and then off to the side before he speaks. “Well you see, now that you’re no longer a student-”

“Yes.”

His eyes snap forward. “But you don’t know the question.”

“I don’t have to. Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

Gojo had half a mind to ask you on a date if that’s the game you wanted to play but he didn’t want to show all of his cards. At least not yet.

“Now that you’re not a student, Jujutsu U would like to offer you full-time professorship.”

“No way! Really?!”

“Of course! You’re calm, collected, great with the students, impeccable battle instincts, and powerful as all hell.”

“I’m great with the students cause I’m literally their peer.” you say a bit deflated.

“Not true. They can call you their peer when they’re Special Grade.”

You can’t help the heat on your cheeks as the mighty Gojo reminds you of your new ranking.

“There is a catch.” he says.

“Knew it.”

“How’d you know there’d be a catch?”

“Cause with you there’s always a catch.”

“Is not!”

“Is to! It’s in your nature. You’re just too playful to not have a catch behind every deal.”

Gojo folds his arms feeling a bit insulted by your spot-on assessment which only makes you laugh. The sound is musical to his ear so he decides to forgive you and moves forward with his appeal.

“They need a professor who can also act as the Resident Life Director.”

“You mean the person who has to live in the dorms full time?”

“Yeah…usually they ask the younger professors who don’t have families yet.”

You think on it for a moment. Who wants to live in a dorm full time once they’re a real adult? Certainly not you. But it is a job…

You make some fake thinking noises, enjoying how it makes Gojo squirm, sitting on the edge of his seat. “Hmmm…hmmm…hm-”

*slam* 

Gojo’s palm meets the table and you jump before you start laughing as his mini outburst.

“Relax Gojo, I’ll take it!”

A huge happy smile splits his face. Not only would he continue to see you regularly at work, but now you were his peer. He was free to hang out with you socially, rather than always looking for an educational reason behind every visit and you liked the idea of starting a job where you already had a favorite coworker. 

That summer, before the start of your teaching career, you and Gojo spent nearly every day together. He had become your best friend and your most trusted ally. There was not a single lunch spent without his silver mop gracing your presence, his big personality surrounding the table even when it was only the two of you. His oceanic eyes gleaming behind his signature sunglasses. You were thick as thieves by the time the school year came around. 

Since you were so young they had you with the freshman in introductory courses. You couldn’t complain. The work was easy and the job was fun. The only part you didn’t like was living in a dorm year round with no option to get an apartment of your own. 

During the beginning of the school year there was someone knocking at your door every night till you finally got them to rely on their RA’s. The only plus side is that you had a suite rather than the typical dorm room so at least you had your own bathroom instead of being forced to shower in the communal one. 

But nevertheless, you had to walk through the dorm hallways to get to your front door which meant having gentleman callers was out of the question. You even felt funny having Gojo over once the school year started. However you weren’t supposed to spend too many evenings beyond the dorms so you were a bit stuck, spending most nights alone. 

One evening you invited Gojo over for a movie marathon. He sent you a text that he arrived and you went to the front of the building to let him in. As the two of you walked together up to your suite he ran into a few of his sophomores. The group was only two years younger than you yet they seemed plenty powerful. The one named Megumi was a bit brooding but you could tell he had a very gentle and kind soul. Kugisaki was fiery but also super fun and girly. Then there was the lovable Yuji. He was overflowing with kindness and seemed to be Gojo’s favorite which only left you with a twinge of jealousy since that used to be your role. The five of you had a lively conversation before you mentioned how late it was and that you’d never finish your movie at a decent time if you waited much longer. You said your goodbyes and carried on with your evening as planned, falling asleep on the couch next to Gojo.

The following weeks you went out of your way to say hi to Gojo’s students when you saw them in the hallway. However Yuji, who you had such a strong first impression of, started to leave your arm hair standing on end. Constantly staring at you with a serious face, muttering to himself, and sometimes even looking like a deer caught in headlights. You couldn’t figure out what his deal was. His bizarre behavior was creeping you out so you decided to bring this up to Gojo during your weekly rendezvous at the cafe. 

“Gojo, what’s Yuji’s deal?”

Gojo spits out his coffee, staining his dark blue shirt.

“Why? You like him? Cause you can’t date a student you know, even if you’re close in age.”

“What?! Oh! No! Nonononono! Nothing like that.” you say feeling your cheeks turn red.

“Well then why did you ask what his deal was?”

“I mean like…how do I put this? I mean more of what’s…wrong with him?” you finish the question in a higher pitch than the rest, trying to take the sting off the rude question pointed at his favorite kid.

Gojo has himself a fit as he doubles over in laughter.

“Gojo…Gojo! What’s so funny?! I don’t like when you do this.” you say as you adorably cross your arms in a huff of anger. Gojo calms himself and wipes the tears from his sparkling eyes before explaining.

“Well you see, Yuji is…well he’s special.”

“What does that mean?”

“He has…he has a curse living in him.”

“He has a curse living in him?”

“Like a vessel.”

You gasp and your hands fly up to your mouth in comprehension. “Sukuna’s vessel?!”

“That’s the one!”

“Oh my gods! He must be incredibly strong!”

“He’s still new but yes, he has profound potential.”

“But what does that have to do with all the staring and the muttering, and the scarred looks he’s been giving me?”

Gojo laughs again.

“Stop that would you?!”

“Sorry Sunshine, it’s just, I can only imagine what’s going on in Yuji’s head if he’s behaving like that.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means Sukuna’s talking to him.”

“Sukuna’s what?!”

“I bet Sukuna’s interested in you for some reason and Yuji’s having a high time of it. Oh this is rich.”

You however, fail to see the humor. The King of Curses took notice of you and now some poor sophomore is stuck arguing with him about it? But also can we take a pause to focus on the fact that Yuji is likely talking to the bloody King of Curses about you?!

You have every right to be both nervous and confused. 

Was he planning on harming you? Were you his next target? What if Yuji couldn’t control Sukuna and one evening he’s pounding on your door? You didn’t like this speck of news one bit. And why did Gojo seem so unconcerned?

“Gojo! This is serious! Why are you laughing?!”

“Relax, I wouldn’t let him kill you. I’ll talk to Yuji about it later.”

“Gojo” you deadpan

“Look, I know this could mean trouble but you’re a special grade and you live here” he waves his hand around the room, “surrounded by many of the strongest sorcerers of our time. There’s no place safer for you.”

“Yeah except that he sleeps down the hall from me and it’s not like you live with me!”

“I could fix that.” he says casually as he lifts his cup to his lips.

You roll your eyes before deadpanning once more. “Gojo, be serious please.”

“I am serious!”

“No! Absolutely not. The students will jump to conclusions and I don’t need that.”

“Well what do you suggest then?”

You chew your bottom lip in thought. “I don’t know, let me think about it at least.”

“Sure thing sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?! No Saturo.”

The silver haired man tosses his head back in laughter, hiding his blush at you calling him by his first name for a change. 

You let out a light chuckle and finish your coffee, shaking your head at your friend with a slight flutter in your chest in spite of yourself. 

The next few days Gojo stops by to visit more often but he seems completely unbothered by the situation with Yuji. You didn’t appreciate how casually he was treating this, especially when Yuji wouldn’t fess up to what Sukuna was thinking. All Gojo could get out of him was silence and a red flushed face. 

Part of you wondered if Gojo already knew but he didn’t want to scare you and that was why he was over at your place all of the time, till one day he asked for you to join his team on a mission.

“Do you really think that’s wise?”

“Of course. They’ve shown they’re capable but they’re only sophomores, we’ll need all the help we can get with this one.”

“No, I mean” you dart your eyes to the side, “with Sukuna and all…”

“Oh that, it’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

You look up at him, your eyes worried and watery

“Look sweetheart, I’m sure Yuji would’ve told me if you were in any real danger. He’s not the kind of guy to put anyone at risk.”

Still unsure of his answer, you tentatively agree to join his mission and set up for a substitute to cover your classes for the rest of the week. 

The next morning the five of you pile into the black SUV at the front of the University and head over to a penitentiary a few towns away. 

The entire drive Yuji is staring at his feet, a pink tint on his cheeks to match his hair and shaking his head every few minutes as if he’s trying to bring himself back to reality.

You can’t say you feel comfortable or your doubts are put at ease but you trust Saturo’s judgment and so you take a deep breath and settle into your seat. 

“We’re almost there” a deep voice calls from the front of the car after nearly eighty minutes. 

Only a few minutes go by before you feel the wheels roll to a stop. 

“We’re here.”

Gojo hops out first and opens the door for you. The heel of your foot touches the pavement as you stand before the dreary fence surrounding an ominous castle-like prison.

“Wow” you whisper “I can feel the cursed energy from out here. This one’s strong.”

“Strong barely begins to describe it.”

As each of his students stands next to you, their faces fall in awe as their bodies register the magnitude of the cursed energy radiating beyond the gray walls of the fortress before them. 

You dryly swallow before stepping forward to create the barrier, closely followed by Gojo and Yuji. Megumi and Kugisaki. The five of you disappear inside the purple bubble you created as you head towards the curse in question. 

The overwhelming presence of energy causes tiny bumps to span the skin of your arms and back. Your hair stands on end and you are grateful to have Gojo with you. 

You jump as his large palm hits your shoulder but you are quickly comforted as you turn your head and look up into his oceanic eyes. He nods at you and you gather your wits. 

The feeling of energy is so strong that it is hard to discern where the cursed spirit is residing. You squeeze Gojo’s bicep to stop him as you close your eyes. A small grunt is heard from Yuji as your feet come to a stop next to Gojo’s side and you hold onto him, signaling him to guard your body as you sense the spirit’s whereabouts. 

Your mind scans each corridor and cell, racing down the halls till a man’s screams ring in your ears. All your senses zero in on the man’s location and your eyes snap open. 

“There”

The five of you run, crashing through the fence and hurdling your bodies down the halls towards the source of the sound. As you approach the blood curdling sounds, you start to realize you are entering a nest. 

“No wonder we were struggling to sense the location of the curse, there are hundreds of them.”

“The screaming must be coming from the epicenter”

“Agreed”

“Megumi, can your shikigami handle these lower grades?”

“Of course.” he says with a nod. 

“I’ll help” Kugisaki shouts at your retreating figures.

“When you’re done, come join us!”

“We will!”

As the three of you continue towards the center of the nest you start to realize the low grade curses look like identical clones of the same 5 cursed spirits. 

“Saturo, look!”

“Interesting…I wonder if they are the children of this special grade.”

“Children! You think it’s reproducing?! At what rate?!”

“Maybe not actual children but it can turn itself into segments. Perhaps it’s spawning them.”

“So what’s the plan? Encourage it to keep breaking down into its clones and kill it off slowly as a grade 3 curse?”

“That’s a plan, but if it catches on or grows too weak, it may stop producing segments.”

“Right”

“We need to face it head on.”

“Not everyone has the limitless technique I hope you know!” You shout as Gojo quickens his pace before breaking out into an excited run. 

He is almost…enjoying this? 

Acting like a young sorcerer rather than the calm collected professor you knew and admired. Gojo looks over his shoulder and shouts back at you, “I thought you were a Special Grade! Did I promote you too soon?”

“Shut up!”

Loud laughter echoes in front of you till you turn the corner and see the hallway comes to an abrupt end. The curse has smashed the cinder block walls, creating a false courtyard in the ward's center. You look up to what should be the third floor then gulp as you turn to gaze down at the first, realizing it’s only a short fall away. 

You shake the negative thoughts out of your mind. 

“You alright?”

“Yes Saturo. I’m fine” 

“I’ll take the left, you take the right.”

Gojo’s silver hair slips out of sight as he masterfully disappears behind the gargantuan blue curse.

Similar to Saturo’s old partner, Geto, you had a way of convincing cursed spirits to do your bidding, manipulating them into exorcizing themselves. You didn’t have to absorb them, just touch them on their forehead. It was always risky to find an opening to touch their faces, but once you do the battle is won. 

One way you create your opening is by inhaling the cursed energy radiating around the spirit itself and blowing it out as a knife. The vapor-like daggers serve as a distraction and can be effective weapons. It is a skill that turned many heads when you first started out in school and one that has saved your ass more times than you can count. 

You remember the day you met Gojo. He had heard the stories and wanted to see your technique. He came up to you nonchalant and in his buttery, suave voice made a bet that you couldn’t create the daggers from his cursed energy. The challenge tugged at the corner of your lip and as discreetly as possible, you pulled cursed energy through your nose and turned to walk away. When Gojo called out after you, you spun around and spit out the purple knives that he effortlessly blocked with his technique. It was that day that you became his favorite student. 

You feel a swell of pride at the memory before you come back to the present. 

You gaze up and realize the azure spirit has spotted you. It turned to face you when you inhale and spit out your signature daggers. The creature roars above you and responds with a fleet of new clones melting out of his stomach and storming the rubble. 

“I guess you don’t feel like talking. Fine then.”

You dodge the attacks of the segments and bounce off the walls of the corridor. Each small curse was the size of a human and you had to admit that it felt similar to fighting off a mob with only a few knives. 

Artfully you slice through the decoys trying to get back to the Special Grade. You see Gojo float through the air ready to make his move when one of the prison’s security officers pulls out a gun and fires at the curse. 

“Idiot!”

Gojo’s  concentration is broken. He lands on the ground gracefully while glaring at the moron of a guard who thought an ordinary bullet would work on an invisible monster. 

“What are you doing here? Run!” He shouts. 

The curse reabsorbs several of its segments and steps towards the man. You touch the foreheads of two segments surrounding you and send them to defend the guard. The confusion on the Special Grade’s face is evident when it sees its clones defying orders. 

“How??” It shouts in a voice reminiscent of a satanic ritual. 

“Now he wants to talk” you mutter to yourself.

Soon you realize that all the clones who look like the two segments you touched have joined you in the destroyed corridor of the prison. They seem to have a mental connection to eachother and your technique was passed onto the identical clones. All of them surround the prison guard in a protective stance ready for civil war.

“Huh…well that’s cool.” you muse to yourself

Gojo, seeing an opening, rushes to get the nearby prisoners and guards he sees hidden out of the area and to a safer location. He knows you have things covered here and will be able to exorcize the spirit soon.  

The Special Grade rounds on you once again, crying out in an autotuned voice. “You! You did this!”

A large blue hand extends out to swat at you. You drop to the floor to avoid both the creature’s flesh and the falling rubble of the walls that the spirit pounded through as it swung at you. 

You come back up to your feet and wipe the dust off your sweaty brow. 

“And what if I did?” you finally retort.

After a large breath you spit out your daggers. The curse shouts in response to the assault and spawns more segments to harm you. The segments that are under your control begin to fight with the other three clone types.

With the foot soldiers fighting amongst themselves you had an opening to take the curse on mono e mono. 

You back up and run full speed down the hall, sprinting towards the Special Grade and launching yourself into the air as you reach the tattered edge of the floor. You leap up the giant’s arms aiming to run up its biceps, shoulders, and neck, and plant your palm between its brows. 

You bound as fast as your legs will carry you but the spirit begins to reach for you and slap its arms, swatting at you like a fly. You blow knives at it but they are little more than splinters to him. Suddenly his giant palm finds you and your body thuds against the thick, tough, navy skin as his fingers wrap around your body. You scream and shout for Gojo but he is not near you. The only response you can hear is faint yelling from the distance. 

The special grade’s grip closes around you and you can feel your bones giving way to its strength. You scream in pain and try to use your dagger technique as you feel darkness tunnel your vision. 

Suddenly the pressure releases and you feel as if you are falling into the abyss. 

So this is what death feels like…it’s nice. 

A warmth surrounds you, embracing your body like a hug as the pain that was inflicted upon you slowly ebbs away. Dying in battle was far more pleasant than expected. 

Why is everyone so afraid of this?

You can hear them shouting and screaming from a distance. You wish you could tell them it’s okay. You’re okay... 

Suddenly the warm embrace is ripped away from you and your body lands on the ground after a short fall, almost as if someone dropped you as they kneeled down in the rubble. You hit the back of your head and reach your hand to nurse the bump. 

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Professor! I’m so sorry! I-“

“Get away from her!” Gojo’s voice booms from across the yard and you suddenly realize you are hearing Yuji’s whimpers as he runs away to the opposite end of the space. 

“What happened?!”

Gojo’s question oozes with a worry you had never heard before. “Professor-“ Kugusaki started but quickly cut herself off as she looked down at you still lying on the floor. “I think it best if we talk in private.”

Gojo gives you a quick once over before tearing his eyes off of you to reluctantly step away.

The two of them walk across the makeshift courtyard created by the monster and you are left looking towards Megumi for comfort. 

“What’s going on? I thought I died but somehow…I’m fine?” You scan over your body and realize you are perfectly unharmed. Did you faint? How did you come out unscathed and why is everyone freaking out? Did Gojo exorcize the curse? 

Aww man…I wanted to exorcize it. 

Megumi uncomfortably clears his throat and shifts his weight. 

“Umm…well, umm”

“Umm what?”

“Well…Yuji he uh, he healed you.”

“Yuji healed me?” You say thick with doubt knowing full well a reverse technique like that cannot be used by a human only by a…shit. 

Megumi sees comprehension blanket your face. 

“Megumi, did-did Yuji command Sukuna to heal me?”

“It wasn’t so much Yuji commanding Sukuna as it was…Sukuna commanding Yuji.”

“Are you…are you saying Sukuna…save me?”

“I guess, if that’s how you want to put it.” 

It was clear that Megumi felt as if he divulged information he shouldn’t have, so he turned his back to you, acting as a lookout. You slowly sit up and get to your feet, brushing the ash off of you as you realize the majority of the surrounding area has been charred to a crisp. It was as if you were looking at the remnants of an explosion. "What the..." The entire area was devastated. You were amazed that only the curses were killed and not your entire team. How it was possible, you did not know. However, the thoughts that ran through your head focused on Sukuna.

He saved me. But why? If he was planning on harming me, why would he save me?

Gojo and Kugisaki return from their conversation and you can see that Saturo’s face if strained with discomfort. What had Kugisaki witnessed that you didn’t know about? The entire situation left your stomach in knots. 

Gojo walks up to you and stares deep into your eyes. Worry is etched on his face and he grabs your bicep. He scans your entire face and down your body before making eye contact once more.

“Gojo, I-”

But the sentence dies on your tongue. He releases your arm and walks away towards the SUV waiting outside. The five of you silently enter and you take your seat first before the rest of the crew pile in. 

As Yuji enters you can see him twitch as if fighting the urge to sit next to you and you shutter knowing it has something to do with Sukuna. 

With a firm hand, Gojo pushes Yuji toward the back seats and Yuji looks relieved to have some assistance controlling his body’s actions. 

Saturo sits down next to you and rests his hand on your thigh. You look over at his slender figure and realize he is scared for your safety. Your mind is a swirling mess of thoughts and once you reach the University you are more than grateful to disappear straight to your home despite Gojo’s attempt to pull you to the side and debrief. 

Once inside the threshold of your apartment you lock your door and latch the chain. Allowing yourself to slide down to the floor and unpack the heavy emotions that come with dying and being revived by the King of Curses. Your swirling thoughts kept circling back to ‘why’. Eventually the exhaustion of the day weighs down your eyelids and you decide to get ready for an early bedtime. 

You stumble to the bathroom, brushing your teeth before tying your hair up in a messy bun. You collapse onto your bed, lazily pulling the blanket over your hips and slip into a sound sleep.

“Princess…”

A groan passes your lips at the light taps to your shoulder.

“Princess…”

You go to swat at the hand when it catches your wrist in a firm grip.

“That’s no way to treat your rescuer.”

Your eyes shoot open and you turn to face the deep voice belonging to the hand.

“S-sukuna?”

“Hello, Princess. How do you feel?”

“How did you get in? The emergency latch-”

“You really think a little bit of metal is going to stop me?”

“Well-I-no, but-”

“Silly humans. Always so confused when you’re tired.”

His pointed fingernail traces along your forehead, down to your chin, and you shudder as you realize the affection he is displaying by the action. 

“How are you feeling?”

You pause as you look at him in shock.

“Answer me.”

“I-I feel tired.”

“But are you in pain?”

“No, I am not in pain.”

“Good.”

The tattooed face of Yuji stands up tall.

“Why didn’t Yuji just ask me this?”

“Cause the pest wants me to stay away from you. He thinks I might hurt you.”

“What do you mean? You saved me.”

“He thinks I am only capable of destruction. ‘Today proves it’ he says. Psh. So I had to wait for the brat to fall asleep before I could take over this pathetic form and check on you.”

“But why would you want to check on me?”

“To make sure it worked.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment. “But why save me? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you wouldn’t Princess.” he says as he walks towards your bedroom door.

“Wait, please…” But Yuji’s alter ego continues his way out of your suite and you are left with questions swarming your tired mind. 

Don’t go.

But as the need enters your brain everything fades to black and you sleep till noon the next day.

Chapter 2

[makethatelevenrings]

Maybe // S. Riley x f!reader

me: I have a cold, I need to study, and I have work in a few hours but I have this tiny thought that won't escape me

me: I should abandon everything I'm working on and write it out? so true bestie

this could be considered a part of this simon x 141!reader universe I've made but idk, I am thinking of a name for their universe. Maybe sadwetcatverse because they're both pathetic. Maybe next part I'll let them fucknasty, who knows. Certainly not me!

warnings: mention of kids/wanting kids, reader and Simon are both masochist losers who can't imagine themselves being happy or living past 40

The thought doesn’t crop up as often as he imagined. In fact, the first time it crossed his mind was on a mission. They’re in southern Italy, tracking a rogue operative who is working with a local mafia to transport fentanyl-laced drugs into England. They’re not spies, Ghosts remembers saying. No, you’re right, Price retorted. But they’re armed like they’re an army.

The sun is high in the sky and painting your skin deliciously. He has to tear his gaze away from you to focus on the task at hand: analyzing the landscape and seeing where they could set up recon. His shoulders tense as he hears footsteps rapidly approach from behind, but when he turns, he sees a young boy gazing up at you in nothing short but adoration. You crouch down to his level and greet him in Italian, a wide smile on your lips as he extends a bundle of flowers in your direction and babbles out something that has you chuckling and nodding. The boy suddenly turns shy after his bold move and your smile brightens. You thank him for the flowers and he beams before running back to where his family is standing. You wave at the parents and call out a thanks and they laugh in response, ruffling the hair of the child and teasing him.

"What was that about?" he finally asks. You hold the flowers loosely in one hand and use the other to point out a possible place to set up a sniper to watch for their target.

"He said his dad taught him that pretty ladies deserve flowers," you hummed. "It was cute, really."

A wistful look appears in your eyes and he considers, just for a moment, what it might be like to see you with a sleeping babe in your strong arms. A tiny lil thing with a shock of blond hair and eyes the same color as yours. A child with soft skin untouched by the scars you both wore on your bodies and souls. He could picture it so clearly now, the way you would carry his child like the most precious thing in the world, almost akin to how you were carrying the flowers. His chest burns with want, but his face, masked of course, betrays none of the feelings he's experiencing.

That night, when you're both back in the safehouse with the rest of the team, he finds himself sitting up with Price and going over schematics on how to set up this mission. He glances over to where you're on the only bed curled up next to Gaz, fast asleep. The two of you got on like a fire on a house, which made for a great partnership out on the field. Ghost didn't resent him. No, not at all. But he had made it clear to Garrick that if anything happened to you on his watch, Ghost would rearrange his ribs one by one.

And for a moment he lets his guard down and he lets himself picture the way you would fall asleep on the couch with your child pressed against your heart. Your body would shield them from the cruel world you two were intimately familiar with and he would place himself between both of you and anything that threatened you. It was a fool's dream, he knew this, but it was something he had never considered before. Price lets his eyes drift from the map and over to his two sleeping kids, Soap was sprawled out on the floor with his mouth slack and snoring like a chainsaw, and back to his lieutenant.

"Ever consider retiring?" he asks. They never spoke about the relationship between his two lieutenants. He just merely filed away the paperwork that Simon handed him that listed you as his primary contact. He silently approved their file updates with their new shared address. They never let it affect them on the field, save for the few times that you two had gotten a little overzealous in your revenge when the other was hurt or captured. In fact, Price couldn't name a time he saw the two of you interact outside of a professional capacity.

But he can see the look in Simon's eyes. For a man so guarded and cold, Price knew Simon well enough to read what he was thinking.

"Never gave it much thought," Ghost finally answers. "Figured I'll quit once they put me in that casket."

Price sighs. Fucking masochist. Always thinks he deserves life's worst. "And what if that never comes?"

Simon thinks for a moment. Breathes in and out. Considers the way all the lines of stress and tension in your face and body melts away as you sleep. Thinks about how you feed the stray cats around the townhome the two of you share. Remembers how you looked earlier that day with a bright smile highlighted by the sun, eyes sparkling and fingers curled around the stem of the flowers that now rested on the nightstand next to you.

"Wouldn't be fair to her. Taking care of me," he finally answers. Price gives up for the night and just tells him to get some sleep before they move into position tomorrow. Simon settles himself onto the floor on the other side of you, placing himself between you and the door. You were firmly sandwiched between two men who would die and kill for you. He could rest easy, as easy as someone like him could.

And what he doesn't realize is when you first took hold of those flowers, you pictured that little boy with honey brown eyes like his daddy and hair just like yours and a gap-toothed grin as he laughed at one of his dad's stupid jokes. You had never considered that life for you before. Your life was filled with uncertainty and danger. Men and women had come into your bed and left just as easily. Simon was the first person you let settle in close and he was now forever a part of you. The only thing that would take him from you was death himself and you refused to let that be the case. Not if you had a say in it.

You couldn't be a mother. No. Not when you were in such a dangerous job. Even when Gaz teased you about the way you seemed to mother hen him on missions and you retorted it's because he would accidentally blow himself up if you weren't watching over him. Your hands were stained red. So you would let that thought remain a thought. A wish. A hopeless dream, never to be realized. You truly expected to come home covered in a flag and that would be it.

Maybe in another life. Maybe in a safer world. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Have not posted about mine and @queenjunothegreat’s next gen kids in way too long so: Pipeyna kiddie

-Her name is Emilia McLean. Her go-to nickname is Em. When she’s in trouble, Piper calls her Lea. Yes, she‘s named after Leo. He would not stop wailing when he was told about this.

-Em is Sofía’s best friend. She’s three years older than Sofía and they grow up considering each other sisters. (Good luck trying to tell Sofía they’re not sisters because they’re not related, she’s not related to her dads either and they’re still her dads, so checkmate)

-When they were small, Sofía followed Em around like a little duckling, insisting to play whatever Em was playing and do whatever Em was doing. There’s nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other. (Also yes I gave them matching earrings in different colors because they’re dorks and they would.)

-Em loves skirts and dresses and putting her hair up in fancy braids. Reyna’s got the braiding covered due to her time on Circe’s island, but when Em asked her moms to show her how to do her makeup, they were both sweating profusely because Piper hasn’t let anyone put makeup on her since she was twelve and Reyna’s just never really bothered with it? They spent like an hour trying to watch a makeup tutorial before giving up and admitting they need help. Hylla never lets Reyna live it down, but Emilia is thrilled because “the queen of the Amazons taught me how to do my makeup” is a pretty cool thing to brag about. (There was a discussion on whether or not to call Drew instead but in the end they settled on Hylla because they knew Hylla would be annoying but not as overly smug about it.)

-Drew absolutely takes Em clothes shopping sometimes because she’s decided Reyna and Piper are both useless. Piper lets it happen because it makes Em happy but is also fuming about it. Reyna is honestly just grateful to be getting out of clothes shopping lmao her closet is almost entirely made up of work outfits.

-Piper and Reyna have a rescue dog named Kitty (Em named her when she was three, in honor of that the name is spelled in all caps in all official documents) and Em loves that dog so much. It’s entirely mutual. Kitty is wildly protective of Em and will bite people if they so much as look at her weird.

-Leo is Em’s chaotic fun uncle and they get into so many shenanigans together. Jason is a significantly less chaotic uncle than his husband but somehow always ends up caught in the crossfire of their uncle-niece shenanigans.

-Leo being the chaotic fun uncle inevitably comes back to bite him when Em takes a page out of his book and starts getting into shenanigans with Sofía. Piper is absolutely cackling in the background.

Some more lore stuff under the cut since this is getting kind of long

-Em is actually the only next gen child named specifically after another demigod. This is both because Leo is close friends with her moms and because in a universe where names have power, choosing the name of the guy who beat the odds and quite literally rewrote fate—who defied death not once but twice so he could have his happy ending—is the greatest blessing Piper can think to give her daughter.

-Leo has thought of himself as a curse for a large chunk of his life. The concept of having his name used as a blessing is something he never fully recovers from.

-Speaking of names: Reyna’s bloodline and family legacy was meant to be intricately tied to New Rome’s survival. It ruined her life and took away almost her entire childhood. She happily laid her family name to rest and took Piper’s when they married. They mostly live in the mortal world and her ties with New Rome aren’t nearly as strong as they used to be when she was growing up, but there’s a part of her is terrified that this will come back to haunt her daughter one day. She never tells her daughter about Bellona’s prophecy. She won’t allow for her to grow up with the future of New Rome on her shoulders.

-Emilia is a natural leader. Aside from her general proficiency with various weapons, her main power is a sort of motivational charmspeak—not quite Piper’s ability to control others, and not quite Reyna’s ability to project her own emotions outward, but a milder combination of both that allows her to demand the attention of other demigods, instill confidence in those listening to her and rally her troops. Everyone knows she’d be a praetor at Camp Jupiter in no time, and it terrifies Reyna.

-But Em is a legacy of Aphrodite and Bellona both. She has a place at Camp Half-Blood as well as Camp Jupiter. And when the time comes for her to choose, she chooses Camp Half-Blood and goes back to live with her moms once the summer is over. Reyna nearly cries with relief.

-Maybe Leo’s name worked. Maybe the prophecy won’t be of any relevance until they’ve all long passed, many generations down the line. But Em strays from the path that seemed so set for her. She’s free, in a way Reyna never was.

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 15: New Threads

Alternate Universe (1930s gangster AU, secret relationship)

CWs: Period-relevant racism

If Alastor is going to pose as Anthony’s new bodyguard, he has to look the part.

Word count: 1290

•••

Purchasing clothing was a foreign concept to Alastor.

He had clothing, obviously, he wasn’t some Philistine traipsing around ‘naked as the day he was born’ (as they said back home). That clothing, however, had all been hand-made by his maman and later by Alastor himself once he cultivated his sewing skill enough to tailor things. In the little village outside of New Orleans, where he grew up, there was a shortage of things like professional tailors and the newfangled idea of ‘ready to wear’ clothes you could buy off a rack; there had been more options in the city, of course, but they didn’t cater to people like those who lived in the village, so their only option was the one small store that sold a limited variety of cloth and sewing notions.

The building in front of him was not a place where you could buy plain cotton fabric or a pack of sewing needles. No, this was a New York City bespoke tailor, the kind of place where they gave you champagne and let you sit on soft velvet chairs while men with measuring tapes around their necks practically begged to cater to your every fashion whim. There was even a sign in the window that said, in no uncertain terms, WE CATER TO WHITE TRADE. WAITING ROOM FOR COLORED ONLY, with an arrow pointing around to the back of the building.

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll exactly receive a warm welcome here,” Alastor said lightly, tilting his head enough to look at his companion. With his slicked white hair, entirely white suit, and matching white hat and shoes, his boss (boss’s son, strictly speaking) couldn’t have looked any more like a gangster; it only took one glance to see why so many who worked for the Family called him the Ghost.

“Does that bother you?” Anthony asked, casting Alastor a sidelong glance as his lips curved into a smirk.

Alastor returned the look with a smile of his own. “I think you already know the answer to that, sha. I simply wouldn’t want to waste your time if they’re only going to refuse service.”

“No one refuses the Mezzasalma Family’s money,” Anthony said, his smile growing darker as he took hold of the door handle. “Not more than once, anyway.”

Alastor followed Anthony inside and looked around at the interior that was just as posh as he imagined it would be, the interior all polished wood and fine carpet and largely uncluttered by the usual bolts of cloth and shelves and bins. Instead, cloth samples lined one wall in a neat little row, a large section of the interior dedicated to a seating area and a raised dais with full-length mirrors surrounding it in a half-circle. It was mere seconds before a man strode over to them with a speed that made his attempt at dignified posture downright hilarious, and he stopped near Anthony, clasping his hands together.

“Mister Mezzasalma,” he began, casting Alastor more than one glance from the corner of his eye. “I— This is quite the surprise, we were not expecting to see you.”

“Wasn’t exactly expectin’ to be here myself,” Anthony said, straightening the lapels of his jacket as he glanced around. “I’m in need of a couple of new suits and my usual tailor won’t be back in the city for a few weeks. My father speaks highly enough of your work, so I figured I might as well give my patronage to someone who’s already been good to my people.”

“That… that’s very kind of you, sir.” The shop attendant glanced at Alastor again; Alastor smiled at him, and the attendant’s face blanched to an interesting color that reminded Alastor of bad milk. “We would be more than happy to clear our schedule for you, but I am afraid your man will have to go around to the back of the building for the entrance to the waiting area.”

“Oh, no, he won’t,” Anthony said, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling over to where the cloth samples stood. “They’re for him. He’s recently come close into my employ, you see, and he requires clothing that… befits the position, so to speak.”

The attendant looked panicked. “Sir, I-I’m afraid I must insist, it isn’t just our policy, the law dictates—”

He fell silent when Anthony glanced his way. “Ain’t that a shame,” he said, turning back to the cloth and taking what looked like some expensive gray tweed between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its texture. “I suppose I’ll have to obtain a different recommendation from my father, then. He’ll be very disappointed to hear your establishment didn’t meet my needs, but the law is the law.”

If the attendant looked unwell before, now he looked positively ill, like he might vomit where he stood any moment. While Alastor might have rolled his eyes at the indirect passive-aggression of veiled mafioso threats, he had to admit it was very funny to be on this side of it. “Oh, n-no, sir, it isn’t— I didn’t mean—…” He cleared his throat, gathering himself. “Your father has always been a very valuable patron for us. I’m certain the owner wouldn’t mind making an exception.”

Anthony smiled. “Well, that’s very good to hear. Alastor, come on over here.” When Alastor stepped up beside him, Anthony dropped his voice and said, “Let me know if anybody here says or does anythin’ even a little… inappropriate, alright?”

“You got it,” Alastor murmured with a smile. “Are you planning to shoot them if they do?”

Anthony chuckled. “Nah. Might get someone to accidentally burn down the building, though.” Alastor stifled his laugh as Anthony shushed him, trying to keep his own laughter from bursting out in a giggle.

The fabric was nothing like Alastor had ever held before, and he took his time in making his selections while Anthony told the attendant, in no uncertain terms, that they required the suits as quickly as possible. He negotiated a two-week turnaround that made the attendant sound like he was close to an apoplexy, but he agreed and had Alastor stand on the dais for his measurements.

They returned to the store for fittings three times—Alastor had tried to tell Anthony that he didn’t need anything so extravagant, and Anthony had countered that he enjoyed spending as much of the family money as possible this way—and when Alastor finally stood in a completed suit of light gray cashmere, looking himself over in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

“Leave,” Anthony said to the shop’s employees, and as they scuttled away, Alastor watched him in the mirror as he stepped up onto the wide dais and walk up behind him. “What do you think?” Anthony asked, dropping his voice to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“It’s different,” Alastor said. “But I can’t say I hate it.”

“Most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say about somethin’ bein’ different,” Anthony chuckled, and Alastor felt hands on his waist as Anthony leaned in close to his back.

Alastor smiled, leaning back in return as he fixed his cuffs. “I think I could absolutely get used to this.”

“Good. And besides…” Anthony leaned in close to Alastor’s ear, whispering, “I think both these suits will look fantastic on my bedroom floor.” Alastor felt his face heating up as Anthony’s tongue darted out, flicking the shell of his ear, a little bit of that ‘playing with fire’ he was so fond of. Then, he backed off and turned away. “Let’s get out of here, then. Next time, I’m takin’ you to Rosie.”

Alastor took one last look at himself, smoothing his hand down the front of his jacket, before he turned to follow Anthony out of the building. He could definitely get used to this.

•••

[matsubusa-m]

I suppose an introduction may be necessary…

(//OOC: Better picture maybe in the future, but this’ll do in the meantime)

Full name: Marc Masashi Matsubusa

Nickname: Maxie

Age: 49 years old

Birthday: 17th of July

Apparently, I'm the most boring Maxie in the multiverse. But that is fine for me. At my age, living a quiet life is really nice. Though our Courtney described our universe as an "Slice of life/Comedy Anime"… whatever that is supposed to mean…

OOC & Lore/Infodump down below (I may add stuff in the future)

//OOC - About this Maxie:

Hi, I’m @starlightcosmos04245 and I’m the one behind this dorky Maxie - though I mostly go by his German name, Marc (I am German, and have a separate OC who’s related to this Maxie, whose name is… Maxie (too much Maxie). That’s why lol).

Marc lives in a universe of the multiverse many years into the future. The events of ORAS have long been said and done, he’s still the leader of Team Magma (although they’re known to the public as "Magma Research Laboratories" now. Internally they’re still Team Magma) and is actively working with Team Aqua (aka. "Aqua Marine Laboratories" (they weren’t very creative) to better the environment. Sadly, since they’re still under the radar of the government of Hoenn (which is mostly led by people who have no clue about anything + the Pokémon League of Hoenn), Devon Co. has a say in their affairs. Marc is pissed off about it, Archie as well. Just fyi. Marc just always tries to keep up a calm facade. One court trial and probation are enough for him in his lifetime. He doesn’t need any more problems than he already has (the public still views him as public enemy #1 together with Archie).

☆

//OOC - About this blogs boundaries:

I, personally, am usually very open about everything. Though I have to admit I’m very shy and get nervous easily… so sorry for that. I’m happy though to be included in the "multiversal beef" - I’ll try to keep up, but I’m usually a peacemaker ^^;

(I maybe disappear sometimes for some time due to mental health reasons. We all need breaks sometimes ^^; )

I’m okay with ic anon hate, poke fun at Marc, tease him, annoy him. He will be responding accordingly (or dorkily lmao). Also, feel free to ask him any questions, he usually tries to find an answer for any question, even if it's stupid. If they’re too extreme, though, I’ll ignore them (fyi). I also won’t condone any ooc hate. It’s just inappropriate. This is a RP-Blog, after all. We’re all here to have some fun :)

☆

Ahem… just a heads up… I have a lot of headcanon lore that’s probably getting spitted here. So I’m very sorry in advance but I try to tone it down.

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HEADCANONS/LORE

His story takes place many years after the events of ORAS, especially a version where both Maxie and Archie gave their stupid ideas a try and both kinda succeeded. Though they both got stopped by Lizzy (my OC who’s basically a stand-in for each of the protagonists. She has her own blog (@ematsubusa), if you want to interact with her too) who later becomes Maxies wife after being done with her journeys. They don’t have a romantic relationship before she finishes travelling. She initiated it. He was a nervous mess. Big-ass old virgin.

In the timeline they live in, they have three children - a pair of fraternal twin sons (8 yrs old atm) and a daughter (5 yrs old atm).

This Maxie cares about his family very much. He sometimes can be caught rambling about his “little Numels”, as he endearingly calls them.

More about the children here: https://www.tumblr.com/starlightcosmos04245/750105201355243520/let-me-tell-you-about-the-matsubusa-siblings-the

This Maxie is a descendant of the Diamond Clans founder from PLA (the guy in the paintings so looks like RSE Maxie). He’s not directly Adamans descendant, but Adamans uncle’s who migrated from Hisui to Hoenn long before the events of PLA.

Maxie’s father is one of the last remaining descendants of the clan… who takes it all wayyyy too seriously.

Both his parents here: https://www.tumblr.com/starlightcosmos04245/726381359415820288/i-kinda-have-a-thing-for-not-only-creating-fankids

Maxie is half Japanese half German (father is Japanese, mother is German). He can speak both languages. I can’t. I can speak German and English. That’s it (for now, who knows). So maybe Maxie will speak German sometimes

Some more useless info:

- Maxies favourite band is Depeche Mode. "Everything Counts" is his favourite song of the band

- In this universe, Archie and Shelly are married. Nessa is their daughter (because looks. Stupid, I know)

- When they were teenagers, Archie, Shelly and Maxie were playing D&D together with some other friends from school. Maxie was the Dungeon Master

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I might add more stuff over time, but this is all I’ve got for now.

If you’ve read it all, you earn my respect 🫡

With all that said… I hope you have fun and happy rp-ing (๑╹ω╹๑ )

[royculkins]

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (4)

part four: rigid cold meet liquid sunset

PART THREE

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: This took forever, thank you so much for being patient and understanding!! And I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of angsty and such, but I swear there will be a happy ending! The next part is the final part of this story, so it will be VERY long and make you feel a lot of emotions!! Thank you again for sticking by me I love you all!!

4.2K words

Igby Slocumb couldn’t hide the glow of contentedness that embodied him after sharing a first kiss with you. He had returned to your apartment multiple times since then, never sharing another moment of flourishing physical intimacy. The boy couldn’t complain, however, because he (and you, for that matter) had taken many drugs before, but the high never lasted as long as this one. 

Your time was spent as it always was⸺meeting him at the front door, sharing stories at the window, and smoking a joint before he would leave you with an unspoken promise of return. The only difference is the proximity of the two of you. So close that anyone watching would declare you lovers who spoke only a language the two of you understood. 

Nobody would assume that you were just two kids punished for wanting something unconditional and only finding it in each other. There was no rush to kiss again, no push to go further, and no lull in your connection. There only remained a buzzing harmony between the two of you that soothed both of you into a comfortable bliss. 

When Igby had awoken on the morning after he had seen you, he wondered if he’d ever escape the chasing smile that followed every thought of you. He had never met someone like you, someone who cared as absolute as you did. Someone who cared without a second thought or had the need to gain something in return. 

It’s all his family had ever done. Telling him what he needed to hear to get him to listen. It wasn’t until he found out about their schemes that he began to retaliate. He thought they’d realize what he needed, but they only held his necessities over his head. Making it impossible for him to live without them. He had been running ever since. 

From your apartment, you pondered the same thoughts. For so long, you felt you had been begging for someone to see your feelings and thoughts as anything other than a burden. Those you used to take bumps with would all nod along to your words but never truly listen. Your ‘friends’ would ignore your feelings and push you to focus on something else⸺which usually consisted of partying. And your parents, well, they were an entirely different story. 

They acted like the words that escaped your lips came in the form of pleading vomit. Begging them to see you as their child, begging for them to say they loved you, begging for them to stop you from destroying yourself. However, they only ever said anything to benefit the company and their reputation.  

Igby was the first person to argue with you. He was the first person who listened. The only person who had an opinion on you that exceeded your partying and your parent's company. 

The two of you were foreign to the feeling of intimacy like this—too familiar with the physical aspects that the emotional and intellectual parts had a confusing burn to them. With every conversation and every small act of kindness—the more the burn spread. Then, the two of you kissed, and a wildfire ensued. 

Living on the undying warmth and high, you had taken to skipping around your home, with a hum filling the once-haunted air. It was because of these distracting sentiments that you couldn’t feel the cold front making its way up the elevator toward your apartment.

You hadn’t expected any guests today. It wasn’t your usual days for tutoring; the groceries that were delivered had already come for the week, and it wasn’t one of your scheduled days for Igby’s return. The expectation of spending the evening alone had been shattered as a knock on the front door echoed throughout your apartment. You turned your head to look at it with furrowed eyebrows, expecting the person on the other side of it to walk away and discover that they had mistaken your apartment for someone elses. However, another knock sounded, this time louder and firmer than before. 

Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you take long strides toward the door to unlock it, only opening it wide enough to make eye contact with the unexpected visitor. Leaning your body against the threshold of the door, you quirk your eyebrow as you examine the unknown man in front of you. His blue eyes pierce into your own as you speak impatiently after a moment of prolonged silence, “Can I help you?”

The blonde boy smiles, a wicked smile, one full of intent and hidden annoyance, “I’m actually looking for someone. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Igby Slocumb, would you?”

“No, sorry,” The lie flows out of your mouth as easily as water runs. You go to close the door, but the boy reaches out and stops it before you can make him disappear behind it. His smile was replaced with a knowing smirk, his eyes blazing with passion as you unknowingly entered into a game he was interested in playing, “I know you’re lying.”

“Look, I have no idea who you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Do I?” There was no genuine confusion, his words easily matching with the same type of sarcasm you had heard so familarly with Igby. 

It becomes quickly apparent that the man in front of you is related to the boy you have befriended, and it is because of that you continue to lie through your teeth. Even though the blonde had already found you out, you persisted. Nodding your head with a forced smile, you tried to close the door again, “Yeah, I do.”

“What would your parents think about you spending their company’s money on a weekly drug dropoff?”

His words caused your push on the door to freeze, leaving only enough of a gap for his icy words to send a chill down your spine. Subconsciously your back straightened as a shaky breath entered your nose. Slowly opening the door, you hold onto your hardened expression as he tilts his head in a teasing manner, looking up at you through his eyelashes as though he were innocent yet his smirk told the truth of his intentions. 

The boy clicked his tongue in a disapproving way, taunting you as he shook his head, “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or should I send an anonymous message regarding your recent activities with my brother to your parents?”

Biting your inner cheek, you open the door further, staring past him as he glides past you with the grace of a swan. His entire persona was different from his brothers. While Igby walked with a slouch and heavy feet, his brother walked with his shoulders back and with posey, the training only a wealthy child who followed instructions could perfect. Shutting the door, your eyes followed the blonde as he looked at your apartment with a blank expression. His fingers trailed across your things as he examined every aspect of the new environment. He circled the area around you slightly like a predator to prey. 

“What do you want?” The question came out bitterly, you could taste the disdain sitting on your tongue as he continued walking around the living room, his blue eyes meeting your figure as he took a deep breath in, “You know what I want.”

Igby.

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms, “Look, Igby’s just some delivery boy. I don’t know him or where he is. He just drops shit off, then continues his job. There’s nothing more I could do to help you.”

The pale boy stops his continuous movement to look at you with furrowed eyebrows. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how Igby could get people to easily lie for him or defend him. Chuckling under his breath, the boy turned his body to face you, looking you up and down before sending you a fake proper smile, “Do you really think I’d be here if that were the case? Do you think I’d just blindly show up here? Ask you a question I don’t already know the answer to. Do you really think that I don’t know everything about you and my brother?”

You stayed silent, standing by your word as he once more slowly circled you. Making you feel small as his eyes pierced through you. 

“I’ll admit, you weren’t the easiest person to acquire information about. You have little to no friends, and you never leave this building, let alone this apartment. However, your doorman has quite a lot of sympathy toward you and isn’t shy about telling people about your sob story. The poor rich kid with a drug problem and neglectful parents who care more about their company’s future than the supposed heir to their fortune.”

Silently you curse the doorman and take back any mental apologies you had sent him when he was the center of a crude joke. Now, he seemed the utmost deserving of it all. Your gaze fell to the carpet beneath you before looking back up at the smirking man, who continued on, “He told me how often your friend came around and how happy he was that you finally had someone visiting you after months of seeing absolutely no one. Said that you spent hours together and that your little friend would skip in and out of this building with nothing but a smile on his face. He didn’t know that I already knew that, though. Bless his heart, he must not have many conversations seeing as he just would not shut up.”

“And neither will you, it seems,” You sigh as you sit down on the couch with an eye roll. Your face remained stoic as the blonde boy turned to stare at you with an amused expression. He had to hand it to his brother; he really knew how to pick them up. The kind of person with just enough sass to fight on their own and just enough loneliness to keep asking him to return. Nodding silently, the boy sat across from you, finally aligning himself to your level to appear as equals. Even though he’d never see you as such. 

Taking a deep breath, the blonde boy tilted his head, “I know who you are, so I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Oliver, I’m sure Igby has told you about me—.”

“He actually hasn’t talked much about you at all.” You admit with a shrug, “Just that you don’t understand him and that you have a habit of taking things away from him.”

Smiling falsely, Oliver chuckled over the very usual dramatics of his brother's tales, “You mean Sookie?”

You tried not to outwardly show your annoyance toward the older boy in front of you. His lack of empathy for taking away one of the only people his brother trusted didn’t sit well with you. Returning the false smile, you feel your eyes scrunch up as you speak, “I’m sure you’d know more than me.”

“I do know more than you.” Oliver agrees, causing your eyes to roll slightly and a small scoff to push past your lips. Leaning forward from his stiff position, the boy places his elbows on his knees, “The same way I know Igby more than you.”

“Why can’t you just leave him alone?” Your voice came out so soft and genuine that Oliver visibly winced, not expecting your tone to shift from sticky sweet sarcasm to sincere questioning. 

Furrowing his eyebrows, the blonde boy scoffs, “He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have the authority to be alone, especially with all the trouble he causes, that I have to clean up.”

The bitterness that lingered with his final remark caused you to look at him a little closer. Shifting uncomfortably under your gaze, a resemblance between the Slocumb brothers peaked through the cracks of their shared reactions to their role in their family. Both of them longed for control over their current situation because they lacked control over what they truly wanted. Whereas Igby wanted to feel seen, heard, and taken care of without being seen as a problem, Oliver wanted to be seen and heard without having to pick up after every mistake his family made. 

“Seems like a bit of a personal matter, doesn’t it? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to give Igby a message.”

You roll your eyes at the blonde boy's dramatics, “What exactly do you want me to do? Tell him to leave New York with you? Even if I tell Igby to go back home, he won’t. He’ll just pack up and leave again.”

“He’ll listen to you.”

“And what makes you think that?” You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Because you’re his friend, and he wouldn’t want to hurt his only friend.” The cracks in Oliver’s demeanor had been sealed over, causing his smirk to return as his original plan unfolded before the two of you. You shook your head with confusion seeping through your expression as the boy stood up from his spot. Checking his watch before dropping a bomb in your living room, “If you don’t tell Igby to come home⸺I’ll be sure that your parents are aware of your recent spending habits. As well as any tabloid that wants to know what the youth of America’s wealth truly looks like.”

You stare up at the older boy with wide eyes and your mouth agape, your heart racing at the thought of your name and picture being spread across magazines in a negative light. Smiling down at you, Oliver grips your jaw in his hand, “What would mommy and daddy do when they find out their only child ruined their clean image? Hm?”

Letting go of your face, Oliver left you seated on the couch with a heavy heart that felt a pull toward two different directions. In one way, you felt the urge to protect what was left of your relationship with your parents, while the other side wanted to protect Igby from the trap of his family's curse. Opening up the door, the older boy smiled at your frozen state, ready to seal the final nail in the coffin before closing your front door, “Oh, and be sure to give Igby that message soon. Our mother won’t be around for much longer, and she’d like to say goodbye to Igby. You can tell him the cancer finally caught up to her.”

Horror fills your face as you turn to look at the now-closed door. Your once warm and hum-filled apartment settles back into its haunting nature of sadness and silence. Your mind racing as you stare at the phone in your kitchen. It wouldn’t be until almost two hours later that you’d pick it up off its hook and dial Russel’s number into the phone. With your eyes shut, you’d pray that your drug dealer would answer the phone and be the barrier of bad news. However, your luck had seemingly run its course as the sound of Igby’s voice floated through the phone.

He sounded just as he always did, and it only caused your heart to leap into your throat. The air from your lungs is unable to push its way out or pull more air in, causing your mouth to remain parted with slightly jagged breathing escaping into the receiver.  

Assuming that you were one of Russel’s drug-dependent junkies, the boy rolls his eyes and sighs, “Look, Russel’s out. You’re gonna have to call back later.”

Before he could hang up the phone, your voice finally breaks through the lump in your throat, causing it to sound breathier than usual, “Wait, Igby.”

Placing the phone back in his ear at the familiar sound of you, a smile breaks out on his face. His attitude shifted back toward the same one you had just before his brother's intrusion into your life. The warm feeling that followed every thought of you grew bigger as he fell back into your usual routine that typically occurred on a different day, “Hey. You run out of drugs already? I think we need to get you into a program.”

“Igby—.”

“No need to be embarrassed; all the popular rich kids have a rehab phase.”

“Igby—.”

“I just ask that you send me a postcard—.”

“Igby!”

The boy freezes at the urgency and sternness of your voice; blinking harshly, he lowers his voice, an unfamiliar serious tone sounding through the phone, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does your mom have cancer?” Your voice sounds broken, like you’re clinging onto hope that he’d say no to your question. Like any sort of denial would break you free of this burden. 

“What? Where did you hear that? What—? Where—?”

“Does she?” You cut him off from his stuttering, balling the wire of the phone in your fist.

“Yeah, but how did you—? Who told you that?”

You release a shaky breath, tears brimming in your eyes, “Igby, you need to go home.”

Scrunching up his eyebrows, the boy scoffs before stumbling over his words, not understanding the sudden switch, “What? Why would you say that? Why, why would you—?”

“You’re brother stopped by my apartment today.” You whisper, causing his heart to drop further. They had gotten to you. Just as he was growing warm with affection and reassurance, their cold hands wrapped themselves around you and ripped you from him when he wasn’t looking. He knew he should’ve kept a closer eye on you. He should’ve made sure his family didn’t know you existed. He knew it was wrong to get involved and trust someone again, but he couldn’t resist you. You changed him, you changed his mind, and you made him realize that he wasn’t destined to be cold. 

“You can’t listen to him.” Igby rushes out, “Whatever he said to you, you—you can’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to get his way. Please, you have to—please! Just don’t listen to him!”

“Igby—.”

“No! Please! Just don’t listen to him! He always does this! He always comes in and takes everyone and everything that I care about and uses it against me! Please don’t let him! Please! Please! They take everything away from me! I can’t lose you! I can’t lose you too! Please, just–just—” Igby lets his head hit against the wall beside the telephone receiver and takes deep breaths as tears stream down his face. Your name slipped past his lips in pleading whispers along with small sniffs. “Please trust me. Please don’t let them do this.”

Your side of the line goes quiet, and he scrunches his eyes shut, knowing that you were slipping through his fingers. He could feel the cold running its deadly hands down his back, urging him to return home. Yet another part of him was ready to pack and run just as he’d done many times before. 

“I trust you.” You whisper so softly that Igby almost misses it. Sucking in a breath, the boy shoots up and stands up straighter, his knuckles turning white as his hand squeezes the phone. He whispers, “You do?”

“I do.” You nod, knowing that he can’t see you. And suddenly, that doesn’t seem appropriate. Looking around at the dimly light apartment, you take a deep breath, “I want to see you. Will you—will you come see me?”

“Yes.” His answer comes out before you can finish your question. He almost refuses to hang up the phone, scared that you’d change your mind, but you promise him you won’t, and he promises you that he’ll be there as fast as he can.

He makes it to your apartment in record-breaking time, rushing past your doorman and pushing tenants of the building out of his way to get to the elevator. He slams his finger against the button of your floor before pressing the close door button repeatedly until the doors slide shut in front of him. The boy's hazel eyes watch as the numbers move slowly, his legs bouncing with impatience as he feels the tug of your connection growing stronger the closer he gets.

No words were exchanged as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the two of you standing alert and ready for one another. Igby couldn’t refrain himself as he pushed past the doors before they could fully open, slamming his body against your own in a hug that said more than words ever could. No one had ever listened to him, no one ever fought for him, no one ever picked him.

Except for you.

His hands gripped at the fabric of your sweatshirt as if any sleight of hand would cause you to slip away from him. His nose buried in your neck, breathing in your smell as though it was essential for his right to breathe. A part of him wondered if this was real, but the feeling of your hand running up his back while the other rested on the back of his head made him realize it didn’t matter. Even if you weren’t real, if this wasn’t happening⸺he’d be willing to live in this fantasy forever. 

It’s unclear how long the two of you stood in the hallway outside your apartment, just holding each other in a way no one had ever held you before. Igby’s hands continued to grip at your clothes as you pulled him closer to you, if it was even possible, with your bodies already pressed against each other. 

It was the boy who pulled away first, his hands letting go of your sweatshirt to hold onto your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks as he took in your red and swollen eyes. You can’t help but notice the difference in the way Igby held your face then when his brother had done it earlier. The boy in front of you held you as though you were the most valuable thing in his life, holding you with such care that you were certain everything would be okay if you could just stay like this. When Oliver had your face in his hands, it was more about power. The need to appear superior to you and have your attention in his fleeting moment of control. Igby remained warm, whereas his brother tried to turn you cold. Taking a shaky breath in, Igby tries to speak steadily, but his voice shakes with anger as he thinks about what his brother did to make you, “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”

You shook your head as your hands came up to grip his wrist, leaning your face further into his embrace as you spoke, “Nothing, nothing. He just wanted me to tell you to go home.”

“I’m not going. I’m not leaving you.”

“He said your mom is dying, Igby.” Your eyes find his, and he pauses at your words before shaking his head, “We’re all dying.”

“Igby—.”

“No,” He argues back, his fingers tightening against your face to keep your focus on him instead of the haunting words of his brother, “She’s been sick for years. She’s just trying to get me to come home and do whatever she wants me to do.”

“They know about my parents.” You painfully whisper, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. Letting his eyes scan over your features, the boy slowly puts the pieces together, causing his head to drop. Of course, they knew about your parents. Of course, they knew about the issues of your past and how it would effect your parent's legacy. Cursing under his breath, Igby licks his lips before looking into your eyes with tears forming in his own, his heart aching over the pain he had caused you, “I’m so sorry.”

Searching his eyes briefly, you shake your head and bring your own hands up to cup his face, his hands now falling to rest on your elbows, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.”

Before the boy could interject, you cut him off, “It’s not your fault, Igby.”

You hold eye contact in during a moment of silence before Igby slowly leans forward to let your foreheads touch, letting the warmth of your body ease his aching hurt into a pulling dull. You nuzzle against his forehead as your eyes close, letting your body relax against his in the same manner. 

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I want you to be okay.”

That night Igby stayed with you. There was no kiss, no sex, no pull to do anything physical. Instead, you held onto one another in comfort, your legs intertwined and your arms wrapped around each other as the night wished away your pain. Allowing for one night of warmth and comfort before being forced to face the reality of your situation. All you needed was this night, just this night, to say that you both officially knew what it meant to love without manipulation or fear.

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