Tumgik
#they’re all losers I swear
ripdenbrough · 7 months
Text
( tag dump!! c: ) tag dump pt. 2.
#「 ✎ 」  » IN CHARACTER. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ THE LOSERS GOTTA STICK TOGETHER. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » MUSINGS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ SECRETS WE FEEL LIKE WE HAVE TO KEEP ARE THE HARDEST TO WALK AWAY FROM. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » HEADCANONS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ PEOPLE WANT TO BELIEVE THEY’RE WHAT THEY CHOOSE TO REMEMBER. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » VISAGE. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ HE THRUSTS HIS FISTS AGAINST THE POSTS AND STILL INSISTS HE SEES THE GHOSTS. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » ASKS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ SOMETIMES WE’RE WHAT WE WISH WE COULD FORGET. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » AESTHETICS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ ALL THESE MEMORIES I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER FORGETTING. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » LIKES. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ YOU HATE MY ENDINGS TOO? ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » DESIRES. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ I LOVE YOU TOO. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » R. TOZIER. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ I THINK HE SAID IT BEST. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » E. KASPBRAK. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ I GUESS THAT’S ONE THING WE HAVE IN COMMON. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » B. HANSCOM. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ EVERYTHING COMES BACK FASTER AND FASTER. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » S. URIS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ I SWEAR. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » M. HANLON. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ AN OATH IS AN OATH. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » B. MARSH. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ HANGING WITH US MAKES YOU A LOSER TOO. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » PENNYWISE. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ NOT REAL ENOUGH FOR ME. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » CHAPTER TWO. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ THERE AREN’T ANY SUCH THINGS AS GOOD FRIENDS OR BAD FRIENDS. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » CHAPTER ONE. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ IF WE STICK TOGETHER WE’LL WIN. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » STRANGER THINGS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » MODERN. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ LIVING FOR THINGS TO GET BETTER. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » POST CANON. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ THE FUTURE IS ALWAYS BETTER. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » OUT OF CHARACTER. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ NOAH RAMBLES. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » OPEN STARTER. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ BE BRAVE AND TAKE YOUR CHANCE. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » STARTER CALL. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ A NEW ADVENTURE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » DASH COMMENTARY. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ ALWAYS OBSERVING THE WORLD AROUND ME. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » MEMES. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ HOW ABOUT A LITTLE GAME? ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » DASH GAMES. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ HOW MUCH INFORMATION IS TOO MUCH TO SHARE? ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » CRACK. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ JOKING IS MY WAY OF TELLING THE TRUTH. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » TUNES. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ HEADPHONES ON WORLD OFF. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » PROMO. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ CHECK ‘EM OUT. ˎˊ˗#「 ✎ 」  » ANONYMOUS. ⋮  ━━ ˗ˏˋ BEHIND A MASK LIES STRENGTH. ˎˊ˗
2 notes · View notes
hannie-dul-set · 9 months
Text
YOU(R SHOELACES) ARE PRETTY.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, meet cute. w — swearing, secondhand embarrassment because sunghoon doesn't know how to to talk to cute people. 706 words.
note — park sunghoon is a rizzless loser pass it on. PART TWO. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.
Tumblr media
you only came along with your friends to the skatepark because you had nothing better to do, but now you’re starting to regret that decision because for some reason— while you’re sitting on the stands all by yourself, minding your own damned business because you don’t know how to fucking skate— you’ve caught the attention of six to seven guys who don’t look very friendly.
what the hell? why are they staring? sweat starts to wet your palms as you duck down to untie and retie your shoelaces because their staring was really starting to make you uncomfortable. they look like a group of freaking delinquents. they’re definitely nothing but trouble.
but you regret taking your subtle glances off of them for a second too long because for some god damned reason, one of them started to roll up to you.
you feign ignorance, playing with the laces on your other foot because maybe he isn’t skating to your direction. maybe he’s going to make a turn to the ramps or some shit. maybe he’s just passing by and— of fuck, he’s literally three feet away from you now, and he’s got an ice cold face, and a very terrifying scowl, and he looks like he’s about to curb stomp you three feet into the ground.
he’s leering down at you with his hands in his pockets, posture leaned slightly back and confident. his thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed with a frown that’s housing a lollipop stick. he’s handsome, but he looks like he wants to fight you. he’s pretty, but he also looks like he’d call you a pretty stupid bitch. the kuromi band-aid on his cheek doesn’t make him any less intimidating. he takes out the lollipop from his with a pop!
you wince, ready to piss yourself in fear until you hear him say, “h—hey.”
his voice cracks. you look up.
“i think you’re— i think you—” you failed to notice the red staining his neck earlier, nor the sweat nervously trickling down his forehead. you should’ve known he’d be harmless from the cute bandaid decorating his cheek. all the fear you felt is melted every time he stumbles on his words, every time his cheeks grow increasingly pinker by the second, until he gives up and turns around to yell at the group he separated from to tell them to, “shut the fuck up!”
they’re cheering him on, “you can do it, sunghoon!” you’re more confused than you’ve ever been. 
the guy you assume is named sunghoon snaps his head back down to face you, brows that were once knitted in annoyance quickly scrunching into a nervous jitter and he measures up a smile that matches his confidence— faltering and falling apart. you’re starting to feel bad.
“i just...i just wanted to say that i think you’re really—”
go on, you encourage him with a nod. you can do it. maybe you shouldn’t have tried to help him, because the moment you give him an assuring smile, ten million emotions flash through his face at once— shock, fluster, panic in shades of pink, rose, and cherry— until he ultimately settles with defeat when he sinks his head down with a pair of hands covering his face, but he can’t hide the color tinting his ears.
“i think...your shoelaces are pretty.”
his voice is muffled. he looks like he wants the ground to eat him.
“thank you?”
“no problem.”
sunghoon spins around, puts the lollipop back into his mouth, and kicks the ground once before letting the momentum from the roller skates slide him back to the direction where he came from, but he’s sliding slowly and pitifully enough for you to hear the, “oh god, oh no, i’m so fucking stupid, oh no—” sputtering from his mouth in quiet grumbles and hisses as his friends continue to cheer him on from a distance.
the back of his neck is still searing red. when he reaches his friends you watch as his legs give up and he sinks into the ground with a cry of anguish.
maybe you shouldn’t have judged the poor guy too quickly. maybe he just wanted to tell you that he thinks you(r shoelaces) are pretty.
Tumblr media
YOU(R SHOELACES) ARE PRETTY.
© hannie-dul-set, 2023.
Tumblr media
3K notes · View notes
bfbkg · 1 year
Note
what do you think would happen if ur phone starting ringing when you n kat r fucking 😭
btw i love ur work.. you characterize bkg so well im obsessed
i can’t believe i’ve never done a drabble for this idea?? i can’t remember if i have and they’re one of my favourite scenarios to read. anywaysss i could get technical because i think it depends on how long since you last had sex, how long he’s been waiting to come, who’s topping, who’s calling and everything.
in all situations your head is glancing to your phone, half moaning, your eyes barely open as he thrusts into you. he hates how your attention drifts away from him at the sound of the vibration/ring tone. “keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.” and he’d pull your chin back to face him. but equally he’s finding the ringing so fucking annoying. he wants to hear you and your pretty sounds and he wants to tell you everything he’s thinking. but it’s hard when your phone won’t shut up.
so he very roughly grabs for your phone, trying not to pull out of you and presses to decline the call. then there’s not even a minute and it rings again and he’s swearing so loud. “for fucks sake. who the fuck wants you more than me?”
if it’s a mutual friend who won’t stop calling (main cast) he’s defo picking up, deepest voice ever and so annoyed, “call yn back in an hour. if you call again, i will fuckin murder you.”
if it’s your best friend, he’d still be irritated especially if he sees you a little curious to answer, “yn is busy. call her later.” and he throws the phone on the floor. you both know you’re going to explain this situation to her later. honestly she probably already knows what you’re doing right now. “make sure you tell her how good i’m fuckin’ you, yeah? how it’s worth missing her call.”
if it’s one of your family members he’s one hand by your head, still thrusting and with his other hand he’s turning your phone off. holding down the buttons and dropping it on the bed by your head to swipe it off. grunts, “does nobody want to let me make you come tonight?”
and a random guy who he knows has a crush on you, guy you used to go school with who keeps forgetting you have a boyfriend. this time bakugou laughs when he sees the name on your screen.
“who is it?” you’re breathless.
“that fuckin’ loser you went school with. he’s gonna wish he never called.”
and you’re not even coherently thinking when bakugou answers the phone, holds it between his shoulder and ear as he repositions himself.
“what?” is how he answers the phone.
“yn? erm, is yn there?”
now he’s leaning forward slightly, tip pressing your favourite spot and he’s playing with your clit. you’re noisy now, withering and grinding back onto him.
“yeah she is but she can’t talk. couldn’t even if she tried.”
you’re whining, mumbles of “h-hang uhhhh-ppp.”
“oh, okay. could you tell her i called?”
bakugou chuckles, knowing your sounds are coming across the phone and he can definitely hear them.
“can i tell you to fuckin’ give up? she’s mine, bro. you’re tryin’ to call yn and i’m fuckin’ her right now. move the fuck on.” the lines silent on the other end.
bakugou ends it with, “you already know who i am. if you wanna —fuck— if you wanna discuss this.”
“katsuki.. i needa—,”
and bakugou hangs up to focus on you.
more
3K notes · View notes
gimmeurtmi · 1 year
Text
no nut november — seungmin (loser #7)
pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader
tags: no nut november mini series, established long term relationship, domestic bliss, ot8 inclusive, smut!!!🔞
warnings: swearing, matching nicknames, bants, breeding kink!!!, talk about babies/having babies, talk about getting pregnant theoretically, mention of birth control and condoms obvs, mention/use of toys, overstimulation, reference to cum as “dirty”, it gets sickingly sweet at some point in the middle, unprotected sex, kink discussion/negotiation
inspo: let’s just say this is self indulgent.
notes: in my defence i have none. also this is the last nnn from me and it’s been the most fun thing to write! i’m so happy so many of you have been enjoying it and i can’t wait to read the last one!!! mwah!
banner by @sluttywonwoo
{ wc: 5623 }
Tumblr media
“So we can’t have sex for a month and then I can take you to that AirBnB your sister recommended,” Seungmin explained. He usually talked about weird things after spending an afternoon with the boys—but this might be a new record.
“I thought you were gonna take me there anyway for New Year’s?” You tilted your head to the side. Seungmin wasn’t one to forget plans you two made.
“I was, I mean—I am,” he corrected quickly, “this way I get to take you twice.”
“You could take me twice without having to play this stupid game,” you offered. He nodded, biting on his lip as he blinked at you—his bangs moving into his eyes.
“You don’t wanna do it? Because I’ll tell them they can go f—“
“—no, I wanna play,” you all but pouted, “if anything it would be funny. I don’t think any of them have dealt with as many tours as us. We’re practically pros at months without sex.”
Seungmin frowned his eyebrows at you, a look between disgust and concern painting his face. However, you weren’t wrong.
You’ve been together for more than two years, the longest in your group of friends and you’ve dealt with a lot of time apart from each other. At first it was hard, and then it got easier, and then it got hard again. But after going through more than three months without seeing your boyfriend in person (twice) you really didn’t even consider one month without sex so big of a challenge. When you explained all that to him, he laughed.
“Yeah, I said to them it can’t be that hard.”
“Well some of them are in their honeymoon phase still, they’re probably going at it like bunnies.”
“Speaking of,” Seungmin said, his face growing serious, “if we lose to Minho I will kill someone.”
“Okay,” you patted his shoulder, “we won’t lose, pups.”
“I don’t care if we do! But just not to him,” he emphasised.
“I’ll remind you of that if you’re ever close to breaking, then,” you nodded dutifully.
“Thanks, bubs,” he said softly, kissing you before he finally pressed play on your nightly Netflix marathon.
One by one Seungmin reported the boys losing. First it was Jisung (which surprised absolutely no one) and then it was Jeongin (which made you sigh in relief that he finally spoke up about his feelings) and then it was Hyunjin.
Just like that, almost two weeks have passed.
You weren’t counting. You only knew it was two weeks because Seungmin came over to help you with the groceries.
You lived alone—or rather, Seungmin lived with you when he was tired of the boys and then went back to them when you were tired of him—and so you didn’t need much in your house. You hadn’t had the chance to do any shopping this week since you mainly ate at work with how busy it was getting closer to the end of the year, and Seungmin finally decided to drag you out when he saw the two week old cartoon of milk still in your fridge.
“I’ll clean the fridge,” he offered since he knew you hated doing it, “and you make the list.”
He pulled the stool in front of the fridge and plopped down, already getting rid of the expired products
“Anything else, boss?” You rolled your eyes at him, but squeezed his shoulder in appreciation nonetheless.
He looked up at you, pursing his lips forward as he scrunched his eyes closed.
You leaned down to kiss him, exaggerating the noises as you rubbed his cheek.
“You’re very cute, pups,” you smiled at him.
“And you’re a slob, bubs,” he countered, showing you the very unappealing looking fruit you left in the drawer.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you brushed him off, sitting on the ground next to him as he worked.
You looked at his concentrated face carefully, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity you got to enjoy with your boyfriend.
“Stop eye-fucking me,” he said simply.
“I was not doing that! I was just enjoying the domesticness,” you argued.
“That is not a word,” he countered without looking away from his task.
“It’s a feeling though,” you shrugged.
He looked over at you, his judgemental eyes staring you down for only a moment before they softened. “So you were having happy thoughts?”
“Is that allowed?”
“Of course it’s allowed,” he giggled, “I just thought you’d start getting horny soon.”
“And why’s that?” You challenged raising your eyebrows.
“Well, it’s usually two weeks after I leave that you start calling me all desperate,” he explains his logic. You chuckle.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, baby,” he starts, fingers raised towards his ear in the shape of a phone as his voice raises up to mimic yours, “I miss you so much, I’m so needy, please Minnie,”
“First of all,” you point at him, “I do not sound like that. And second, do I really need to remind you of the time you sexted me from the airplane to America?”
“That was a different situation,” he shrugged.
“How is me missing you after two weeks worse than you getting on the Mile High club by yourself after like four hours apart?”
“I wasn’t by myself, you were with me,” he explained as he closed the fridge.
“I was on the phone,” you counter.
“You were there in spirit. You’re always with me when I touch my dick.”
You blinked at him. “Uh, aww?”
He giggled, finally standing up and offering his hands to you. “Come on, let’s go.”
Walking through the grocery store was a familiar routine with Seungmin. He’d roll the trolley down the aisles as you’d gather the items around, keeping a slow leisurely pace so you wouldn’t have to rush around him. Occasionally he’d roll by something he wanted and grab at it, easily plopping it into the rest of the pile.
You were glad it was getting cold again, because that meant Seungmin wore one of his many oversized hoodies—grabbing the products between his sweater paws.
More than once you had to halt his stroll just to kiss his lips softly.
“You are getting horny,” he commented after the third time.
“I’m not,” you chuckled at him, “you just look very very cute like this.”
“With a hoodie that’s covered in the smell of your old mouldy food?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Can you never just take a compliment?”
“Can you never just take the loss? You got horny first, admit it,”
“I don’t remember that being part of the bet,” you raise your eyebrows at him.
“It was implied,” he shrugged, pushing the trolley down to the cereal aisle.
You decided to seal the bickering with a small slap on his shoulder, to which he naturally replied with sticking his tongue out to you.
When you stopped next to him to place the cereal in the trolley, he kissed your cheek.
“What else?”
“Shampoo,” you directed him towards the toiletry aisle.
There was a new brand on the shelf, and the bottle looked fancy, so you stood for a few minutes as you debated the now new option with your boyfriend.
He tried to explain to you that all of these were the same anyway, they just smell different, but that was of no interest to you. You had to pick the best shampoo.
Seungmin retired from the debate, using his time to try and catch a new Pokémon on his phone.
He rarely played it, and he wasn’t at all invested in the game like his friends were, but you were taking your time and he didn’t want to be too impatient.
When you finally decided to stick to the brand you always used, Seungmin got back to his slow stroll, absentmindedly grabbing a pack of condoms and throwing it in the pile.
“Why?” You chuckled at him.
“Because we’re out,” he deadpanned.
“And the bet?” You squint your eyes at him.
“Oh, shit,” Seungmin chuckles, “sorry, that was an instinct. We don’t need these.”
He picked up the small red pack, carefully placing it back on the shelf.
“I don’t understand why we need them anyway,” you start casually. It was something you thought about recently, when Seungmin stopped everything you were doing because he couldn’t find any condoms in the dorm. He later blamed Felix for that—but you were honestly just thankful for the early night on that particular occasion.
Still, you felt you’ve been together for a long enough time for that to not matter to him as much as it did.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not like we sleep with other people so I don’t understand why you insist on them so much,” you shrug.
“So, what, I should just get you pregnant then?” He scoffs at you.
You roll your eyes, approaching him with a sigh. You know he knows you take birth control—he’s the one who insisted on having an alarm on his phone too to make sure you don’t forget a day. He knows about your habit of turning off alarms instead of snoozing them.
You also know he knows you didn’t start taking the pills for your sex life but rather to make your periods more regular—but you still thought it might ease his strict view on condoms.
Still, he gave you the perfect opportunity to tease him and so you seize it, in the form of grabbing the front of his hoodie and pouting at him.
“Seungmin, please,” you mock the voice he used before by your fridge, “please put a baby inside me.”
His eyes gap.
“Dumbass,” you push at his shoulders. “You can’t. I’m on birth control and you’re the one who makes sure I never miss one.”
Seungmin remains completely still.
“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” you ruffle his hair before turning your back to him, making your way down the aisle to look for any beauty products on offer.
Once you leave his vicinity, Seungmin lets out a big breath.
He looks down at his crotch, thankful he wore black jeans today as he could feel himself growing harder and harder the more he repeated your words in his head.
You’ve never said anything like that to him before and the more he thought about it, the more he imagined you saying that while he was fucking you and not in front of a million bottles of shampoo. Then he realised he was leaking in his boxers.
When you ran back to him with a happy skip in your step, showing him the lipstick that was half price he simply smiled at you, nodding wordlessly.
As you cuddled up to him when the pair of you got into bed that night—Seungmin still couldn’t get your voice out of his head. He knew himself well and as much as he wanted to blame his body’s reaction on the fact that he simply didn’t cum for two weeks he knew that wasn’t true. It had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the thought of getting to cum inside you.
He never even considered it before—always going by the very important rule that sex should always involve protection, even if it was with the girl he knew he was going to eventually marry. And even when you told him about your birth control he didn’t consider not using condoms anymore an option. It would be dirty that way, and birth control wasn’t a guarantee, and if anything that just meant that you were using one more method of protection.
But now—his mind didn’t care how dirty it was. All he wanted was to feel you raw.
He wanted to make you beg for his cum, he wanted to make you say that again, tell him to put a baby inside you. Then he wanted to push you more, fuck you so many times your pussy was too full of his cum that he could barely keep his dick inside you.
He was fully hard now.
He groaned silently to himself, willing his brain to stop thinking about this and focus on literally anything else.
At least you were already sleeping—or else you’d be teasing him endlessly about being the one to actually get horny first.
Changbin. Chan. Felix.
“And Minho?” You asked, almost hopefully after Seungmin recalled the traumatic evening of Felix losing.
“No way,” Seungmin clicked his tongue, “that menace is strong.”
You knew from Minho’s girlfriend that they were definitely not having sex—but with barely a week left you wanted him to just break already so Seungmin would go back to normal.
Just like you didn’t expect Felix to last as long as he did, you didn’t expect Seungmin to not even help you cum.
Changbin’s now girlfriend was practically gloating when she retold the story to you at the last game night. All about how “giving” Changbin was before he officially lost.
You also heard from Han’s girlfriend.
It was the only time you hated how close you girls were—having to hear from each one of them how great they were all doing in that department. But it was okay. They’ll all see the Instagram posts from your romantic retreat and that would be your victory.
Still, whenever you asked Seungmin if he could at least touch you he stopped kissing you—saying he knew he wouldn’t control himself if he did that. At first you tried teasing him about it, but it stopped being fun when he simply said no and wouldn’t even tease you back.
There was only one occasion in which he indulged you, sometime before Chan lost, when he walked in on you taking care of the problem by yourself.
“I bought you that dildo for when I’m away, not when I’m in the next room practising,” he tried scolding you, but it wasn’t at all intimidating when his eyes didn’t leave your pussy once.
“Pups, I’m sorry but I’m desperate,” you whined, getting increasingly annoyed at the interruption.
“What about us being in it together? If I can’t cum you shouldn’t be allowed to either,” he tried.
You scoffed.
“You need me,” he added, realising his first argument did not take.
“The only thing I need you for is to make a baby. Other than that I can do everything by myself,” you smiled innocently.
You expected Seungmin to say a variety of things, knowing him so well you practically predicted his retorts before he said them. But you did not expect him to growl at you before he rushed onto the bed, grabbing your chin and kissing you until you couldn’t breath.
At one point he grabbed the dildo from you and fucked you with it until you came more times than you could count.
He made no smug remarks afterwards, just took care of you and then he went for a very long walk.
After that, Seungmin spent most nights at the dorm.
November 30th
You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend as he entered your apartment, bringing the cold air in with him.
“Pups, your face is freezing!” You yelped, before bringing your hands onto his cheeks to warm him up.
Seungmin showed his gratitude by trying to lick your hands.
You kicked his leg lightly before you ushered him inside, sitting him down on the couch.
“Order what you want,” you told him, handing over your phone as you brought your blanket out into the living room.
You didn’t even need to verbalise Seungmin was staying over tonight. You both knew as soon as the clock hit midnight (five hours to go) he would take you for as long and as hard as he could—just like he did whenever he’d come back home after a long time apart.
So until then you’d watch a movie, and maybe talk a bit, and maybe kiss until it was time.
“Done,” he said as the food order was confirmed.
“Oh! I’ll be right back!” You clapped enthusiastically, retreating to your room to grab the very important item still in your possession.
Seungmin squinted his eyes at you when he noticed you were hiding something behind your back—while failing to hide the grin on your face.
When you sat down beside him, grin unstoppable, you eagerly handed him the laminated coupon you saved for this very moment.
One Seungmin Serenade - to be redeemed monthly (T&Cs apply)
Said T&Cs were written on the back in Seungmin’s handwriting, such as “bubs cannot record them” and “don’t ask the same song twice” and “i’m not learning a new song for you” and “if you ask for one after redeeming this then you get no serenades at all don’t test me” and “one (1) additional coupon available on your birthday because i’m nice and unfortunately i love you”.
Seungmin groaned when he saw the ticket, grabbing it from your hands quickly.
“I was really hoping you forgot about it this month,”
“No, I was saving it for this very day,” you grinned.
“I hate that you laminated it,” he shook his head, “you’re a dork.”
“Perhaps,” you shrugged, “but you’re contractually obliged to sing for this dork.”
“You don’t look like PD nim to me,” he raised his eyebrows at you.
“Pups,” you said, as seriously as you could master, “this was your idea.”
“I thought it was stupid enough for you to not agree,” he defended.
“Then you underestimated just how far I’ll go to hear you sing.”
“Let me introduce you to an amazing app,” he said, pulling his phone out and tapping around it, “its called Spotify and if you search Stray K—“
“Kim Seungmin!”
His mouth gapped lightly.
“Not my legal name,” he muttered as he turned the coupon around in his hand.
“As the girlfriend I shouldn’t even have to use your dorky coupon idea and you should sing me to sleep every night—“
“—doesn’t work that way—“
“—you did that when we started dating,” you protested.
“Yeah,” he smirked, “to get in your pants. And after that worked I no longer need to do it every night.”
You slapped his chest, laughing as you said, “do you wanna go another full month, Kim Seungmin?”
“Why are you full naming me?”
“Honour my coupon!” You shoved at his shoulders, biting back your smile as Seungmin’s own smile took over his face.
“Okay, okay,” he grabbed your hands, stopping you from shaking him any longer, “pick your song.”
“Ghost,” you smirked.
“Ahh,” he pointed his finger at you, smirking right back, “you picked that in August so you can’t pick it again.”
“But I have this,” you raised your eyebrows for a moment, revealing one more coupon.
Free Pass - allows bubs to break a rule
“You can’t just make your own free pass!” He scoffed.
“Turn it over,” you all but wink.
Free Pass - allows pups to ask for anything
“Anything?” He blinked at you. “Like, sexual or..?”
“It can be sexual, if I’m comfortable with it,” you nod.
“No, yeah, of course.” Seungmin stared at the card, chuckling lightly when he sees the heart above the i.
“I can use it tonight?” You nod. “Okay. Then Ghost.”
Seungmin opens his phone, finding a karaoke video of the song. You place your head on his lap, like it always is when he sings to you, and close your eyes.
His voice surrounds you, his fingers in your hair, his stomach moving against your head as he takes in deep breathes before the higher notes.
When the song is over and the silence takes over the room again you lift your head up from his lap, wordlessly climbing into it as you wrap your arms around him.
His voice always makes you emotional, especially when he sings only for you, so he’s used to the Koala like hold you have on him once he’s done singing.
He simply rubs your back, indulging in the feeling of you so close as you calm down.
He isn’t used to what you say next.
“Pups?”
“Mhm?”
“When we have a baby will you sing them to sleep every night?”
He coughs. “Not every night. I’m not a wind up monkey.”
Good cover, he thinks to himself, but it’s taking every muscle in his body to calm his heart from how fast it’s beating.
“I’ll give you a baby and you can’t sing the poor thing to sleep?”
Focus.
“I think I need to give you a baby first,” he chuckled, swallowing as soon as the words leave his mouth. Wrong this to say, he knows, because now his dick is very interested in the conversation.
You notice instantly.
“Sorry, am I too close?” You offer, lifting one of your legs up to climb off his lap. Seungmin stops you quickly.
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“There’s only a few hours left, pups,” you smile, kissing his jaw softly.
“We’ll eat and then watch whatever you want and then officially win this bet,” he smiles back, rubbing his thumbs against your hips, “sounds good, bubs?”
You nod.
“Then we can start working on that baby you won’t sing for,” you roll your eyes dramatically—just in case your boyfriend doesn’t get that you’re joking.
“W-what?” Seungmin swallows, his mouth completely dry now and he doesn’t think it’s from the singing.
“I was joking,” you say quickly. “I’m still on birth control.”
“Yes, I know you’re on birth control, Y/N,” he shakes his head.
“Not my legal name,” you mock him.
He squeezes your hips as he looks down between your bodies, trying his hardest not to roll you against him.
“Can we, uh, I wanna,” he huffs, “let me tell you what I wanna use my pass for now just in case you’re not comfortable with it.”
“Okay,” you let the subject change slide.
Until you realise it’s not a subject change at all.
“Since when do you have a breeding kink?” You ask him once he tells you what it is he wants.
“It’s not a breeding kink,” he shakes his head at you.
“Pups, you want me to beg you for a baby while having sex. That is literally the definition.”
“I don’t want a baby now, I just wanna fuck you raw,” he tried to downplay it, he isn’t even sure why. Seungmin knows you aren’t judging him, you never do, but he never wanted something so badly before—and you saying no might actually drive him crazy. He wants to be gentle about this.
“Fine then be more specific,” you try, “do you just want to try it with no condom or do you actually want me to say the words?”
“The words,” he confesses slowly.
“And what words exactly?” You try, wanting to make sure you get his wish right. “Is it just ‘put a baby in me’ or is it like ‘I want your cum’ or something different like ‘paint my cunt’—“
“—shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he groans loudly, lifting his hips off the couch eagerly as his head falls back. He squeezed the top of your thighs incredibly tight.
“Right. So all of the above,” you note with a nod.
Just as Seungmin is certain he’s going to drag your body against his cock the doorbell rings, making you lift off him easily as you grab the food from the delivery man.
You calmly grab the food out the bags, grabbing plates and cutlery as you distribute the food between the plates.
Seungmin gets up from the couch and walks straight towards you.
“You’ll get the food in a sec, pups,” you chuckle at him.
Seungmin grabs your hands, halting your movements as he takes a step closer to you.
“Can we eat later?”
“Like, after the movie?” You blink at him.
“No,” he says, eyes dark and focused on you. It sends a chill down your legs. “After I fuck a baby into you.”
“Minnie,” you sigh, unable to ignore the way you felt his words deep in your core, “it’s almost nine. Do you really wanna lose so close to the end?”
“I don’t care,” he starts, grabbing your chin and tilting it upwards, allowing him to plant open kisses on your skin.
“But Minho—“
“—don’t care,” he mumbles into your skin.
“You specifically told me to remind you how you don’t wanna lose to him,” you try, although you aren’t sure what you’re fighting for anymore.
Sure it was Seungmin’s idea, but the thought of him fucking you raw was really fucking hot—and seeing him getting extremely desperate over it was enough to make your panties stick to your body with the wetness now coating them. It didn’t help that you last had sex thirty one days ago.
Still, were you really going to let him give up with so little time left?
“And now I’m specifically telling you to take your clothes off and let me.. what was it… paint your cunt.”
Yeah. You were going to let him give up with so little time left.
You crash your lips into his, swallowing both your moans into the kiss as the pair of you manoeuvre around your flat until you find the bedroom.
It doesn’t matter that you crash into a wall once or twice, or that Seungmin practically jams the doorknob into your back, because soon enough you fall onto the bed with him on top of you, pulling your clothes off like you’re the first sign of water he’s seen after a month in the desert.
Your hands tangle in his hair as you keep kissing—teeth clashing against his braces.
“Ow, fuck,” you groaned, pushing at his shoulders.
Seungmin understood what you needed, lifting himself up by his forearms.
“Let’s slow down for like two seconds,” you sighed, breathing in deeply. He nods, kissing your cheek softly before he takes a moment to catch his breath as well.
You look over at the clock behind him. 21:24.
“Are you sure?” You ask one more time.
“Ask me again and you don’t get to cum tonight at all,” Seungmin said, far too simply.
You groaned.
“Fine, but if I hear you bitch about losing to him once—“
“—mention Minho again and the same applies,” he dips his head between your breasts, wasting no time as he wraps his lips around your nipple. You whine softly, bringing your hands around his neck as you trail your nails up into his hair.
He hums against your bud before he pulls away with a small pop, trailing kisses down your stomach.
“Minnie, skip the fucking foreplay and just fuck me,” you groan. He looks up at you with a smirk but says nothing, instead pulling down his boxers.
You reach out for his dick, wrapping your hand around it and you both moan at the feeling. He’s heavy in your hand, and so warm, and you instantly pull him closer to you, aligning the tip with your entrance.
“You’re fucking eager,” he comments, having the audacity to tease you when you both know he’s the one who lost his patience.
You can’t even think of a rebuttal as he sinks all the way inside you.
You both breath heavily as you adjust to the familiar stretch, Seungmin’s eyes scrunched shut. You know better than to say anything, already feeling him twitch against your walls.
After a few moments he starts moving, much slower than you’d like, eyes still shut.
“This won’t be impressive,” he warns you, already losing his rhythm as his jaw clenchs visibly.
“It’s okay, baby,” you say softly, rubbing his shoulder, “we’ll use the vibe later if you need. Just want you to cum inside me first.”
“Don’t—“ he groans loudly, “—don’t fucking say that or I will seriously cum right now.”
“I won’t judge you for that at all,” you say sweetly, kissing his jaw as he moves closer to you, “this is the first time you’ve felt my cunt raw, Minnie, it’s okay if you lose your mind over how good it feels.”
“Your cunt feels so good like this,” he moans loudly, “so fucking warm.”
You moan at his praise. “Imagine how warm it’ll feel with your cum coating my walls.”
And that’s all it takes for him to groan loudly, pushing in impossibly deeper as you feel his dick twitching inside you—the warm feeling settling deep inside your stomach as he cums.
It’s a lot, his orgasm crashing into him so quickly, and he all but crashes on top of you, his dick still buried inside you.
You kiss his forehead as he calms down, his breath fanning against your chest.
As soon as it starts to even out you open your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you didn’t mind how fast that was, but a yelp replaces whatever words you came up with when Seungmin shoots up and reaches for the drawer in your nightstand.
He easily pulls out your favourite vibe—the one he bought you for your first Valentine’s Day as a couple—and with no warning he presses the toy against your clit.
He’s still inside you and with the vibrations against you, your moans leave you without you even noticing. Soon, Seungmin starts thrusting into you again slowly.
“There you go, beautiful,” he says, eyes fixed on the toy, “gonna let me fuck my cum deeper into you?”
“Fuck, Minnie,” you whine, “baby, please.”
He chuckles cockily, his confidence always skyrockets when he hears you beg for him. He flicks his wrist, moving the vibe from side to side quickly as he slows down his thrusts.
His cock reaches deep inside you, nudging against your most sensitive spot, your wetness and his allowing him to slip in and out so incredibly easily. When he leans down to suck on your collarbone you whine out.
“I’m close, I’m close,” you start chanting, so he turns the setting up on the vibrator—grinning as you all but scream in response.
“Go on, my love, I got you,” he encourages, and with one final deep thrust your walls clench around him tightly.
Seungmin doesn’t pull out, nor does he move the vibrator away from your clit, and after your second orgasm in a row you let out a strangled moan from the overstimulation.
“Off, off, off,” you squirmed, causing your boyfriend to quickly move the toy away from you and turn it off.
Everything around you is sticky and sweaty and wet—the mess between your thighs started to leak a long time ago, pooling on the sheets.
Seungmin planted kisses on your temple, slowly, giving you the time you needed to calm down from the pleasure.
The aftershock of two orgasms made your walls practically flutter, clenching around Seungmin a few times. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he sighed deeply.
“Bubs, you have no fucking idea how good this feels,” he mumbled against your skin.
“Yeah,” you sigh, running your fingers up and down his back soothingly. “It’s a little weird, but it’s also really hot that I can feel it inside me.”
“Yeah,” he kisses your neck. “Wanna keep going?”
You decided whatever Seungmin asked for you’d give him. You decided that the night you realised you loved him, but you decided that all over again when he kept asking if you could keep going—insisting on making you cum at least twice after each one of his, growing fascinated by the way his cum would spill out of your cunt as you came down from your high.
After the fourth round, Seungmin finally tapped out.
He crashed on his back, hand tangled around your shoulders as he filled his lungs with as much air as he could get.
“Holy shit, Minnie,” you chuckle breathlessly.
“Holy shit indeed,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s the best sex we ever had.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you laugh.
You use the very little strength you have to reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
The silence takes over the room when even your breathing becomes quieter—so quiet, in fact, that Seungmin knows you’ve fallen asleep.
“Hey, hey!” He shook your intertwined hands. “Wake up!”
“No,” you mumbled back.
“We have to shower after all that, bubs, wake up.”
“No,” you whined, “sleep.”
“Bubs, there’s cum everywhere. We need to change the sheets and clean you out and drink,” he reminded you, squeezing your hand. He leaned over, carefully, pressing a kiss to your temple.
Eventually you listen to your boyfriend and get up, cleaning yourself and the bed and finally eating the food you ordered. Your hand never leaves his, locked together tightly, as that is the one thing Seungmin asked for as his aftercare and you always made sure to give him exactly that.
When you finally get back into your clean bed—sometime before four in the morning—Seungmin mumbled angrily to himself.
“I’ll tell him tomorrow and that smug asshole can get his stupid win,” he seethes.
“Okay, puppy,” you chuckle at him. The only thing you could think about was the pleasure still tingling around your body, how you’ve known each other for so long and somehow he still managed to surprise you tonight with his stamina, about how hot that all was. But Seungmin was still thinking about the competition.
He kissed your lips sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thanks for trying that out with me.”
“It was incredible, baby,” you grinned at him, “thanks for getting so horny over the thought of it all.”
Seungmin groaned in response.
When Seungmin woke up around midday he reached for his phone, checking the time. And maybe a part of him was relieved to finally see December on that date.
There were a few notifications waiting for his attention, but he opened the group chat first.
He sighed heavily when he read over Chan’s text that came in at six in the morning, knowing he sent it before he went to sleep and definitely not because he woke up early.
Bang Chan: so who won?
5K notes · View notes
nymphomatique · 7 months
Note
I NEED MORE OF LOSER NERD MIGUEL PLEASEEEEE YOU'VE AWAKENED SOMETHING IN ME
ask and you shall receive they say! here’s some more word vomit 2 hold u over while the full fic is loading 🤭
cw: mean reader LOL she calls miguel a bitch, foot humping, spit, shoe licking🫣, d/s play, miguel is down horrendous, hair pulling. might have missed smt but oh well. also this isn’t proofread oops lolz. but enjoy!! 💋
in #my opinion i think that loser boy miguel is into the degrading stuff. like the more embarrassing it is for him the more it turns him on.
setting the scene for you: miguel is over at your dorm doing you online lab work for you on your laptop while you’re getting ready to go out. naturally you have on the skimpiest number, tits out, ass out, the body is hypnotic, the whole nine.
miguel steals glances of you because while you may be a little bit of a bitch sometimes, god were you beautiful. you catch him staring and sneer at him and it makes him blush and duck his head down once more to do his- your homework.
the finisher? the heels you put on. they’re patent black pumps, red bottoms naturally. and miguel absolutely loses it. he feels his dick start to twitch in his sweats instantly and is already blushing a furious red.
“what’s got you excited, dweeb?” you tease, putting on your earrings. “bet your little nerd dick got hard looking at me, huh.”
he doesn’t say anything and just blushes even more and you laugh because he really is hard! nerd or not, one thing you can’t deny is the meat miguel is packing. you could fit some fun for the two of you before your uber came, if you were fast that is.
“promise it’s not cus i’m a perv.. i swear.. you look nice. s’all.” miguel sputters under your intense gaze.
“yeah? what part of me do you think looks the nicest, hmm?” you say while sauntering over him. he looks down at your shoes silently and you see the tent in his pants twitch. “you got a fucking shoe fetish, freak?” you giggle.
“n-no! it’s not-” he tries but you’re already thinking of how to embarrass him.
“don’t lie to me. you like the mommy dom shit, huh? well, come hump mommies foot.” you say standing only two feet away from where he’s sitting on the bed. he stares up at you with his glasses widening his already blown out eyes. “or don’t. i don’t have all day.”
with that he moves your laptop aside and strips down to his briefs. he makes his way to walk over to you but an idea strikes you. “crawl to me.”
and crawl he does, his tan skin and blooming back musculature making it’s way towards you on all fours.
“good boy. kiss my shoes and thank them before you start.” you say, your downcast gaze holding all the same authority and tension as your tone. he places both of his hands on the floor and begins to lower his lips to your shoe, his full lips making contact with your shoe.
“t-thank you, mistress, f- for letting me use your shoe to get off.” he says shakily, eyes averting your gaze. your mouth pulls into a small smile at his pathetic display. you almost laugh.
“i’m pleased. you may begin.” and miguel wastes no time, his swollen dick making itself seen in his boxer print. once again, you find yourself impressed at the heavy dick miguel packs. you figure it was probably given to him in place of a backbone. he scoots until his length is at the tip of your leather clad toes and he slowly begins to grind against your foot, letting out soft exhales of air.
“hurry up, i don’t have all day.” you spit, getting a little impatient at the time he’s taking. wordless, he speeds up his humping at your foot, his hand coming up to your leg, gripping your calf and the other hand placed palm down next to your foot to steady himself. as he speeds up, his moans come out louder and more frequently, his praises seeming to slip in with them.
you’re greatful for his height, because even on his knees, the top of his head reaches your lower stomach. you grab a fist full of his thick hair and jerk his head back so he can face you, and his expression sends a wave of heat through you. his face is flushed, eyes watering, mouth open spilling out moans of “thank you, mistress, so g-good.. i’m your good boy.. wanna be good..”
“wanna be good, huh? open your mouth for me then,” and without hesitation, he opens his mouth to you, and you spit into his mouth, some hitting the corner of his lip. “close your mouth and swallow it, bitch boy.” ever so eager to follow instructions, he does with a sated expression on his face. your spit seems to have excited him more, considering he’s fully thrusting against your foot now.
“c-can i cum please mistress? it hurts so bad. n-need it please, need you. f-fuuuck,” his pleading makes something in your chest tighten, seeing the power you have over this six foot two hunk of musculature beneath you, jumping at your foot like a depraved animal. he’s looking up at you, your hand still present in his messy hair, and with a cruel smile, you allow him to cum. “cum for your mistress.”
with a few more thrusts, he releases a heavy moan and cums into his briefs, occasionally twitching during his come down. before he gets a chance to speak, you push him off your leg and place a shoe to his balls, pressing ever so slightly, releasing a pert whimper out of miguel. “you made a mess of my louboutins.” you say flatly. “clean them.”
he takes no time to get on his knees and begin to lick your heel clean of his semen. you laugh at the sight, and even more when you see he’s sporting the beginning of another erection.
“fucking pathic,” you chortle. with your uber outside, you push your heel against his forehead and begin to walk away to get your purse as if nothing happened. “finish my homework and get the fuck out, if i see you’re still here when i get back, you’re cleaning the soles of my shoes next.” and with that, you leave your dorm with miguel in his soiled underwear on your floor, and your shoes sporting a new shine.
1K notes · View notes
snowy-vee · 1 month
Text
ALL MINE (3)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
oblivious loser bsf! ellie williams x posesive popular bsf!fem reader
n/a: I may have rushed things! but I prefer to trust the process and cook a little bit more. I hope you all like it. Also, does the taglist works how I've done it or there's another way to do a taglist?
trigger warnings;; mention of vomit (1), idk if catalog it into violence because there's none but intense argue(?
Pt.1 HERE
pt.2 HERE
pt.4 HERE
Inform yourself about what’s happening and how to help! FREE PALESTINE, FREE CONGO.
Tumblr media
Ellie was in such a boring class that she barely noticed when it ended and people started to pack up; a few of her classmates were waiting for her at the entrance of the door, so she hurried out with them. They discussed the topics covered in class today as they walked to the dinning hall.
“Ellie!” you called out, causing both her and her classmates to turn; you were on the opposite path from her, so you had to run a bit to reach her side faster. You opened your gym bag and pulled out the folder Ellie had left in your room last night after studying together. “Your folder, you said you needed it today.”
You were dressed in your cheerleading uniform since you had practice right now. Ellie, who had been a little dazed watching the movement of your skirt as you ran, nodded, feeling her cheeks burn, and indeed, you looked so pretty, especially when you said goodbye and turned around, showing the small bow in the back of your hair.
“Sometimes I forget you’re friends with someone so popular. How is it possible that you’re friends with her?” one of them said, mesmerized by your presence, like the rest of the group
“Well, we are, best friends,” Ellie asserted with a smile. It’s true that she was annoyed when people questioned your friendship, but she was happy to have you as a friend, and perhaps she also enjoyed the feeling of envy from others…
“Yeah but she is popular, pretty, hangs out with her kind of cliché, goes to every party invited ¡Hell! She could be an influencer if she wanted to… and you are you”
“Hey, I have my own charm” Ellie said softly feeling a little bit offended “Whatever, we’ve been friend for so many years and that’s what matters”
“Really? Then do you know if the rumours about her and Abby are true? I think it’s the hottest gossip on campus, the cheerleading captain and the captain of the women’s basketball team.”
“They’re all lies, don’t believe any of that. She wouldn’t be with someone like Abby,” Ellie said, dismissing the comments, and she sounded so sure of what she was saying, especially because you assured her of it the same night of the party.
Finally, you had arrived home, you were so tired that as soon as you got to your room, you collapsed on the bed.
“At least change before you throw yourself on the bed,” Ellie leaned against the door of your room. You nodded, kicking off your shoes and getting up to grab your pajamas; you began to undress in front of her, caring little, as it wasn’t the first time.
Ellie, without changing her position, watched as you slowly untied the knot of your top and let it fall, exposing your purple bra, unbuttoning the button of your skirt and slowly lowering the zipper. The skirt fell quickly, revealing your white panties with purple bows matching the bra.
She bit her lip as she looked at your body until she reached your collarbones; there was a hickey, and it looked recent. “Did… Abby do that?”
“Hmm?” You looked at her, she pointed to her collarbone, making you look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the hickey.
‘Shit, I told her not to leave marks.’ you thought rolling your eyes mentally
“Did she do that to you?” Ellie had a slight grimace of disgust as she asked the question, obviously she noticed.
“Of course not! It was some guy I was dancing with.”
“You swear? Because you know that I do not like Abby at all.”
You fucking knew it, that’s why when you were mad at her you used to call Abby. You knew how much it would hurt her, you had no idea why they hated each other and everytime you asked her she said that she had her reasons and was protecting you.
“I swear, I would never do that to you. Abby does want something with me, I think she’s obssesed with me, she’s telling people things that never happen, spreading false rumors,” you sighed as you finished putting on your pajamas, approaching Ellie and putting your hands on her shoulders. “At the party today, she tried to talk to me and go further, but I told her no, to leave me alone, she got really mad and threatened to keep spreading rumors, and I told her I didn’t care.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I could’ve defend you.”
“Oh, Ellie, please, I know you can but do you know how many rumors there are about me? I don’t care what others think; I care that you trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Completely,” she smiled before you kissed her on the cheek and let her go while you went to the bathroom to remove your makeup changing the topic.
Ellie smiled too, of course she trusted you, that’s why she was now in front of her classmates denying the rumors, no matter how much you didn’t care, she wasn’t going to let people talk nonsense about you. No one knew you like she did.
“Are you sure? Because Abby has been telling the whole team how much of a naughty bitch, how good she could take her seven inches strap, other nasty things I can’t repeat and that she had video proof…” the guy beside Ellie spoke while looking at his phone.
“What? Unbelievable! Isn’t that like revenge corn?” Another girl said looking at his phone as well.
Her smile dropped. “What did you just say?”
She stopped walking, and with her, the group. The guy who said that showed her his phone, it was a group chat with the football and basketball team, and Abby had sent different pictures that one could only see them once. “You’ve seen them?”
“N-no she hasn’t showed them yet but would do it soon…”
“Can you confirm that she was talking about her”
“It’s pretty much her name and physic description, yeah,” Ellie licked her lips, nodding slowly.
“Does anyone know where Abby is right now?”
(What happened in the fight?)
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
You began to climb the stairs to your floor, Ellie and you lived on the first floor so it took less than a minute, phone in your hand, calling Ellie for the twelfth time. Since you finished practice, you had been calling her to come pick you up without getting a response, not even a message.
By the time you were turning the keys and opening the door, your whole body was filled with worry, but seeing her shoes, you felt a little relieved. “Ellie? Hey, if you’re not going to come pick me up, let me know beforehand! And answer my calls even if it’s just for a second! You had me worried.”
You took off your shoes and left the keys at the entrance, noticing her backpack lying on the floor with all her things scattered about. You sighed, leaving your bag on the kitchen counter and crouching down to start picking up her things. “Ellie?”
You finished picking up and placed everything inside. The door to her room was halfway open, and you could see the light was on. “Don’t you hear me calling your name?”
You entered the room, placing the backpack next to the wardrobe. Ellie was sitting on the edge of her bed with her back to you. The atmosphere felt so tense that it made you involuntarily swallow.
“I want you to be honest with me,” she said in an intimidating tone, suddenly a shiver ran down your spine. “And I want the truth, if you lie to me…”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “If you lie to me again…” Your breath caught, thinking about what lie you had told Ellie, all small except for… Impossible, Abby wouldn’t spill, you had Abby under control.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s wrong?” You tried to approach, but Ellie raised her hand.
“Stay where you are, or move away from there.”
“Ellie-”
“Shut the fuck up!” she interrupted you. “Did you or did you not fuck Abby?”
What you were praying that wasn’t the problem was exactly the problem. You didn’t know where to hide, your legs seemed to want to flee, you wished the ground would swallow you up at that very moment. You tried to say something, but your lips were trembling. Were you going to lie again? No. It was obvious that she already knew everything; she just wanted to hear it from you.
“Did you or did you not fuck Abby?” Ellie repeated the question, now more demanding and intimidating, making your eyes start to fill with tears. You hated confrontations, especially if it was your fault.
“Yes,” you whispered, looking at the ground and clasping your hands, embarrassed by how ashamed you were starting to feel.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Oh my fucking god, Ellie! Yes, I fucked her, I fucking did!” you exclaimed, tired of how tense your body was becoming. She nodded slowly, getting up from her bed and turning to face you. “What the fuck? What have you done?”
Her lip was split with dried blood on it, she also had a bruise next to her eye and a split eyebrow. Your concerned face made her chuckle. “If this worries you, you should see Anderson.”
You unconsciously approached, trying to touch the wounds, but Ellie stopped your hand at that moment. You were maintaining such intense eye contact that it seemed like you were communicating. You were asking her to let you clean her wounds and disinfect them; she was asking you how you could betray her like this.
“You lied to my fucking face. Was it funny?” Her grip felt more painful. “What? Were you two laughing at me behind my back?” You two were close, but Ellie started taking steps closer to you, so you had no choice but to take some steps back until your were was pressed against the wall.
“It’s not like that, Ellie… my wrist- you are hurting me,” you said, feeling tears running down your face.
“Not like that? And how the fuck was it?” She screamed, making you feel smaller and making you cry more. “Explain it to me! Because I can’t understand why the fuck my best friend went behind my back to fuck the person I hate the most out of everybody on the fucking earth. Oh God! I knew you were a whore, but I never thought you would sacrifice our friendship for some sex.”
You couldn’t answer as you cried; for a moment, Ellie loosened her grip on your wrist, and you could see her eyes also filling with tears. You couldn’t hate yourself more at that moment.
“Why? I just want to know. There has to be an explanation for you to do this to me.”
“It meant nothing, I swear, it was just a few times, nothing serious,” you tried to excuse yourself, wiping your tears with your hands, but it was useless, they kept falling.
“Did she give you the hickey?” You sighed exhausted, looking at the other side, but she grabbed your jaw, forcing you to face her and look her in the eyes. “Answer.”
You nodded. Ellie let go of you, shaking her head, raising her hands in the air, defeated, watching you slide until you were sitting on the floor.
“Incredible… When was the last time except for the party?”
“That morning… She was the one who drove me to class; we did it on the couch. But then I ignored her once we got to class, that’s why you saw me arguing with her in the hallway.” You didn’t even know why you were giving so much explanation.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Ellie really wanted a clear answer, but it seemed so pathetic to tell her that you were fucking Abby to mentally punish her for annoying you. It was your way of torturing her without her finding out because many things Ellie did annoyed you, especially when she didn’t do things your way. You knew perfectly well how she would react if she found out, but you never thought it would hurt you so much. You shrugged, looking at her; you didn’t know what to say, but you knew what not to say.
“I can’t see you right now,” Ellie said, grabbing her jacket and leaving the room.
“Wait, where are you going?” you asked, almost crawling to follow her. “Ellie!”
You shouted her name, but the door slamming shut was enough to make you shut up and leave you there, alone on the floor, crying, and you could have kept going if it weren’t for the sound of a phone. Ellie’s phone.
You approached the bed where it was, seeing that she was being called. Dina was calling her and also sending messages; you managed to read one above:
Dina<333
Of course, you can come to my house, but are you…
As if someone had kicked you in the stomach, you ran to the bathroom to vomit until you couldn’t anymore. You had pushed Ellie towards Dina yourself.
No, that’s not how the story should continue. Everything was going so well. After the party, Dina started ignoring Ellie all week, and she barely wondered why the raven-haired girl wasn’t talking to her like before, because Ellie was busy looking out for you.
She would leave her classes directly to find you, not giving Abby a chance to talk to you. She accompanied you at the beginning of your classes even if it meant she was late for hers… She was there for you 24/7, and it was so perfect for you. What was the mistake you made? Did you make it, or was it Abby? It was her. She ruined your precious environment and your relationship with Ellie.
At least that’s what you thought as you grabbed your keys and quickly left the house. Oh, you were going to fuck Abby. Fuck her UP.
taglist;; @boobdrug @lovelyxbaby @pedropascalsbbg @cherryimaa
749 notes · View notes
stllmnstr · 2 months
Text
champagne problems: part two
Tumblr media
pairing: jake sim x f reader
genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff
part two word count: 33.2k
part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system
soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic
part 1 is linked on my masterlist for now!
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
The second 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.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
PART TWO
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 
“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 
But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 
Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”
“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”
“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”
Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”
You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 
Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 
“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”
“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”
“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”
“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”
Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”
Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 
Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”
“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”
Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 
In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 
His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.
Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend. Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine?  Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both.  Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well.  Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something. Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie? Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 
Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 
You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 
Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 
“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”
You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”
Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”
You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”
A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”
You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 
“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”
“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”
“Oh my god.”
“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”
“You are absolutely insufferable.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”
You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 
“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”
Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 
“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”
Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”
Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”
“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”
“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”
Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”
The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  
“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 
And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 
He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 
Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 
But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 
Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 
He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 
You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–
“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”
Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  
Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 
He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).
The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 
Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  
Jake nods, moves to the next line. 
Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 
“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 
“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”
Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”
You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”
Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”
Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”
“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 
Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 
It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 
But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 
Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.
“Is this a prank?”
You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”
Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”
“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”
Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 
Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 
“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”
“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”
Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 
This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 
Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”
Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”
“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”
“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”
“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”
“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”
Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”
“Obviously,” you scoff. 
“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”
“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”
Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 
Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 
It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 
A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”
“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”
So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 
And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 
Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 
It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 
You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 
“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”
“What time are you supposed to meet him?”
“Six-thirty.”
A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”
“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 
It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 
Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 
“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 
Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 
He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor
After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here
After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 
Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?
In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 
“Hi, Jungwon?”
If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”
Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 
“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 
Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”
He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 
“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”
Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”
That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 
What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 
Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 
And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 
But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 
All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 
But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 
So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”
“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”
And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”
It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 
“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.
“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”
“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 
It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 
He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 
Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 
Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 
Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”
“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”
“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”
Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 
“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”
He really, really, shouldn’t. But–
“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 
The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 
Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”
Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”
“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”
And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 
Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 
Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.
“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”
But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 
“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”
Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 
And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 
If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 
And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 
“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”
“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 
“Nicely done. My major is?”
“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”
It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 
And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 
He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  
From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 
A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 
Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 
But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”
“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”
But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”
The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”
Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”
“Did you listen to anything I just said?”
“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 
“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 
“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”
“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 
Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 
“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”
“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”
Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”
“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”
“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”
“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”
Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”
The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”
“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”
“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”
“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”
“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”
“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”
“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”
Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”
Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 
“Pets?”
“Just a dog. Layla.”
As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 
It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–
“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”
“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”
Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 
“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”
Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 
“Really?”
“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”
“What about your dad?”
“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”
And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 
So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 
When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 
“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 
You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”
Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 
Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 
When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.
To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 
“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 
But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 
Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 
But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 
You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 
Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 
“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 
And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 
You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 
“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”
“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”
You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 
Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 
You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 
“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 
She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 
You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 
And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 
You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 
His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 
Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 
Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 
Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 
“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.
And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 
Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”
“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”
Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”
“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”
“Usually white.” 
Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…
Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...
But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 
Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”
At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 
He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 
It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 
Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 
It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 
Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 
The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 
James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”
“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 
Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 
After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 
“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”
And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  
You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 
A beat passes. Two. 
You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”
Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”
“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”
“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”
This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 
“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”
“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 
“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”
Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 
The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 
“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”
You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.
But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”
“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 
Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 
Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”
Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 
His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”
It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”
“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”
Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”
Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 
But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 
Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 
One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 
But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 
Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”
Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”
You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 
Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”
Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 
Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 
And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 
After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 
In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 
The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.
For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”
He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”
“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”
Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”
“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”
“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”
Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”
A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 
Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”
You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”
Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”
A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”
Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”
At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”
Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”
You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”
“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.
Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”
But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”
Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”
For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”
It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”
Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 
But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.
But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  
So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”
If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.
So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”
Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”
It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”
You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”
If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”
“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”
Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”
“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”
“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”
“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”
This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  
And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 
At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 
Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 
His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 
Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 
You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him
Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?
He’s not reassured by your reply.
You [8:04 pm]: :)
So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 
The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”
“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.
“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”
“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”
“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”
Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”
Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”
Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”
“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”
He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”
“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.
“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 
“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”
“But–”
It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 
Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 
“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 
“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”
“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”
“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 
“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 
There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.
“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”
“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”
Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”
“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 
Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”
You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”
“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 
“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”
“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 
“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”
“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”
“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 
“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 
Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”
Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 
ANd then you’re dragging him along again.
“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”
Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”
“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 
The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 
There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?
Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”
Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 
A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 
He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 
“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 
“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”
Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”
Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”
“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”
“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”
“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”
“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”
You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”
Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 
A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 
“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”
You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”
You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”
This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.
As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 
Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 
Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 
Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 
At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 
But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 
To swim, even when the water gets rough. 
At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.
Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 
First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 
Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.
Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”
Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 
His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 
Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 
And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 
Oh, he is so fucked.
So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 
It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–
Wait. 
Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 
82.
Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 
82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 
They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.
Oh my god. Oh my god. 
Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 
82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 
He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 
Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 
Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 
Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend
Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon
Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 
Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–
Wait. 
Oh no. Oh no. 
Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.
Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 
And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 
Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 
Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up
You [7:18 pm]: ??? 
You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?
Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 
“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 
You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 
“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”
“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”
Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 
Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 
“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.
“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.
“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”
“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”
There’s an extended silence on your end. 
Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 
You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”
“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”
“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”
“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 
You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”
On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”
You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 
Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition
Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 
For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 
How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 
But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 
It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 
Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 
He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 
On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 
He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 
Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 
Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 
That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 
Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 
Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 
Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 
“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 
“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”
“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”
“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”
“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 
Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”
Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”
“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.
Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 
And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 
“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”
“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 
Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”
Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 
He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”
“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 
And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 
“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 
“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 
Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.
Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 
It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 
And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.
Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  
“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 
“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 
“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 
Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”
Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”
“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”
Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 
Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 
So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 
With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 
Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”
You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”
Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”
You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”
Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”
You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”
It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”
Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”
“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”
You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”
Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”
“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”
“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”
It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 
“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”
You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 
“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 
Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 
You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”
And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 
“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”
And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.
Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 
And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 
Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.
So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 
When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 
Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”
But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 
“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.
“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”
“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”
“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”
You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.
“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”
Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 
When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 
But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 
As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 
This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 
And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.
But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 
And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 
He lets one breath pass. Another. 
Slowly, he opens one eye. 
And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 
73. A solid C. A fucking C. 
He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 
It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 
Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!
And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 
The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 
The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 
So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 
Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 
You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 
And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 
Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 
“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”
Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.
Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”
You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 
“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”
“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?
Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 
And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 
“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”
It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 
“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 
And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 
“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 
Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 
You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 
Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 
He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 
He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 
There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 
Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 
You say nothing. 
And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 
His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 
It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 
In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 
“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”
“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”
Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 
Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 
Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”
You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”
“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”
“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”
Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 
“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.
“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”
“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 
It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 
It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 
“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 
If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 
“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”
“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”
“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 
But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”
Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 
The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 
But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 
A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 
You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 
On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 
Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___
You think it might be your favorite gift yet.
It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.
Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?
Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work
Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  
Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 
And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 
It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–
Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 
And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 
You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 
The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 
But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 
When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 
You don't bother to knock. 
Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 
And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 
“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”
You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”
James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”
You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”
James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”
“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”
“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”
You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”
“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”
Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”
“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”
“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”
James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”
There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”
“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”
James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”
But you still don’t get it. “What?”
“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”
“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”
James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”
“Why do you even care–”
“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 
“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”
Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”
“Wh–”
“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”
It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 
And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 
It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”
James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”
“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”
Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”
You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.
It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 
Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 
That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 
Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)
If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 
There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 
Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 
First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 
But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 
And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 
Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 
He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 
He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 
So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 
And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 
Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 
In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 
Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”
“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”
“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”
And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 
Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 
“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”
“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”
As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”
“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”
“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”
“How many times do I h–”
“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”
Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 
“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”
You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 
At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 
The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 
Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 
Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 
He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.
Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 
But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 
Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 
“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 
“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 
Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 
Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 
Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”
“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 
“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”
That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”
“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 
You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 
Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”
Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”
It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 
Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 
But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 
Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 
Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 
It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 
Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 
The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 
You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 
But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 
Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 
It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 
Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 
Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.
“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 
“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 
“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.
“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 
“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 
“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.
“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 
“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 
He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 
Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 
He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 
The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 
Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 
Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 
The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 
But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 
Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 
Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”
It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 
Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”
“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”
Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 
“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”
“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.
Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”
And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”
Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 
He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 
Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.
He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 
Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 
Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”
He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 
So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”
“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”
You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.
“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”
“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”
Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 
But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 
“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”
“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 
Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”
You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”
Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 
Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”
“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 
“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”
You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 
When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”
“But–”
“Please.” 
There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 
It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 
It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 
Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 
Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 
By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 
Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 
The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.
It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 
“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 
It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 
“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 
“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.
“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”
She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 
Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 
“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”
Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 
There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 
Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 
You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 
A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 
She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 
Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 
At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 
She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”
“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”
“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”
Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  
So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 
“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 
Opening it, she steps inside first. 
And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 
Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 
Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 
“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 
Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 
His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 
“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 
And then it’s just you and him. 
Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.
When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”
Another beat of silence passes between you. 
Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”
“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 
Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 
It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 
The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 
It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”
You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 
It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 
All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 
And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 
But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”
“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”
“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”
Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  
Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 
A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 
“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”
“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–
“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”
And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 
You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 
You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 
And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”
“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 
“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”
“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 
“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”
Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”
You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”
Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”
“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 
Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”
Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”
“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”
“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”
Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”
You nod. 
Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”
There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.
Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  
You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”
Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 
There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.
“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”
“Fuck my brother.”
And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 
His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 
When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”
“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”
And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?
epilogue – one year later. 
“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”
“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 
Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 
Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 
For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 
Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 
“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 
Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 
Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”
You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 
“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 
So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 
He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 
And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 
And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 
...
outtake – sixteen years ago. 
At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 
For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 
You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 
Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.
And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 
You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”
At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 
Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 
Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.
“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”
“Fragile?” The boy repeats.
“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 
But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 
“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 
Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.
Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
THE END.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading (seriously, this is so ridiculously long. oops). it is (mostly) edited, but by someone who just spent basically 48 hours straight writing 25k words, so you may have to be a little gentle with me in that regard for now. apologies for any grammatical errors or weirdness.
if you enjoyed this, I would love to know about it!! comments, tags, reblogs, and asks are treasured and motivating and so, so appreciated.
as always, thank you again for reading! all my best to you ♡
784 notes · View notes
eternalguk · 20 days
Text
Losers || jjk. (M)
Tumblr media
I get lonely when you're not here, and this darkness appears, leaving me stranded.
Tumblr media
↠ Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader
↠ Summary : Jeon Jeongguk. Your brother's best friend, your mom's favourite human, and the man who is saved as, the certified asshole, on your phone. With black hair and piercings, tattoos and skinny jeans… Jeongguk has been your worst nightmare since you were 18. Six years later, getting along with him is still impossible. The only difference? His pastime then was to steal your diary and read it aloud. Now? Well… let’s just say, it’s most definitely not the same.
↠ Genre : pwp, brothers best friend au, age gap au, fuck buddies au (angst, fluff & smut)
↠ Warnings : explicit sexual content, swearing, bickering but they’re actually flirting, teasing (a lot of it), making out, grinding, dirty talk, degradation, breast play, unprotected sex (be safe), kinda dom!jungkook, power bottom!jungkook, riding, begging, creampie, mentions of oral sex, mentions of one-sided feelings and i think that’s all.
↠ Word count : 1.6k
↠ A/n : hello <3 here’s a little something that i put together when I was bored! I hope you enjoy brothers best friend!Jungkook as much as I did whilst writing. Your feedback will be appreciated 🤍. Happy reading 🦢
↠ Song : meddle about - Chase Atlantic.
Tumblr media
You’re full. So damn full.
Jungkook’s thick and imposing cock is nestled inside you, the delicious stretch causing both of you to unleash the most desperate sounds.
“Ride me,” Jungkook’s voice is husky, and very evidently quivering with lust and need.
You gulp, licking your swollen lips before lifting yourself up and lowering yourself inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside again. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, body craving relief.
“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, his fingers boring into your hips. “So greedy for my dick.”
And the taunting is back…
You roll your eyes, lifting yourself up again and slamming down so hard that you both groan. “And who was begging me to ride their dick?”
Jungkook whispers a string of curses, before thrusting himself upwards. “A-and who… who was begging me to have sex with them in the first place?”
You.
The answer was you, and you couldn’t even try to defend yourself.
Your brother had finally left the house, and in other words, you and Jungkook were finally able to fuck.
So here you were, in the living room, relentlessly riding your brother’s best friend.
Now, you weren’t that bad. Yes, you had made the first move, but Jungkook was no innocent bystander. Your thoughts linger back to where the shenanigans began.
Tumblr media
“Hey princess,” Jungkook smirks as he saunters into the living room, interrupting your peaceful evening. “Missed me?”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the sight of him. “Not even a little bit, asshole.”
“Stop lying,” he sings as he reaches over to take a chocolate covered strawberry from your plate. “I know you did.”
You remain silent, hoping he gets the cue and leaves. You don’t forget to mentally curse your brother for leaving you with this man-child.
Jungkook chuckles and you already sense a foolish comment about to leave his lips. “I know you love me, Y/N.”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “In your dreams, Jungkook. Your dick? Maybe. You? Never.”
He moves to take a seat on the couch adjacent to you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You look cute when you're angry.”
You flush, hating how easily he gets under your skin. “Shut up, let me read.”
But instead of retorting, Jungkook leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Make me.”
You swallow hard, feeling a rush of heat between your thighs. "You wish."
His lips quirk into a smirk as he leans back, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe I do.”
You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to kiss him. Why did he have to be so damn infuriatingly attractive?
As the evening wears on, your banter escalated into a full-blown war of words, each insult laced with underlying tension. But beneath the surface, there's something else brewing—a desire that neither of you wants to acknowledge.
The three previous altercations between you and Jungkook had led to sex… there’s no way you were going to let that happen again.
“I’ll just go keep myself busy with Areum. You know your really pretty friend? She’s been begging me to come over.” Jungkook grins mischievously, knowing he's finally pushed you to your limit.
But instead of storming off in a huff like usual, you surprise him by closing the distance between you, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.
He responds eagerly, his hands tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, your bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need.
“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire.
You smirk, trailing my fingers down his chest. “You love it.”
He groans, his grip tightening on you as he whispers, “I’d be a liar if I said no.”
Tumblr media
And that was what had brought you to your current state. You begin to ride Jungkook in a fast, unrestrained pace, leaning forward so your clit can brush against his pubic bone, deepening your own pleasure.
“So big, Jungkook.. So deep,” you moan gratifyingly, throwing your head back as you relish in this complete heaven.
Jungkook smirks whilst watching you fuck yourself on his cock, pleasure vividly overtaking you as you roll your eyes with each bounce. “Good girl, ride my cock just like that.”
“J-Jungkook,” you whine faintly, his hands forcing you down completely and making you go faster. His low grunts and growls of your name make you warm up more, adoring the pleasurable sounds he makes. Your eyes meet his and you heat up as he gazes at you with lust stained eyes.
“Feels good?” Jungkook asks, helping you bounce on his dick. He looks extremely sexy right now with swollen lips, tanned skin and messy, tousled hair.
The sound of heavy breathing and the way his cock easily slides in and out of you reminds you just how blissful it is to be intimate with Jungkook. It was a shame you couldn’t call him yours.
“Mhm,” you inform him, slowly riding his dick up and down, your cunt swallowing his thick girth with ease and allowing yourself to be distracted from mellow thoughts. Jungkook thrusts up and you gasp at the sudden action, whining his name louder.
Jungkook scoffs at your reaction, smirking as his hands come to rest at your hips. You notice his lust filled eyes and it urges you to ride him faster.
“Going to miss this pussy when I leave,” Jungkook grunts, his deep, throaty voice making your heart race faster.
You ignore the ache that settles in your heart at the thought of him leaving.
“Mhm.” You respond, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Jungkook’s cock deep inside.
Jungkook’s lips brush over your clavicles whilst his hands slide up and down your back, eventually stopping on your ass, grabbing it to help you ride him. Your hips rock back and forth at a steady speed, relishing in the current moment.
“Ohh fuckk,” you cry out, savouring each drag of his monstrous cock. Your hips continue to rock back and forth and Jungkook simply wishes you both were on a mattress right now so he could pound into you hard and fast. You feel the way he contains himself from thrusting upwards, knowing very well that he’ll lose control.
The mere sight of you in the throes of pleasure, throwing your head back and lustily moaning has Jungkook weak. Your partly lidded eyes, flaming skin and heaving chest tells Jungkook all that he needs to know. You look alluringly beautiful, using Jungkook’s body to catch your release.
“Always ride me so fucking well, baby.” Jungkook rasps, lips moving to wrap around your nipples and sucking on them vigorously. He fondles with the other, neglected breast, pinching at your nipple and your whines only heighten.
“You look so sexy and you’re all mine,” he growls, his hips moving to thrust up against yours. His throaty voice impels you to shiver, dominance and possessiveness lacing it. “No one else can have this.”
“All y-yours, baby,” you croon, your walls tightening and clenching as his low grunts and moans turn you on. “There’s no one who’ll make me feel like this.”
And that’s true. You have no clue if you’ll ever stop craving Jungkook. The idea of him fucking someone else, paired with the idea of someone else fucking you, leave a distaste in your mouth.
“I’m close, Kook,” you whine whilst reaching for his veiny hands to rub against your palpitating clit. Jungkook understands the message, instantly moving his hand to thumb against it. He circles his finger around the bud and you helplessly mewl, aching to come.
You pull on Jungkook’s tresses as your hips begin to stutter in their grinding. “Such a good girl for me, always so good.” He encourages you and that simple sentence is all you need as your pussy clenches and slick cum squirts out of you.
“Just like that, baby girl. Just like that,” Jungkook harshly breathes, painting your insides with his seed. He lifts his hips, fucking into you through your orgasms. You moan loudly before falling against his chest, pressing firm kisses against his sweaty neck.
“I love it when you come inside me,” you purr, sucking deep, purple marks into his skin. Another thing that should not be happening. Looking after a baby, Jungkook’s baby to specify, was not something you imagine yourself doing anytime soon.
A husky moan escapes from Jungkook as he pulls your face towards his, pressing a searing kiss onto your rosy lips. He kisses you with love, purpose and sincerity. The third thing that should not be happening right now.
You shiver at the feeling of his cock being nestled inside your wet, warm walls. Jungkook’s hands move to your ass, gently grinding you against him. You pull back and are met with a sly grin on your temptations face.
Temptation was the word your mind had settled with. Is that what he was?
“Again?” He cockily mutters, moving forward to rub his nose against yours.
“Well, why not?,” is all you whisper back before pressing your lips against his, swallowing his giggles as you push him to lean against his seat, ready to be destroyed all over again.
Tumblr media
Jungkook’s fingers are lost in your hair, and his other hand rests against your waist, gently caressing your exposed skin.
You think back to days upon days with him, starting with a simple kiss to now fucking at every chance you get.
You dwell on your feelings for the man in front of you. Who would’ve thought that the Jungkook you passionately hated would be the one who’s on your mind constantly? The one who’s name comes to mind first thing in the morning. The one who’s worth every risk and battle.
Maybe you could tell him, whisper your fondness for him in his ear, but you don’t.
Instead, you snuggle into his warmth, hoping it’ll satiate your aching heart for now.
Tumblr media
And there we go. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback and comments are always appreciated ; it really makes me feel better about what I write so please do tell me what you think of this if it is not too much of a hassle <3
Until next time,
🤍
448 notes · View notes
g1rld1ary · 1 month
Text
you never disappointed me ; luke castellan x aphrodite!reader
part one part two part three part four
➻ synopsis: charles beckendorf wants to go out with silena beauregard more than anything. one problem: she's not allowed to date until her shrewish older sister does, so he and percy come up with a plan. (10 things I about you AU)
➻ word count: 2783
➻ warnings: swearing ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader
➻ this'll be a few chapter so this is p1!!!
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
Charles Beckendorf arrived at Camp Half-Blood when he was fifteen years old. It was a wonder he’d lasted out in the mortal world so long with his significant stature, height enough to attract monsters, but Percy — his tour guide — guessed it was probably his more reserved nature which had kept him under the radar.
“Thank God it’s you showing me around,” Was one of the first things he’d said, “When you start things like this it’s usually all the kiss-asses that greet me.” With six schools under his belt, Percy knew what he meant all too well.
“Nah man, we’re chill. And if we get this done quick then you can meet my friends, we know how to have the real fun here.”
And so they embarked on their tour, Percy dutifully pointing out all the most important places around camp. First was the Dining Pavilion, where they met Grover as he chewed on some of the tin-can remains of lunch. Then came Thalia’s Tree, under which Annabeth was drawing out a map that Charles didn’t understand in the slightest but Percy explained was a strategy for capture the flag. After that they walked past the sword fighting arena, where they caught a glimpse of Luke in the middle of a fierce duel. They both passed quickly, and Charles got the distinct impression that you weren’t supposed to interrupt Luke when he was fighting.
As the two got to the lake, Percy explaining it was where most people hung out when they had the time, Charles faltered in his steps. Percy looked back to where he was frozen and followed his sightline to Silena Beauregard and rolled his eyes.
“Who is that?” He breathed.
“Don’t even bother, bro,” Percy replied. “She’s off limits. It’s a well known fact that the Beauregard sisters aren’t allowed to date — they’re only here over the summers and their dad is crazy strict about it for some reason.”
“But she’s so—”
“Self-centred? Shallow? Silena is all looks no substance, dude. You can do better.” Percy ushered him away but Charles was still daydreaming about the beautiful Aphrodite girl.
The tour was just finishing up by the Climbing Wall when they first saw you. You held the camp record for it, and so had been delegated the responsibility of teaching the younger kids. Today though you’d had to rescue a cocky bastard from getting obliterated by lava, singeing the fabric of your camp shirt all over your left shoulder, and you were not in a good mood.
Just wanting to get back to your cabin for a change of clothes and some ambrosia, you were certainly not in the state of mind to stop and chat with a new camper. So when Percy and Charles came along blocking the whole fucking path, you didn’t hesitate to yell “Move!” Pushing past them in a huff. You wouldn’t usually be so rude, but you were pretty sure your shirt was fusing into your skin which was so not what you needed. Plus, they were in the way. Beckendorf’s bicep was warm from where you’d shoulder-checked him with your injury.
“That’s your dream girl’s older sister,” Percy snorted, used to your disagreeable personality.
“That’s Silena’s sister?” Charles asked incredulously, “But she’s…”
“A shrew? Yeah. I’d watch out for her, and kiss your dreams of going out with Silena goodbye. Now c’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.” Charles followed mindlessly, still thinking about the two Beauregard sisters.
When people thought of you, the consensus was pretty much this: Silena Beauregard’s older sister, and the most heinous bitch at Camp Half-Blood, a title you were extremely proud of. Whilst you really didn’t think you were that bad — in fact, you considered your actions quite reasonable — younger campers cowered away when you marched through camp and the older ones rolled their eyes when you spoke. Just the way you liked it. It wasn’t exactly unusual, camp had all sorts of kids living there, not everyone was going to get along, but it was pretty unexpected for you as a daughter of Aphrodite.
You didn’t get along with most of your siblings, despite all your efforts as one of the elder campers. You thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn’t participate in camp activities, regardless of the reason. What good was having all that beauty if it was wiped off the face of the earth by a monster? There were a hundred rumours flying about to explain you and your attitude, the most popular being that you were the secret lovechild of Aphrodite and Ares, which explained your affinity for fighting and permanent bitch face. You knew better. For one you shared too many of your dad’s traits not to be his child. Plus, Aphrodite had a long history of being associated with war in Ancient Greece which everyone at camp just conveniently forgot in favour of writing her children off as useless and vain. You hated it, and you refused to be who they wanted.
Even your favourite sibling was the polar opposite to you. Silena was a few years younger than you, and by all accounts was the model of a perfect Aphrodite child. Gorgeous, of course, and usually kind and patient. In your opinion, she was kind of annoying and self-absorbed, but you chose to believe she meant well so you could keep tolerating her. You didn’t know how the only two blood-related siblings in your cabin could be so different from one another, but it had been that way since you were fourteen and she was twelve.
You had made it back to your cabin, and your shoulder was all bandaged up after your shower. You were just flipping through The Bell Jar, your latest novel, when Silena came stomping into the cabin, waving a letter frantically through the air. You could assume what it was about.
“This is so unfair!” Silena whined, “Daddy doesn’t even know Ethan!” Ethan was the new boy Silena had been obsessed with recently, writing incessantly to your father in an attempt to get him to take back the no dating rule.
“What, can’t go swap spit with the vermin of the earth?” You exaggerated a pout. She sneered at you in the mirror.
“Worse. Now he’s saying I can’t date until you do, so now I’m going to die a stupid old virgin because of you!” You rolled your eyes and sighed.
“Have you ever considered there’s more to life than finding a boyfriend? Or, big shock I know, maybe I’m just not interested in the sweaty, uninspired pigs that are supplied here?”
“You suck!” She huffed, turning on a kitten heel and barging out of the cabin.
“You suck!” You mocked, turning back to your book. You knew Silena was really pissed at you for being so stubborn, but you hated the thought of changing your opinions over a man of all things.
Silena, in her frustration, was wandering around Camp Half-Blood to let off some steam. Charles, fresh from a kayaking lesson, spotted her across the beach and scrambled to catch up to her. Remembering what Percy told him about her not participating in many of the camp’s activities, he came up with the idea to offer his help to finish a project in the forges to get Chiron off her back. Silena seemed surprised but happy enough to agree, and Charles was ecstatic.
“She’s agreed to go to the forges with me!” He told Percy excitedly, and Percy raised an eyebrow.
“Do you even know how to weld?”
“Well, no, but I will!” As much as Percy liked the new kid, he was definitely a handful.
Charles’ first session with Silena didn’t go exactly as he’d hoped. She showed up already looking bored, and not keen to start off with a simple sword as he’d proposed. Soon he gave up with any welding, choosing instead to try and get her know better.
“If you’re not really into this we could try something else? I saw someone welding some metal flowers, you know, for like a date?” That caught her attention.
“Are you asking me on a date?” At his shy nod Silena couldn’t contain her slight laugh. “That is so cute! What’s your name again?” Charles told her quietly.
“Well, my Dad’s just changed our family rule — I can date when my sister does.”
“That’s great! So all you’ve gotta do is find someone who’ll date her!”
“One problem, Cameron-”
“Charles.”
“My sister is, like, totally antisocial?”
“Yeah, but people jump out of planes and stuff all the time! It could be, like, extreme dating!”
They both looked across the forge where you were working, fixing up your favourite sword after an Ares kid had done quite a number on it. You had on both your signature outfit and expression — long, practical jorts with your camp shirt tied in a knot and a dangerous bitch face.
“The oversized look is out, Beauregard, didn’t you read last month’s Vogue?” Ethan was hovering around you, trying his hardest to get a rise out of you in front of his friends.
“Run along, dickwad.” You refused to blow up at him, knowing it would only be used to make you look hysterical and unbalanced later. Plus, Ethan would get bored sooner or later and find someone else to taunt.
As Charles recounted this story to Percy later that night at the bonfire, all Percy could do was groan.
“Charles — Charlie — I really wanna like you, man, but this is probably the most stupid thing you could have done. I know they’re hot, but it’s not even worth getting involved with one Beauregard sister, and you’ve just gotten yourself tangled with both — and not in the way that most guys dream about.” Charles flushed at the innuendo.
“I think you’re wrong about Silena, I think she’s worth it. I just have to figure out how I can set her sister up with another guy.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Percy laughed, hitting Charles’ knee twice before turning away to talk to Annabeth. Charles spent the rest of the night trying to hatch a plan.
Early the next morning he got Percy on board, albeit very reluctantly. Percy brought Charles over to every single guy he could think of in your age range, begging them to take you out. The responses varied from a nervous shake of the head to Travis Stoll laughing in both boys’ faces.
“Why would I go looking for a kick in the balls?” He asked, still wheezing from his initial outburst.
They found themselves once again at the bonfire, both disheartened. Percy at having wasted a day all for this new guy he barely knew, and Charles that he was no closer to getting a date with Silena. Finally, somewhat eager to get this distraction over with, Percy came up with an idea.
“What about you just pay someone to go out with her?” He asked, and Charles considered the idea for a minute, it wasn’t half bad.
“I have literally no money,” He settled on finally, and Percy rolled his eyes.
“So you get someone else to do it for you,” He suggested, and Annabeth joined the conversation with suspicious interest.
“Like a backer?” She asked, at Percy’s nod she bit her lip, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys, it seems like it could really backfire on you. I mean, what if she finds out? I heard she once tied a camper to the lava wall just for looking at her wrong.”
“She won’t find out! I mean she only has to date so Silena can, it doesn’t have to be a long term thing. She goes on enough dates for it to qualify, then they break up while it’s still casual and I can go out with Silena!” Charles explained excitedly, but Annabeth still looked skeptical.
“Plus, if we have a backer, none of the blame will go to my man Charlie here,” Percy added helpfully, which swayed Annabeth a little.
“Okay, well be careful,” She said, leaving for the dining hall to be distanced from the plot.
Percy thought the answer to who the backer would be was pretty obvious. Whilst most of the boys at Camp Half-Blood wanted to sleep with Silena, Ethan White was both rich and desperate enough to agree to it. Plus when Percy Jackson was telling you you’d look great with a girl, you generally listened.
All that was left was to find someone to set you up with. The boys used the bonfire to scope out their options, but it wasn’t looking good. For one, you didn’t even show up to bonfires if you could help it, and it was anyone’s guess what you did instead. Rumours said blood sacrifices but Percy was almost completely sure that was a lie. Truthfully you were sitting up on the roof of the Aphrodite cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet of the camp when no one else was around.
They were about to give up, Percy trying to find the right words to let Beckendorf down easy, when they saw Luke. Luke, with his brooding eyes and his cigarette, sitting on his own at the bonfire with headphones connected to a mortal mp3 player. Luke, who had never quite been the same since he returned from his quest — rumours swirling about the horrors he’d faced that he refused to speak on.
“I think we’ve found our man.”
It was easy to convince Ethan to get on board, he was so overconfident in himself and his looks he would never suspect that Percy or Beckendorf had any ulterior motives. It was equally enjoyable to watch Ethan try and approach Luke to get the plan in motion. Percy and Beckendorf were sitting with Percy’s friends on the beach the very first time Ethan spoke to Luke. He was all macho confidence, still trying to play the tough guy. Luke looked up at him from his place sitting on a rock, barely moving his head to give him any attention. The moment of eye contact meant Ethan knew Luke had seen him speaking, and the abrupt walking away communicated his absolute lack of interest. It took a gargantuan effort from Percy not to burst out laughing then and there.
The second conversation went a bit smoother. Ethan had a metaphorical tail between his legs, temporarily giving up his ego to be the smaller person in the conversation. That got Luke’s attention, having known Ethan and his antics for years at that point. And then Ethan explained his plan. Luke couldn’t contain his laughter — a sound Camp Half-Blood was rarely graced with anymore.
“Yeah sure, Sparky,” He laughed, almost wheezing in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.
“Look,” Ethan stressed, “I can’t take out Silena until her sister starts dating — their Dad is super strict and has this rule—”
“Touching story, not my problem.” Luke moved to put his earbud back in when Ethan stopped him.
“Could it be your problem if I provided generous compensation?” Luke had forgotten Ethan’s mother was filthy rich. He looked him dead in the eye.
“You’re going to pay me to take out some chick? How much?” He asked, entirely disbelieving.
“Twenty bucks” They both looked down at you on the volleyball courts, spiking a ball into a girl’s stomach with so much force she keeled over on the ground. You had the decency to look mildly apologetic while the opposing team glared at you.
“Fine. Thirty.”
“Let’s see,” Luke smiled something devious. “If I’m taking her out it means leaving camp. That’s a lot of risk I’m pursuing for you, plus the costs of taking to her somewhere — the movies maybe. And you know inflation lately, let’s say seventy-five bucks.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, burnout.”
“Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal, Fabio,” Luke countered, knowing he had the upper hand. He had nothing to lose. Reluctantly, Ethan forked out a fifty. All that was left was for Luke to get you to go out with him, how hard could that be?
827 notes · View notes
iwritefandomimagines · 10 months
Text
MORE THAN ENOUGH — ETHAN LANDRY
Tumblr media
masterlist
pairing: ethan landry x f!reader
description: you’ve been hanging around the group more often lately, and they haven’t clocked the way you always end up leaving with ethan. when you overhear them doubting you’d ever date him, you decide to make a show of just how much your boyfriend means to you.
warnings: swearing, mindy is kinda being an asshole but i love her it just fits the plot, also they make popcorn like … impossibly fast at the end but i was not wasting time on popcorn making when i had FLUFF to write huh. no gf mentions !!!
author’s note: this has been almost finished for so long and i finally finished it today lmao. hope you enjoy!
“Hey E, when did Y/N say she was getting here?”
“What’re you asking him for?”
“Because obviously it’s him who’s going to know?”
You rolled your eyes at the argument between Mindy and Chad as you quietly paced down the hallway towards the lounge.
“Why is that obvious?” Mindy countered, and you could practically picture Ethan’s pout as he butted in now, “Why are you so sure she wouldn’t tell me?”
Mindy scoffed, “What, you know everything just because you have a massive crush on her? You probably just, like, stalk her or something.”
“I don’t stalk her—,”
“Okay, you just follow her round like a lost little puppy she has to deal with all the damn time,” Mindy snorted, “I’m just saying she’d have text the group chat, not just you.”
“Hey, that’s harsh,” Tara interjected, “Whether she’s out of his league or not, that’s not what the deal is here. They’re just as close as she is with you, if not closer. It makes sense she’d text him.”
You shook your head even though they still couldn’t see you, lingering just past the doorway and listening in as they talked.
“Why is this whole thing being blown out of proportion? He only asked when she’d get here, not for you to all talk about me like I’m a total loser she’d never be seen with,” you could hear that he was taking their words to heart as he tried to stick up for himself for once.
“Nobody said total loser,” Mindy shrugged, “But we’re just speculating. Chad talks about you two like a couple, and I’m simply reminding him that you’re obviously not.”
Anika put her hand on her girlfriend’s arm for a second, “Mindy, c’mon. You’re just being mean now.”
“I know she’s out of my league and I never said any different Mindy,” Ethan groaned, “Could we shut up about this already? She’ll be here any minute and I don’t need her hearing you talking about how pathetic I am.”
Mindy huffed, raising her arms in feigned surrender, “You said it, not me. Look, sorry, I’m not trying to be harsh I swear. Just no point in you getting your hopes up, is there?”
You took that as your cue, striding into the room and heading straight towards your boyfriend.
“Hey guys,” you hummed, throwing down your bag and plopping yourself down onto Ethan’s lap and curling your arms around his neck.
He looked perplexed, unsure why you waltzed in and made such a show of PDA all of a sudden, but his tense body relaxed under your touch regardless.
His hands curled around your waist as he shuffled back in his seat to make you both more comfortable, his voice shy as he responded, “Hey.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Mindy rose to her feet, “What?”
You rolled your eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning your head to shoot her a sickly sweet smile, “What?”
You could see Chad stifling a laugh, because he’d seen you sneak out of their dorm one too many times not to have figured out you were actually dating by now.
“Why are you—,”
“Sitting on my boyfriend’s lap? There’s no other seats, Minds,” you shrugged, fighting back a smirk as she went bug-eyed, “Oh, shit. I forgot we still hadn’t told you guys. My bad!”
Mindy fumbled over her words for a moment, still staring at you as your fingers twirled Ethan’s curls at the base of his neck and his fingers danced over the waistband of your jeans.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling warmth radiate from his skin as his eyes darted around the room for everyone’s reactions.
“Boyfriend? You’re together?”
Tara was grinning, “Nice!”
“Aw you guys,” Anika grinned, “That’s so cute. We can double date!”
You rolled your eyes, “Maybe if Mindy apologises for talking to Ethan like he’s the shit on the bottom of her shoe, yeah.”
“I’m sorry, I just—,”
“It’s fine, Mindy,” Ethan shrugged, nuzzling his face into your neck to hide away from the attention, “Can we just move on? At least you all know now.”
You frowned, pressing a kiss atop his curls as he remained close to you. You watched Mindy frantically search for the right words to say, before deciding to stay quiet.
Silence hung in the air for a moment, tension evident as Ethan’s grip on you seemed to tighten.
“It’s Ethan who’s been asking to keep things quiet, so thanks for the reminder of why,” you huffed, “Because you make him feel like he doesn’t deserve me. It’s not fair, Minds. At all. And you’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am your best friend!” Mindy replied, “I just didn’t expect this, that’s all. I’m sorry, okay? I’m happy for you guys. I really am.”
You scoffed, “Well maybe if you spent a little more time treating Ethan like an actual person and not some pointless side character in a, like, movie or whatever, you’d realise he’s a good person and that it’s me who doesn’t deserve him.”
You felt guilty for your outburst, and you could see that it had really driven your point home to Mindy, who was now staring at her feet shyly and snuggled in close to Anika.
You snuggled in closer to Ethan’s lap, interlacing your fingers as you did so. His hands were as warm as his face had become as a result of all of the attention, and you could tell he felt uncomfortable.
He did, however, enjoy the fact that everyone knew you were together now.
A sudden bout of confidence sparked in him as he pulled your joined hands up to kiss the back of yours, “Whatever. Whether she’s out of my league or not, she’s my girlfriend. Now let’s just put the stupid movie on, yeah?”
Everyone nodded silently, tension still thick in the air as Mindy picked up the remote control, but before she could press play you hopped back up out of your boyfriend’s lap.
“Oh, I brought popcorn,” you exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up as you picked up your bag again too, “We’ll go make it really quick. Won’t be long.”
Ethan followed you into the kitchen, your hands still interlocked, and smiled confusedly at you as you hopped up onto the counter beside the stovetop and quickly began preparing the popcorn.
“Sorry about that,” you bit your lip, watching him carefully as he sauntered to your side and placed a palm on your hip, taking control of the popcorn making, “I overheard the conversation and got really pissed off. Also just missed you and wanted to be annoyingly PDA’y… Is that alright?”
He scoffed, “Are you kidding? I only wanted to keep it from them because they don’t think I deserve you and I didn’t want you realising they’re right… I’m like, so happy, that I can kiss you around them now. So happy.”
You pouted, “I hate that you think that too, though. You more than deserve me, Eth. And I’m really lucky to have you.”
His thumb rubbed at the skin of your waist just beneath your top as his other hand shook the popcorn as it heated up.
“You’re the best, Y/N,” he hummed, pecking your lips quickly before refocusing on the popcorn, “I kinda wish we could just go to mine or something instead. I’m not in the mood for anyone else’s company anymore.”
You leaned in to kiss him, a hand carding through his curls briefly as he took the popcorn off the heat and set it aside, turning off the hob. His hands then flew back to your waist, settling himself between your parted legs to kiss you properly.
“I wish we could just go to yours too. We’ll dip as soon as the movie ends, yeah?” you grinned, biting your lip as you pulled back from the kiss, “We can deal with them asking questions another day. ‘M more in the mood to just curl up with you.”
He nodded, “Me too. Sounds like a plan. And thank you, for tonight, seriously. I’m not exaggerating when I say how lucky I am to have you.”
You shook your head, “You’re my boyfriend, and I’m proud of that fact. Mindy just needs to get her head out of her ass sometimes. I’m sorry they’re so shitty to you sometimes, it’s pathetic.”
He kissed you quickly again, scooping your waist to pull you down from the counter to stand beside him.
“Honestly at this point I don’t care anymore,” he shrugged, “I’ve got you. Oh, but please don’t agree to any double dates without me. No offence, but a double date with Mindy and Anika would be, like, my personal hell.”
You giggled, shaking your head again, “We’ll work on her weird unnecessary disdain for you, babe. But of course, I understand. C’mon, we better get back in there.”
“Can’t we just stay in here instead?”
“I wish.”
“Ugh,” he huffed, an adorable pout gracing his features that almost made you give in and make up an emergency reason for you both to leave, “At least we get to cuddle this time. I’m sick of you always having to sit away from me.”
You chuckled, “You do tend to watch me from across the room like a lost puppy. It’s adorable. In fact, I’m surprised nobody ever notices me doing the exact same thing back. We’ve been totally obvious this whole time.”
He kissed you again, briefly and feverishly like he couldn’t stop himself, “Our friends are idiots, huh.”
“Absolute morons,” you smiled, kissing him one final time before grabbing the popcorn and his hand.
“Let’s go get through a movie, hey?”
———
thanks for reading !!!
i hope this was okay, it felt a bit messy and shit when i was editing but i’ve been stuck on it so long so thought i’d post and then maybe come back to it? let me know what you thought!
feel free to request more, i’ve been chaotic with which old drafts i’m finishing lately but my requests are still open — and here’s my masterlist!
2K notes · View notes
steddierthings · 1 year
Text
Okay another sad scenario I love to torment myself with is based on the idea that people are always sort of apologizing for Steve and he fucking hates it. Started with his parents saying shit to their friends like “oh you’ll have to excuse Steve, he’s never been much for academics” and other backhanded stuff like that. Or Tommy, “don’t worry about Steve, he never did have the balls to do some real damage, but he’s not afraid to take a punch”
Then he would hear Nancy say to Barb, “come on, I know he’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s sweet, you just have to get to know him.”
Or Dustin to Mike, “Dude, look, he can be a douchebag, I agree, but you gotta give him a chance, he can drive us everywhere.”
Or Robin to her fellow band nerds, “Sure he’s a loser prep but he’s cool, I promise.”
Then he starts dating Eddie. One day early on in the relationship, someone had said something that set Steve ranting to Eddie about how he doesn’t need people to make fucking excuses for him, he doesn’t give a shit what other people think (he gives so many shits) and he thinks he’s a pretty decent person when it comes down to it (he does not think this at all), so people need to stop apologizing for him. Eddie listens to him and the more he listens, the more he takes Steve seriously, the more he sees the hurt beneath the anger, the more Steve talks. And eventually the rant morphs into a quiet plea for Eddie to help him understand why his friends, people who are supposed to love him, feel the need to put all these caveats around him just to make their friends stand him. It makes him feel like shit.
Eddie is furious on his behalf, swears he’ll never do that to Steve, “I’m so proud to be with you, I’m so proud to be your friend, and anyone who doesn’t feel the same isn’t worth your time.” “Even Henderson?” “Even Henderson.” And because Eddie has only ever made him feel good, like he’s somebody worth loving, Steve believes him.
Then one day Steve’s leaving his house to meet Eddie and his friends at the Hideout. It’ll be the first time he’s met and hung out with Eddie’s friends and he wants it to go perfectly. He even borrows a shirt from Eddie since everything he owns would stand out like a sore thumb. But just as he’s about to go out the door, his parents’ car rolls in unexpectedly and they get out with two of their friends.
Steve’s caught. His parents usher their friends and Steve back inside and while his mom fixes them drinks, his dad discreetly drags him to the other room, grips his arm so hard Steve knows there will be bruises later. “Get your ass upstairs and get some presentable fucking clothes on, you look like a degenerate.” Steve doesn’t have a choice so he puts on some khakis and a navy polo shirt, checks that the sleeves cover the red spots his dad just left, scrubs off the eyeliner he’d been so excited to surprise Eddie with, and heads downstairs for a torturous half hour of socializing.
By the time they’re ready to release him, after he’s been thoroughly apologized for (“we tried and tried, but we never could get him to take school seriously, could we, Steven?” and “he’ll get his shit together eventually, right, Steve? Just needs to do a little time at these dead end jobs, work the laziness out of his system before he joins the firm”), he’s already late and he decides he’d rather look out of place than have Eddie think Steve stood him up. Eddie’s standing in the side parking lot outside the hideout smoking a cigarette and looking agitated, but he smiles wide when he spots Steve pulling up. He bounds over to the car and opens the door before Steve can. He laughs his head off when Steve gets out and Steve doesn’t mind the ribbing when it’s just Eddie, so he laughs a little too. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you didn’t have to spend half an hour having forced to listen to the Michaelson’s talk about their perfect daughter and her four-point-oh first year at Wesleyan.”
“Aw, baby, did you have to act like a spoiled rich kid tonight?” Eddie leans against the car beside Steve to finish his cigarette. Steve hasn’t quite told Eddie about the reality of his parents, hasn’t wanted to spend their time together wallowing in his own misery when his life could be so much worse. So Steve smirks a little and puts on an exaggerated pout.
“Yeah and it sucked,” he says.
Eddie finishes his cigarette, checks that they’re sufficiently hidden from view, and gathers Steve up in his arms. “You better tuck that bottom lip away or you’re gonna trip on it,” he teases, and Steve smiles.
“Why don’t you tuck it away for me, Munson?” Eddie’s eyes light up the way they always do when Steve flirts with him, as if he’s still surprised about it, and obliges with a sharp little nip followed by soothing lick. Steve leans in and lets Eddie kiss away the misery of being around his parents, but he doesn’t let it go on too long, conscious that Eddie’s friends are waiting and their low impression of Steve is probably falling even more the longer they think he’s late. He gently disentangles himself with one last kiss and they head inside.
The guys are posted up at a high top table already. Eddie introduces everyone and Steve immediately forgets all their names, which doesn’t help his nerves. They’re all glaring at him. “You’re late,” the one Steve thinks is called Gary says.
Over Eddie’s “come on, man” Steve says, “yeah, sorry, had some family stuff.” He tugs at the sleeve of his polo, unconsciously making sure the finger marks are hidden. Then he does the only thing he knows to do to make people like him and throws his money at the situation. “You guys want anything to drink? I’ll get the next round.”
The drinks — beer for Eddie, Steve, and Jeff (maybe? Josh?), Cokes for the rest of them—ease the tension a smidgen, and the guys go from openly hostile to mostly pretending he’s not there as they talk about an upcoming campaign and the rival metal band playing later that night. Eddie tries to draw Steve in, and he does his best to look engaged, but he only cares about this shit when it’s Eddie talking about it. Gary going on about padawans or whatever can’t quite keep his attention.
Even so, Steve thinks it’s going okay. He’s laughing and nodding where it seems appropriate, making vaguely agreeable comments when Eddie prompts him. Eddie only shoots him a couple of weird looks so he’s probably not saying anything too stupid. It’s not the worst way to spend an evening, especially because Eddie keeps giving him little nudges and winks so Steve doesn’t feel ignored. But it’s not necessary, even though Steve appreciates it. He’s content to let them visit with each other and keep his conversational contributions to a minimum.  
But of course it can never last. Steve excuses himself to the bathroom, partly because he has to go, partly because the din of the bar and the pressure of making a good impression and the lingering stress of being around his parents have exhausted him and he needs a minute. He does his business, splashes water on his face, and only grips the sink to gather his strength for a few seconds before heading back. Arriving at the table turns everyone’s attention to him. Eddie grins at him, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve doesn’t understand, and the others are back to glaring. Uncomfortable, Steve gives them all a grimace of a smile, which apparently Jeff/Josh takes as a signal to address him directly for the first time that night. He eyes Steve up and down and says, “Harrington, man, I gotta ask. What the fuck are you wearing?”
His tone isn’t overly combative, could maybe even be (generously) interpreted as the same teasing that Eddie subjected him to outside, if Steve wants to be optimistic, so he lets out a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t know what to say, though. Doesn’t know how to explain about the expectations and the disapproval and the five fingerprints on his bicep already turning black and blue. He’s too drained, though, to come up with a joke or comeback. So he just stares at the guy, mute. 
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Eddie swoops in with a sharp laugh. Steve cuts his eyes to him, and Eddie raises his eyebrows like what is going on? Uh oh. Maybe things weren’t going as well as he thought. With no answr from Steve, Eddie turns back to the guys. “You’ll have to excuse Stevie here, he didn’t get the memo about the dress code. No FBLA clones allowed.” 
His tone is light, joking, but it catches Steve in the gut. There’s a roaring in his ears as Eddie’s friends crack up around him and all he can hear is “You’ll have to excuse...” Eddie promised. He promised. 
Before Steve can say anything, the conversation’s moved on. He doesn’t even bother to try to join in now. That familiar burn of humiliation and rejection wells up in him, clogs his throat, makes him feel mean. Every time Eddie looks over at him, Steve blatantly ignores him. Bats his hand away the next time it nudges him. Someone, he won’t even pretend to remember their names now, asks him a question and he snaps back an answer. Doesn’t even flinch at Eddie’s harsh, “Steve!” Tension has crept back into the group and he can feel them all watching him like he’s a wild animal about to attack. They’re not wrong. 
At one point he goes to the bar and orders a shot of whiskey. Downs it and orders another to take back to the table. Before he can toss that one back, Eddies snags it out of his hand and says, “Okay, we’re done here.” Steve doesn’t need the hand Eddie presses to his back to propel him out of the venue. He’s halfway to his car before Eddie catches up. Steve doesn’t slow down, but once he gets into his car and sees that Eddie’s rounded to the other side, he unlocks the door for him and sits sullenly as his furious boyfriend slams himself into the seat.
“What the fuck was that, Steve?” 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t play that game. You were a fucking asshole in there. You’ve been an asshole the whole night.” 
That slices through Steve’s rage, and he lets out a bewildered, “What?” He’d thought things were fine until the end. He’d been doing everything right - not intruding on their conversation, making benign comments to show he was listening without letting them know how lost he was, he’d bought them drinks...but apparently he was wrong.
“You couldn’t have looked more bored if you tried. You barely said a word, and when you did, it was clear you were barely paying attention. You called Jeff the wrong name--twice!” Fuck. He’d fucked up so bad. 
“Eddie, I didn’t mean--”
But Eddie’s on a roll, gesturing theatrically in his anger. “I didn’t think you were like this anymore, man. I thought King Steve was no more. But apparently one annoying interaction with your parents is enough to bring him charging back in.”  
Steve runs a hand over his upper arm as if trying to warm it. He thinks back over the earlier part of the night, reexamining every interaction under this new interpretation. Maybe he can see how Eddie, so used to everyone around him being loud and talking over each other, excited just to be together, would take Steve’s reticence tonight as boredom and disdain. But that’s not right, and Steve can’t have him thinking it. His heart pounds in his chest and it’s fear he’s feeling. Fear that he’s about to lose the single best thing (minus Robin) to ever happen to him if he doesn’t do something. “Eddie, that’s not what was happening, I swear. You have to believe--” 
“Whatever, man.” Eddie shakes his head, looks away from Steve. Steve wants to reach out, tug him back so they’re facing, but every part of Eddie screams Don’t touch me. He shakes his head again, as if the first time wasn’t enough to convey his disgust. “This King Steve act, it’s such fucking bullshit.” 
For the second time that night, Steve hears a roaring in his ears, an echo of slurred words slamming into him like bullets. No, you. You’re bullshit. It’s bullshit. It’s such fucking bullshit. He thinks he might throw up. 
“Get out of the car.” 
Eddie finally looks back, rolls his eyes. “I’m not getting out of the car, man. We’re going to talk about this.” 
“Get out of the car, Eddie.” He starts the engine, puts the car in drive, waits.
“I’m not getting out of the car.” Eddie grabs at the seatbelt as if to prove it and Steve loses the small bit of control he was holding onto. 
“I said get out of the goddamn car!” Eddie’s eyes widen and he lets go of the buckle, which clatters against the door. 
“Steve--” 
“Eddie, if you don’t get out of the car in the next two seconds, I am going to lose my goddamn mind.” 
And whatever Eddie sees as he gapes at him must make him believe it because he opens the door and slides out. He stands holding the door, and Steve turns toward him.
“You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve always been bullshit, I guess I didn’t get the memo that wasn’t allowed.” 
Whatever Eddie opens his mouth to respond is lost as Steve peels away, the passenger door slamming shut on its own. 
He drives home in a confusing mix of rage and hurt and disappointment, embarrassment and self-hatred. He wants to cry, feels the tears burn at the backs of his eyes, but he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathes hard, and keeps it together. 
-----------
Part Two
4K notes · View notes
seattlesellie · 8 months
Text
ok. can we talk about going with ellie to the mall because i think it would be… interesting.
(fluff ‘n a little bit of smut so mdni! 🎀 also wrote this ages ago and it’s so bad so excuse me!!! and reader is v fem)
Tumblr media
౨ৎ when it comes to ellie williams— i believe she will throughly let you walk her like a dog. quite literally following you around the shops hand in hand— to the point where you’re merely dragging her around. at first, she’d be super chill and relaxed, but one hour later after seeing you try on the same dress three times already— she’d start groaning on and on. “babe… do we really have to go fucking zara again?”, when you tell her that you just regret not buying a certain top, she’d be so adorably pissed off, her eyebrows all furrowed together, just thoroughly confused. she would probably want to stop and eat some food every 5 seconds. “zara… or mcdonalds” ,weighing the two options on her hands and clearly placing the mcdonalds option way higher.
౨ৎ if there’s an arcade— you know her ass is fully stopping in her tracks, begging you to come and play some games with her. obviously, you oblige, because she’s giving you the biggest and cutest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, and maybe she’d stupidly jump up when you say yes. she ends up beating you in every single game— and it's so painfully obvious that she’s been there about 17 times already.
“ellie, you’re only winning because you’re here every single day. you’re like a totallll loser” you defend, after she’d been gloating about her winning streak for 5 minutes straight. unsurprisingly, she just denies it. 
“i swear— ive never been here before, babe”
“els, be honest” you warn.
“okay— been here like once with jesse”
“once?”
“once… plus like five” and at that— she turns around, and places her hand behind her back, so you can intertwine it with yours. she’s sooo beating you in bowling.
౨ৎ while you’re browsing through clothes — shed be hugging you from behind tightly, as she kisses on your neck and silently begs for your attention.
“this skirts super cute, right?” you chirp, pointing at the plaid mini skirt and slowly tracing the soft fabric with the pads of your fingers.
ellie has her chaste lips right on your pulse point, and she’s barely even looking.
you pick it up, and she moves closer behind you with her hands still clinging on to your waist. “cute, right?” — you can feel ellie’s smile slowly form on your neck.
“yeah, babe… you’re very cute. thought you knew that already, though”
౨ৎ when you pull out two pieces from the rack (amethyst purple & floral purple) and ask her which color will fit you better, she just rolls her eyes and huffs. “babe… you cannot be serious they're the exact same”, to you, they are NOT. but ellie fully doesn’t get it at all.
౨ৎ put her in a gamestop— and it’s like she won the lottery. browsing through the different controllers, now its your turn to tease and tell her they’re all the exact same. put her in a NINTENDO shop and its literally over. her eyes are twinkling and sparkling, and shes borderline skipping through the store trying to find cool figurines. when she sees a bowser plushie (her mariokart main, duh) she picks it out so fast, and then tries to find you a plushie too— a princess peach or a kirby or whatever you want. she goes to pay, and when you leave the store with your two adorable new plushies inside the bag— ellie fully side eyes you. she has something to say, and you know it. she sighs deeply— “think theyre fucking in there?”
“if they’re anything like us… theyre fucking in there— oh my god, babe… bowsers humping her ass, look” —
she’s literally moving them inside the bag.
౨ৎ okay, so you’re done paying at zara (with her credit card but let’s not… talk about it), ellie left about 15 minutes ago because she was tired of looking at the clothes and she said that place looks like a mental asylum. you’re walking out of the shop with the bags in your hands, and you see her sitting on one of the random mall couches with a random grey haired middle aged man. weirdly, they seem to be in the midst of an incredibly intense conversation. you twist your face because what the fuck and;
“waiting for the wife, huh?” she asks him, manspreading on the chair with her hands resting on her thighs. they’re both staring at the store’s entrance, both sighing heavily. “that i am…” the old man huffs, and ellie chuckles to herself. “me too man… me too”
౨ৎ five minutes later — you find them talking about fucking bathroom tiles.
“i told her i wasn’t going to do marble— but she fucking insisted on it”
you walk a little closer, and ellie is still heavily rambling about floor stuff (?) you have absolutely no clue about.
“els…? ready to go?” you chirp, smiling warmly at the stranger. “gimme a sec” ellie looks at you from the corner of her eye, and keeps going. they’re exchanging numbers because they need to start thinking about how to build a new patio, and he has some “awesome fucking tips, man”
౨ৎ ellie places her hand on your shoulder as you’re walking away, and squeezes. “he was such a cool dude” she remarks, with a stupidly dumb, satisfied smile.
“ellie… he was like, sixty five”
“so? we bonded, babe” she shrugs.
“about floor tiles?” you ask her, and she begins rubbing little circles on your shoulder as you both stray further away from the shop.
“amongst other things” ellie chews on the inside of her cheek. should she say it?
“what things?” you smile sheepishly at your girlfriend, who’s seemingly nervous for some reason.
“you know… his wife…” she bites her cheek even harder now. she should definitely not say it. “my wife” okay— there it is.
her wife.
ten whole seconds of absolute radio silence pass. ellie thinks she might have said too much, but ellie doesn’t know you’re fighting for your life trying to hold on to your tears that are threatening to erupt.
her wife.
“you’re proposing here then, i assume?” you’re trying not to sound emotional, trying not to sound like your hearts about to burst out of your chest and start doing cartwheels on the malls pavement.
“nah… definitely somewhere way classier. like… bora bora, or the food court”
“food court?”
ellie has to stop. ellie has to stop and hold your hand.
“yeah… so i can hide the ring inside your burger n’shit. then you like… choke on it, then i save you… then not only am i a fuckin’ hero, i also get to like… marry the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen. and she has to say yes—” there’s no point in swallowing down your toothy smile now. “cause like… i saved her life, y’know?” as much as ellie’s joking, ellie’s cheeks are burning up.
“will you… say yes, though?” she balances her weight from leg to leg, and averts her gaze. mmhm— what an interesting sign!
the way you place your hand on the back of her neck and kiss her hard— that’s definitely a yes.
ellie won’t propose to you in the food court, though. in fact, she has this elaborate plan she has been thinking since about a month into your relationship. that, you’ll never guess.
౨ৎ mall ellie is ALL pda. she doesn’t let go of your hand like ever and constantly needs little kisses on the cheek. she bought you a cute new top? kiss on the cheek. cute dress? kiss on the cheek and on the nose. she doesn’t want you to say your thank you’s, she’d much rather you show them.
౨ৎ when you’re at a lingerie shop… suddenly she comes fully alive. its literally as if someone infused her with seven shots of caffeine and she can’t seem to be able to stop handing you different bra’s, panties, and sexy little nightgowns.
“that’ll look so fucking hot on you” & hands you the sluttiest thong youve ever seen. “that— will drive me fucking crazy” & hands you a sheer bra she can imagine your nipples poking out of.
“wanna eat you out in that” as she hands you a little nightgown and you’re like “ELLIE!” and slap her arm her because a 60 year old woman literally just heard her and looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.
“actually— wanna eat you out in that… and in that too… and in that— oh my god look baby they’re crotchless” wiggling her eyebrows and swaying the fabric in the air.
౨ৎ obviously… she wants you to model them for her. it’s funny, how she didn’t give a fuck when you tried a cardigan on or a hat or saw a cute purse, but now she’s demanding to go inside the dressing room with you and stare you down in the mirror like a perv. she watches you strip out of your clothes and you purposely do it extra slowly, taking your time removing the bra… and now, she’s just leaping out of her sit.
“nope— doing that for you…” she unclasps it, stands behind you and immediately gropes your tits. she gives you sweet little kitten licks and kisses on the neck, whilst maintaining full eye contact with her hands on your boobs from the mirror, and you can’t help but whimper when she takes your hardening nipples between her fingers and rolls them in her thumb. “ellie… were in public” you hiss, bucking your ass onto her crotch.
“we’re not in public, were in a dressing room…” she whispers, like she knows best.
“plus, i gotta test these little panties out… s’for you, y’know?”
ellie makes you sit on her lap to watch it up close, until she’s fully satisfied and is sure that they fit just right, and that she can see herself peeling them off of you. “give me a little wiggle, babe”, she rasps, as her hands roam over your naked waist.
“a wiggle?” you giggle, and burry your face in the crook of her neck.
“like… grind yourself up against me. gotta test the fabric, make sure you’re… comfortable” and— of course you do. you grind yourself up against her thigh until you forget what you even came to the mall for.
ellie’s eyes are fixated on you, taking in your little silent whimpers as you “test the panties” out.
“think… fuck— think we gotta buy them now… soaked ‘em all up, huh?” ellie pants, as she helps you grind your body back and forth. when ellie looks down on her thigh, truly just to watch how your pussy lips swallow the drenched material, ellie comes to an extra conclusion as well. there’s a sticky wet patch, almost heart shaped, over her denim jeans.
“shit… babe, look at that mess…”, she holds you by the back of your neck, and guides your head down. “mhm… gotta buy me some new jeans” your breath cages inside your throat as you begin to stutter, “sorry, el… didn’t mean to”
“oh fuck no… it’s… shit— so fuckin’ hot”
anyways, mall ellie is a menace.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
lovesickonmybed · 2 months
Text
to hands between legs | 18+
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
masterlist | xo masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza
pairing | bully!ellie williams x loser!virgin!reader
synopsis | ellie williams made your high school experience a living hell, but once you got to college you thought you were finally free…until running into her at a frat party where she humiliates you just like it’s high school all over again.
warnings | 18+ MDNI! bullying, wedgies, dub-con, underage drinking, panty kink, degradation, humiliation, fingering, virgin reader, mommy kink.
word count | 4.4k
a/n | if wedgie kinks make you uncomfortable or seem cringe to you then please keep scrolling and let me indulge in my weird little kinks thank you! also i dropped out of college so if any of this is inaccurate i'm sorry!! i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.
Tumblr media
“Dude you are not wearing those to the party tonight!” Your roommate Seline scoffs looking you up and down as you stand in your underwear looking through your clothes in an attempt to find something semi-decent for your first party of the year. You’ve got on a plain white bra and a pair of white hanes panties that sit high up on your waist. 
You turn back to look at her with an annoyed sneer on your face, “They’re called underwear for a reason, they’ll be under my clothes, where no one can see them. I doubt it’ll make a difference, I’m not exactly trying to get laid tonight, especially not by any of those guys.”
“Wearing granny panties at any time besides your time of the month is just…wrong! There’s no way those are comfortable, like seriously I see you pick your wedgie like 20 times a day, just grow up and switch to thongs already.” Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you slip on a black skort that stops at your mid thigh before turning back to face your roommate. 
“I do not pick that many wedgies, stop being so dramatic! A thong would just be worse, I don’t want a string up my ass all day…” You retort.
“So instead of a string you want that itchy fabric to bunch up and give you a cottontail? Got it…this is why you haven’t gotten laid yet…” Seline says, side eyeing you.
“I really don’t need this right now, I’m wearing my comfortable and reliable panties and you can have fun telling a frat guy to stop pulling on your thong strings when he’s had too much to drink.”
“My thong is getting taken off by a frat guy tonight, not pulled up, honey. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go, maybe if you pick the right top someone can look past your choice in underwear,” Seline chuckles.
You roll your eyes playfully and decide on a cropped white tank top, you slip on a pair of black heeled boots and a light wash denim jacket to finish off the look. You want to look alright just in case, you haven’t had the best luck romantically and definitely not sexually since arriving at school. You’ve made out with a few girls at parties but due to your own nerves you haven’t done anything past feeling them up and trying to not cum immediately when their hand is on your thigh. You swear you got more action from your high school bully…
“Come on, if you make me even later than we already are then I’m gonna lose it!” Your roommate commands as you grab your bag from off your bed. You’re not exactly the party type and you sure as hell weren’t in high school, then again you never got a chance to go to parties in high school thanks to Ellie fucking Williams for making you a pariah. You still have no clue what you did to the girl for her to target you as viciously as you did, you barely knew her…maybe she wanted to establish dominance when she arrived in Jackson, sure being the new kid can be tough but it doesn’t exactly call for you to make someone miserable everyday of their life. It started with a shoulder check in the hallway and escalated to you having to budget out having to replace panties on an almost weekly basis due to the waistband ripping wedgies Ellie loved to dish out. 
College was a fresh start for you, a way to escape your past as ‘Wedgie Girl’ and to finally make some friends…but thanks to your busy class schedule and your social awkwardness it’s proven harder than you expected. Your roommate Seline was kind enough to introduce you to some of her friends and you’re pleading with whatever forces are out in the universe that some of them will be there tonight to hang with you when your roommate abandons you for some dick from a sweet, but ultimately brainless frat boy. 
“Do you know if anyone we know is gonna be at the party?” You ask Seline, nervously playing with the hem of your skirt as you both walk the path to the nearby frat house. 
“Uh, I think Taylor mentioned she might be there…I’m not sure when though. But hey, if she’s not I’m sure you’ll find someone to spend your night with if I disappear,” She smiles, nudging your arm with her shoulder playfully. 
“More like when you disappear…”
“Hey! I don’t always disappear!” Seline scoffs.
“If there’s dick from a himbo you do,” you retort.
“Can you blame me? They’re always the sweetest in and out of bed, I can’t help that I like a dumb guy who will actually take care of me after we fuck instead of some asshole who’ll just take my panties after!” On multiple occasions freshman year Seline had some of her favorite pairs stolen by business majors, it was truly unfortunate. 
“Dude I swear to god I’m on a mission to get your panties back tonight, you know I love stealing shit from frat guys. I’m gonna steal your panties back,” you joke to Seline.
“I don’t want them back, they’re probably crusted with cum by now!” Seline laughs.
“Oh my god! Why would you put that image in my head, jesus christ!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Seline is out of breath as she apologizes. 
You reach the lawn of the frat house and you and Seline look at one another.
“If you plan to hookup with someone and stay at their place, text me and share your location, deal?” You say to Seline, making sure to establish a plan for tonight.
“Deal. Same goes for you, babe,” she smirks.
“We both know I won’t be hooking up with anyone but the optimism is appreciated, Seline.”
Seline laughs and throws her arm around your waist as you walk into the party, music playing loudly, the house filled with college students with drinks in their hands. 
You comb the crowd to look for anyone you may recognize but you’re unsuccessful, you frown and pull yourself closer to Seline for comfort. You cup her ear, “I don’t see Taylor yet.” 
“Let me text her and see when she’ll be here,” Seline responds as she pulls out her phone and pulls up Taylor’s contact, she shoots her a text and while she waits on a response y’all go into the kitchen to find something to drink. 
You separate from Seline and look around at all your options, you decide to just grab a Whiteclaw, ignoring how douchey it makes you feel to be seen drinking one. You crack it open and take a sip as Seline pours herself a shot. You lean against the counter as people come up to greet Seline, you feel out of place at this party but you try to ignore the feeling and take another sip.
“Hey, is it okay if I go with them?” Seline motions to the two girls standing where she just was, “I don’t want to leave you alone but we’ve been meaning to catch up for awhile y’know?”
You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek, “Yeah…it’s okay. Go catch up,” you give her a fake smile and in response she gives you a real one.
“I appreciate it, I’m sorry. If you need anything just text me, okay?” 
“Got it. Go have fun for me,” you smile.
Seline gives you a quick hug and turns to the other girls, walking off to the backyard together.
You stay where you are in the kitchen, bobbing your head to the music and mostly aimlessly scrolling on your phone when people watching gets boring. You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar laugh, “Holy shit…you actually made it out of Jackson? I’m shocked, truly.” Even if you hadn’t looked up you’d know exactly who was talking to you. Standing in front of you, a beer in hand, is Ellie Williams. 
You gasp softly and take a long swig from your drink, “I-You-”
“I didn’t know you went here, how’d you even get in?” Ellie asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell the woodsy cologne that’s been her signature scent since high school, she’s wearing a dark green flannel over a black tank top and a pair of black jeans. 
“I-I’m smart…I guess…” You manage to say. You regret it instantly, face heating up when you realize how stupid you sound. 
“Mhm, yeah of course…” She steps closer to you, setting her hand next to your hip on your counter, trapping you slightly as she gets in your personal space, “You know,” she chuckles, “Your roommate is a real dick for letting you leave the dorm like this…”
“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” You ask, instantly regressing back to the insecure high schooler you were just two years ago.
Ellie smirks, wetting her lips with her tongue, “Nothing, I’m just fucking with you, loser. You’re just as easy to mess with as you were in highschool…” 
You look down, avoiding eye contact, and shrink into yourself, “Why…why are you doing this? We’re not in highschool anymore, Ellie. I mean…who even bullies people in college?”
Ellie doesn’t appreciate your attempt to stand up for yourself, “Someone who sees a loser in desperate need of help…you still wear granny panties?” She bites her lip as she watches your face contort into an embarrassed look.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to self soothe. 
Ellie pauses for a minute, turning around to scope out the house. She grabs your wrist and starts to pull you along with her.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” You yell, trying to tug your wrist out of her grip, it’s a futile attempt as she’s always been much stronger than you. 
“Shut up,” Ellie commands, continuing to pull you along with her to the upstairs of the house. The partygoers hanging out on the staircase pay you no mind, continuing their conversations without a care in the world. Ellie pulls you down a hallway, opening one of the doors and pushing you inside, causing you to fall to your knees. Ellie locks the door as you scramble to your feet, mostly out of fear of what substances could be on this carpet.
Ellie turns around to face you, “Take your skirt off.”
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What?”
“Are you stupid? Take your goddamn skirt off,” Ellie sneers.
“What? Why? I-I’m not taking off my skirt for you! And I’m not wearing granny panties!” 
“Then lift up your skirt and prove it. You’ve got a little cottontail poking out of the back of your skirt by the way…nice hanes,” She laughs and pushes you back, causing you to stumble.
“You’re a sadistic bitch!” You exclaim, backing up away from her.
Ellie walks towards you, backing you against a wall, “I think you meant sexy, but that’s alright sweetheart I still understand you.” Ellie grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, using her arm to pin you against the wall, your face feeling squished against the plaster. She grabs the bottom of your skirt and pulls it up, groaning in disappointment when she realizes you’re wearing a skort. “Fuckin prude,” she mutters before grabbing the waistband of your skort and yanking it down, exposing your white hanes to her.
“Hey! What the fuc-” 
Ellie cuts you off, “Sorry did I tell you to speak?”
“N-No but-”
Ellie cuts you off again by grabbing you by the back of your head and shoving your face even harder against the wall, causing you to whine in pain. “You speak when I tell you to speak, until then shut your goddamn mouth before I gag you.” Ellie slaps your ass and chuckles when you yelp. “Do you still want to stand here and deny that this borderline geriatric pair of panties are granny panties? Huh? I mean, this sure as shit ain’t a thong, but if you’re really so deep in denial I guess I could be generous and turn it into one for you, honey.”
Before you can even think about protesting Ellie grabs your waistband and pulls it up teasingly slow, your eyes go wide as you’re transported back to highschool by the feeling of the cotton fabric sliding against your skin and situating itself between your cheeks. As the fabric begins to sink into your folds you’re transported back to a memory of Ellie giving you a wedgie in the locker room during senior year.
“Shut up and take it, loser! It’s your fault for pissing me off today!” Ellie whisper-yelled as she pulled the front of your panties violently, tears welled up in your eyes as the baby pink fabric was forced into the folds of your cunt.
“Stop! Come on, you really don’t have to do thi-”
Ellie cuts you off with another harsh tug of your panties, your mouth falls open as a sharp pain shoots up your ass. You try to reach back and tug your waistband away from Ellie but she’s quick to pin your wrists against your back, using her body weight to help pin you against the wall. “Don’t you fucking dare! You’re so goddamn defiant, I miss the helpless loser you were in highschool, this was so much easier back then. You knew how to shut up and take it.”
Ellie shoves her leg between your thighs and lets go of your waistband, she uses her now free hand to remove her belt and restrain your wrists with it. “There. Now you have no choice but to take it,” she laughs. You try to squirm out of her grasp but with her thigh pressed against your cunt all it does is make your face heat up and make you hold back a moan of pleasure. Ellie continues to hold you against the wall as she grabs your waistband again, “Ready for me, wedgie girl?” Ellie smirks as she starts to pull your waistband again, pulling harder than before, almost lifting you off the ground with her first pull.
You choke on nothing as she uses your old nickname, feeling you with even more shame as your brain floods with countless memories of your public humiliation at her hands. Your eyes screw shut as you feel the threads snapping against your skin, the painful friction against your most sensitive parts sends pained moans from your lips. 
“P-Please…h-hurts so bad,” you whimper, tears forming in your eyes as you rest your forehead against the wall.
“It’s supposed to, dumbass. I bet you like it though, don’t you? It’s the most attention your little virgin cunt has ever gotten, huh?” Ellie snickers. 
“I-I’m not a virgin!” You reply.
“Bullshit. I doubt you’ve even had an orgasm…poor thing, bet your poor little pussy just leaks from the slightest attention…I could breathe on it and you’d cum. It’s a miracle you haven’t cum yet, I’m pratically fucking you with these,” Ellie pulls harder, getting you onto your toes to emphasize her point. Ellie giggles, “You know what, you’re not a virgin I’ve already fucked you with your panties.”
You mewl with embarrassment which sends Ellie into a fit of laughter, once she calms herself she lets go of your waistband. You sigh in relief as you think she’ll let you go but once you feel her grasp on your leg holes your eyes go wide. You’re not getting off that easy. 
“You know what, let me rip these and I’ll give you a pity orgasm, how does that sound, loser?”
“No, come on! Ellie don’t rip these!” You plead.
“Oh come on, nerd. I’ve already stretched them out, they’re unwearable, just let me have my fun,” Ellie begins to lift you by the leg holes of your panties. You cry out in pain, your legs kicking out of instinct as you feel the fabric of your panties pulled back and through your cunt, the fabric scraping against your cunt in such a way that causes you to begin to cry.
“Can’t believe you’re already crying, you went fucking soft on me, nerd. Guess I gotta do this everyday and build your tolerance back up,” she says in a patronizing tone. 
“No, no, no, please…Ellie…” Your breath is ragged as she continues to split your ass with your panties, showing no mercy as she bounces you, the sound of threads ripping fills the room.
“Oh come on, baby, you can take it. Don’t tap out now, you’re so close,” Ellie coos, snaking one of her hands around to grab the front of your panties and begins pulling from the front too. You scream in pain and she lets go and begins to scold you, “Shut the fuck up! Are you trying to get caught? You want everyone to see you getting fucked with your panties?” 
You sniffle, “N-No…”
“Then shut. the. fuck. up. and take it. Got it, slut?” She questions.
“Got it…”
Ellie resumes and you bite your lip to hold back your pained noises as she bounces you by the front and back of your panties, making you feel like you’re being split in half. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain and you hate how soaked it gets you, a wide wet patch is very visible in the gusset of your panties. It doesn’t take many more pulls for the panties to finally rip, you moan loudly in pain and pleasure as you feel the fabric rip against your cunt. Ellie is quick to grab you by your waist, old hand holding the ripped pair of panties as she helps you to the floor. You sit against the wall and catch your breath, looking up at Ellie completely wrecked. Your mascara is smudged beneath your eyes and you have red marks on your hips. 
Ellie squats down to your level, “You okay?” She asks softly, reaching towards you to trace the marks on your hips. Her gentleness confuses you, when she bullied you in high school she would’ve just let you fall to the floor and leave you to deal with the aftermath.
“I-I think so…” You mumble.
She reaches up and cups your cheek, “Can I finger you?” She looks down at your red puffy cunt, licking her lips as she imagines you mewling for her as she stuffs your cunt. 
“I…No one has ever…y’know…touched me like that before…” You explain shamefully.
“I wanna make you cum, loser. Wanna feel your cunt clench around my fingers.”
You look up at Ellie with glassy eyes, whining at the thought, “Why?”
Ellie looks down, her cheeks turning red, “Because I think you’re hot…and I’ve been wanting this for years…”
“You have?” You ask, brows furrowed as you scan her face for any hint of a lie.
“Yeah…I…I like how you sound when I torture your pretty pussy, wanna make it feel good this time, wanna reward you for how you took that wedgie.”
You think it over for a minute before you nod, “I want your fingers inside of me, please.”
“You want it on the bed, baby girl?” She asks, nodding her head towards the bed of whatever poor boys room you two have only just begun to desecrate. 
“Yeah. Can you untie me too please,” you ask softly, lifting your restrained hands behind your back.
“Oh shit, I forgot I even did that. Let me get that off you,” Ellie helps turn you around and removes the belt restraining your hands and slips it back onto her jeans. She takes your wrists in her hands to check for marks, “They should only be a little sore…I’d wear long sleeves till the marks go away unless you feel like coming up with a story about how they got like that.”
You nod and let her help you onto the bed, you wince in pain as you sit on the bed, the soreness in your ass already kicking in.
Ellie tilts her head and leans towards you, looking down at your lips, “Can I kiss you?”
You nod, wetting your lips with your tongue. She leans in and presses her lips to yours, kissing you softer than you could’ve ever imagined from her. There’s a masochistic part of you that had always had a crush on Ellie, you had dreams of her fingering you, eating you out, hell even taking you on dates. But you had never imagined she’d really kiss you, especially not like this. You kiss her back and are quick to deepen the kiss, Ellie smirks against your lips at your eagerness and pulls you into her lap, spreading your legs and cupping your cunt. She uses you gasping at the sudden contact to slip her tongue into your mouth and you moan into her mouth once she starts to massage your clit. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you beg the universe to not let you cum before she can even get her fingers inside of you. 
She pulls away from your lips, a trail of saliva still connecting them as she moves her mouth down to your neck. She presses a kiss below your ear and whispers, “Gonna take off your shirt baby, wanna suck those pretty tits.”
That alone is enough to make you grip her hair tightly and whine. You help her remove your shirt and she’s quick to remove your bra as well, beginning to trail kisses down your neck. “You’re so fucking pretty, got perfect tits…for a loser…” She snickers. 
This time it doesn’t feel malicious, it makes your clit twitch and your breath hitch. 
“You like when I’m mean to you, don’t you? Bet you’d go home after school everyday and play with that pretty pussy of yours and think about what I did to you…Bet it got you wet once I got everyone calling you wedgie girl…” Ellie smirks at you, admiring the embarrassed expression on your face.
“Shut up…” You giggle.
She smiles and starts to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbones, drawing whines and whimpers out of you with ease. She pulls back to admire her work, “I’d suggest you invest in a turtleneck, sweetheart,” she chuckles.
“Shit…what’s my roommate gonna say?” You mutter, brushing your hair out of your face as you try and think of an excuse to give Seline.
“Are you with her or something?” Ellie asks.
You shake your head no, “God no…she just knows I haven’t done anything like this before…never came back to our dorm with a hickey before either.”
“You’re so innocent it’s fucking adorable,” Ellie says, leaning forward and kissing you again. She pulls away and leans down to press kisses to your tits, nibbling slightly here and there, making you whine once she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, tweaking the other with her hand. “Fuck…Ellie…” you whine, tilting your head back as she worships your tits.
She trails a hand down to your cunt, slapping it lightly, making you yelp. She laughs softly and presses her ring and middle finger against your folds, swiping up some of your slick and bringing her fingers up to her mouth to taste you. She takes her fingers into her mouth and sucks your slick off, moaning at the taste, “You taste as good as you look, sweet girl.”
She leans forward to kiss you and slowly slips two fingers inside of you, you gasp against her lips and buck your hips forward. “Oh fuck…”
“I haven’t even started baby,” she laughs. She begins to pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, whispering praises to you as she brushes her thumb against your cunt. She bites her lip as you whine her name, reaching out to grip the bed sheets. “You’re so tight, bet you’ve been needing this huh…”
“Y-Yes mommy, needed it so bad,” you mumble, too engrossed in your own pleasure to truly realize the words leaving your lips. 
Ellie stops and tilts her head, looking at you with her jaw dropped, “Did you…did you just call me mommy?”
“Fuck…I-I’m so sorry, it just sli-” Ellie cuts you off by resuming her pace, speeding up her movements quickly to make you fall apart.
“Tell mommy how fucking good it feels,” Ellie commands. 
You’re quick to follow her orders, muttering pathetically about how good she’s making you feel. “Mommy…I fucking…I’m so close, need to…”
“Need to cum, don’t you pretty girl? Gonna make you cum, gonna make my pretty baby make a mess all over my lap.” Ellie curves her fingers inside you, hitting right where you need until it sends you over the edge. You let out a string of moans as you collapse forward onto Ellie, burying your face in her neck and you moan incoherently. Ellie works you through your orgasm, rubbing your back whispering praises as you come down. She sucks your juices off her fingers, continuing to rub your back and praise you as you catch your breath.
“Fuck…thank you…” You whisper, your head still buried in the crook of her neck.
Ellie smiles and pulls you close to her, “Anytime, loser.”
You roll your eyes and giggle, the word no longer feels hurtful but instead playful. Ellie pulls you off her lap and grabs your ripped panties off the floor, using them to clean you up. “These are coming home with me,” Ellie says, holding the ripped fabric up in front of your face.
You try to snatch them away from her but she’s quicker than you, stuffing them in her back pocket. “Nuh uh, these are mine now, loser. Need something to help me get off when I think about this again.”
She helps you redress and tries to help fix your hair and smudged makeup, it’s all futile thanks to the hickeys she decorated your neck and collarbones with. “You know it’s pretty dark out there, I doubt anyone will notice,” Ellie says, motioning to your hickeys.
You roll your eyes and give her a look that says ‘really?’ “Ellie, these are impossible to miss, my roommate is never gonna let me live it down.”
“I can’t help that I’m so good at humiliating you,” Ellie giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into your neck.
“Shut up and take me back to my dorm,” you say playfully, nudging her with your head.
“Round two?” She asks hopefully.
“I’ll consider it…”
531 notes · View notes
querenciasturniolo · 8 months
Note
This is such a random concept but can you write something to do with the triplets finding out you’re a fan of there’s (which is shocking cuz you’re a well known singer) and you guys finally meet up for a car video and Chris, who’s usually really talkative, gets really quiet and nervous and Matt and Nick catch on to why and they end up teasing him…
favorite ⮕ c.s.
Tumblr media
word count: 2.7k
warnings: swearing, teasing, she/her pronouns
summary: the triplets invite you to to do a video with them after a viral video at your last concert on tour, and teasing ensues when chris is awfully quiet for once
a/n: this one is a little longer, but only because i am awful at transitions and find way too much detail important. this was SO fun to write, i hope i did it justice 💓
{i am NOT calling fangirls losers, at all. i am a fangirl and a loser, but that doesn’t mean everyone is. i wrote y/n saying she was a loser bc i thought it was funny, carry on}
everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.
part one || part two
“You have stated multiple times before that you’re a fan of many people, whether they’re artists or creators of some sort. Any you’d like to mention?”
“The Sturniolo triplets, easy. They’re content creators; they make these car videos and they’re absolutely hilarious. I found them on Tiktok about a year ago, and I’ve been watching them ever since.”
A single answer to a question had your fans going absolutely ballistic.
It was your fault, of course, but you didn’t think they would act like this. In every one of your posts, more comments than not were about the triplets. You found it more funny than anything, knowing that your fans were just excited that you enjoyed the same things they did.
At the closing show of your tour, you had just finished your last song, and you looked out at the crowd one last time to realize that this wasn’t going to go away. A single sign in the crowd had you laughing and shaking your head.
DO A VIDEO WITH THE TRIPLETS
You pointed at the sign as you walked back to leave the stage. “The ball is in their court, now.” You said, the crowd going ballistic as you finally stepped off of the stage.
After that, it seemed radio silent for a while, but you had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. It had been only a few weeks since that show, and you were just hanging out at your apartment, one of your best friends sitting across from you on the couch.
“Y/n, have you seen this?”
You looked up from your phone and glanced at her screen, a video of your last concert playing. The sign was shown before it was turned around and the camera was on you. You saw you grin and laugh at the sign and point, saying what you said before. The moment you finished, you heard the fan scream and other screams around her completely fucking with the speaker.
“I mean, I remember that happening, but I haven’t seen the video, why?” You asked, handing her phone back to her. She raised her eyebrows and kept her phone screen facing you.
“It’s viral.”
Your eyes immediately went to the likes, and you were shocked to see there were over four million. “Holy shit.” You mumbled, your phone vibrating in your hand. You looked down, your jaw dropping when you saw the DM before you. “Holy shit!”
nicolassturniolo: hey! would you want to be in a car video??
You stared at the screen, completely speechless as you looked between the DM and your friend. “What the fuck do I say?” You asked, finally opening the message. She laughed from across from you and you couldn’t help but stare at her, completely bewildered.
“Say yes? It’s a pretty simple answer.” She said. You nodded your head and answered Nick quickly, asking him when they wanted to meet up. “How are you fangirling right now?”
You looked up again and frowned. “Because I’m a loser, obviously.” You said, your friend laughing and shaking her head as she dropped back down on her side of the couch.
You and Nick messaged back and forth, you finding out the details of the video and where they wanted to meet up. You decided tonight would be best for both of your schedules, and you were chomping at the bit to get ready and get there. You’d never done anything casual like this, only professional interviews and somewhat press-related conversations. You had no idea what was going to happen in this video, except for the general idea of it being a Q&A between the four of you.
Driving to the meetup spot had your entire body on high alert, excited to meet the triplets, but also terrified to do so. You were a fangirl at heart, but you refused to show it. You pulled into the parking lot, looking around for the van.
The moment you saw it, you took a deep breath and pulled up next to it, frowning and looking around at the desolate parking lot. Before you could even fully get out of the car, Nick was opening the back door of the van and waving at you. You grinned and shut your door, locking your car out of habit and heading towards the van.
“Hey, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Nick said, stepping out of the van and giving you a hug.
You chuckled and pulled away, shrugging your shoulders. “You too! I’m not gonna lie, I was nervous as hell on the drive over.” You said, following Nick’s lead and climbing into the van after him, awkwardly climbing over him. You looked at Matt and Chris, your smile wide as you nodded in acknowledgement. “Hey.”
“Why were you nervous?” Matt asked, your cheeks heating up as you shrugged your shoulders.
“I’m a big fan, and extremely awkward, if you couldn’t tell.” You said, the three of them laughing and adjusting themselves to face you.
“It’s totally fine, you should have seen Nick before you pulled up.” Chris said, Nick’s jaw dropping to the floor as you looked over at him with a similar expression. The conversation mellowed out shortly after that, your nerves dissipating as you got more comfortable.
“Okay, so here’s our idea.” Nick started, your eyes meeting his immediately. “You hide behind Chris’ seat while we introduce the video, and when we say we have a special guest, you pop up and introduce yourself.” He finished. You nodded your head, fighting your smile as you wedged yourself between Chris’ seat and the seat you were sitting in on the floor.
“Matt, go check the camera.” Nick said. You covered your mouth to avoid laughing at the ensuing argument.
“Nick, why do you never check the fucking camera, this is ridiculous.” Matt grumbled, climbing out of the car to check it. Nick looked down at you, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. You snorted, and waited patiently for Matt to get back into the car.
“Alright. Today, we’re doing a Q&A, but we have a little surprise for everyone.” Chris said. He adjusted in his seat, you only knowing this because the movement pushed you into the other seat harshly. You couldn’t help but groan at the pressure of the seat against your side, smacking your hand over your mouth as Nick threw his head back and laughed.
“We have a special guest, if you couldn’t tell by Chris breaking her ribs. Come on out, reveal yourself.” Nick said. You shoved yourself out from behind the seat, your hand pressed against your side as the four of you laughed. “So, a video went viral of Y/n at one of her concerts challenging us to get her in a video.”
You scoffed and looked at Nick. “It wasn’t a challenge at all. Someone in the crowd had a sign that said I needed to be in a car video, and all I said was that the ball was in your court.” You defended playfully, Nick holding his hands up in mock defense. “I didn’t realize how insane that interview would go. I said I was a fan, and all of a sudden everyone was tagging me in your posts and telling me I needed to be in a video.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.
“Alright, introduce yourself to the video, and tell them if you have anything coming up, if you want.” You looked at Matt after he spoke, realization dawning on you as you nodded and finally looked at the camera.
“Oh, right. I’m Y/n. I just announced my new single Changes that comes out in a few days, go listen if you want.” You said, looking between the three of them to make sure that was alright. Chris chuckled and nodded, facing the camera and pulling his phone from his pocket.
“So, this Q&A is different for a few reasons. One; we have a special guest, which you already know. And two; we decided to ask her some questions, and she’s going to ask some questions that she has for us. We will be answering some fan questions as well, since we only came up with a handful of questions.” Chris said, Nick gesturing for him to speed up.
The video progressed with the four of you rapid fire asking questions about your careers and other random things, occasionally debating when someone said something the others thought was outrageous.
“How long have you been a fan of ours?” Chris asked. You met his eyes and felt your face heat up before you looked away quickly and shrugged.
“I saw a clip of one of your videos on Tiktok about a year ago, and looked that specific video up. It was the one where Nick’s yelling about a staff, I believe.” You said, Nick sighing and shaking his head.
Chris chuckled and nodded his head. “Nick yelling seems to be a common theme in people looking us up, so that makes sense.”
“When did you become a fan of mine?” You asked, Nick nearly dropping his drink as he put it into the cupholder. You laughed and braced yourself as Nick held up his hands.
“I found your first album by accident a few months after it came out, and I blasted it on repeat for weeks after that. I may have forced Matt and Chris to listen to it, but they fucked with it heavy, no matter what they say.” Matt rolled his eyes with a smile and grabbed his phone, scrolling through the questions.
“It’s not my type of music, but it definitely isn’t bad. The lyrics were definitely my favorite part, you’ve got a way with words.” Chris said, Matt nodding and meeting your eyes as well.
You blushed and smiled awkwardly. “Thank you, that means a lot. I always try to tell a story with my songs, so I’m glad that my lyrics show that.” Jesus, you couldn’t take a compliment to save your life.
A few more questions were asked and answered before Matt spoke up.
“This is a fan question; who’s your celebrity crush?” Matt read, dropping his phone into his lap and looking back at you. You looked up and thought for a moment before shrugging.
“I guess the easy answer is Ryan Gosling, or something, but I’m not exactly sure—oh! I take that back, Harry Styles for sure. I’d love to do a song with him, it’s been one of my dreams since I started making music.” You rambled, the three of them humming and nodding their heads. “What about you guys?”
Matt spoke first, his answer completely outrageous and out there. Nick refused to answer, and that’s when all three of you realized that Chris was silent. You looked at him, his eyes focused on the center console.
“Chris?” You asked. He looked up then, which is when you noticed his pink cheeks.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to answer this question, let's move on.” He said, turning to face forward again. You frowned and looked between Matt and Nick, who were staring at Chris confused.
“Why are you acting so weird—oh.” Nick said, the confusion on his face morphing into a sly smirk. “I see.” He said, looking at Matt. It took Matt a little longer to get there, but soon he was grinning and shoving Chris’ arm.
“Come on, Chris. Just say it.” He teased, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked between all of them.
“I have no idea what the fuck is happening, but alright.” You said, turning your attention to Chris. He shook his head and looked over at Matt.
“I’m not saying it, just move on.” He said, an amused smile on his lips.
“Why? Is it because she’s in the car?” Nick asked. Your face heated up immediately, your eyes meeting Chris’ shocked gaze. Matt smacked his hand over his mouth to cover up the laugh that nearly knocked him forward.
“Nick, cut that out.”
Nick’s laughter rang through the van as he fell backwards in his seat and shook his head, Chris’ embarrassed chuckle pushing past his lips as he looked at you one more time.
“You could have denied it!” Matt finally said, all four of you completely losing it and doubling over. You’d never laughed so hard in your life, and you were glad you agreed to do this.
Chris sat up and wiped at his eyes, the remnants of his laughter still showing on his face as he shook his head. “I could have denied it, but I’m not a liar.” He said, avoiding your eyes completely as he took a sip of his Pepsi. “So yeah, my celebrity crush is Y/n, sue me.”
Your mouth went dry, not expecting him to say it out loud so bluntly.
“Okay! Next question!” Nick said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You shook your head and smiled as you waited for his question. He dropped his phone in his lap, a mischievous smile on his face as he gestured to you. “Who’s your favorite triplet?”
You groaned and threw your head back, looking forward again to see all three pairs of eyes glued to you intently. You blinked and looked between them, shaking your head when seeing their goofy smiles.
“I plead the fifth, absolutely not.” You said, all of them laughing and shaking their heads.
“Oh, come on! Just say it!” Matt said, resting his head on his hand and widening his eyes at you.
“No feelings will be hurt, just tell us.” Nick said, your eyes meeting his as you shook your head.
“It’s me, guys. It’s official.” Chris said, your head whipping in his direction. Your face felt like it was on fire as the silence continued and he held your gaze. Nick was the first to lose it, grabbing your arm as he dropped forward and laughed uncontrollably.
“What is with you two?! Just deny it or something!” He said, Matt and Chris joining in and covering their faces with their hands. You sighed and shook your head.
“I’m not a liar, either. Let’s move on.” You said, picking up your phone and going through your notes app.
“Favorite song, not just by me, any song in general.” You said, the conversation changing immediately. When everyone was done filming, you said your goodbyes and stepped out of the car. You weren’t expecting them all to jump out of the car as well.
“Do you mind taking a picture with us for our photo dump? It’s totally cool if not.” Nick asked.
“Oh! For sure, could I get a picture for my Instagram too?” They nodded, and you took a few pictures, some were serious and others were ridiculous. You each exchanged numbers, sending over the pictures that were taken on each of your phones. When the pictures were done and the four of you were just laughing at all of the photos, you looked at each of them. “I had a lot of fun! Thank you for having me.” You said, pulling Nick into a hug.
“Oh, of course! You should come hang out with us sometime, whenever you’re free.” He said as he pulled away. You nodded and accepted the hug from Matt, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes met Chris’ after you pulled away.
He hesitated but shrugged his shoulders and held out his arms. You chuckled and walked towards him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Your heart was racing as you pulled away and smiled at him, hoping he didn’t notice the burning in your cheeks.
“Again, it was so nice to meet you. Text me if you ever want to make plans, okay?” You said, the three of them nodding and waving as you got into your car.
The drive back to your apartment was long, your exhaustion finally hitting you as you checked the dash and saw it was three in the morning. God, you were going to be exhausted at your meetings tomorrow. You finally pulled into the parking garage and got out of your car, locking the door as your phone vibrated in your pocket. It wasn’t until you laid in your bed and plugged in your phone that you checked the notification, your heart pounding as you read the text, a shocked laugh leaving your lips.
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
corroded-hellfire · 1 year
Text
Love Comes Walking In - Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: Eddie didn’t want to go to prom, until he wanted to go with Chrissy. You wanted to go to prom, but not if Eddie is going to go with Chrissy. But above everything, you want Eddie to be happy.
Note: this whole thing mostly came about because I wanted to write the one scene with Dustin. You’ll know the one.
Words: 6k
Tumblr media
Eddie teasing you was nothing new. His lighthearted jabs about your skirt making you look preppy or having sleepy eye boogers first thing in the morning roll off your back, occasionally even making you laugh along. But when he teases you about wanting to go to prom, that gets under your skin. 
Wanting one special night to wear a pretty gown with glowing makeup and neatly styled hair didn’t sound stupid to you. To your best friend, it seemed like torture. The whole school year Eddie would rag on you about buying into the whole conformist commercialism that you thought of as a rite of passage. That makes it even worse when he suddenly changes his tune just a week before the dance. 
“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeff complains. 
Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m ridiculous,” he argues.
“You changed your mind because of a girl!” Gareth shouts. 
Jabbing your green beans with your plastic fork, you stay silent as the boys bicker back and forth. Part of you was also afraid to open your mouth, unsure of what would come out.
“You say that like I’d go to prom with any girl,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not saying I’m going, I’m saying I would go with Chrissy.”
The fork is clutched so hard in your hand that you think it’s going to snap in half. 
“What’s wrong with wanting to go with anyone?” Jeff asks.
Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him and wrinkles his face up in distaste, not bothering to give a verbal response. 
“Hypocrite,” you mumble under your breath.
“I am not.” Eddie stares at you and your head jerks up in surprise that he heard you. 
“Yes, you are,” you say. “You’ve made fun of me all year for wanting to go and now because you have a crush, it’s different? Bullshit.”
“I changed my mind,” Eddie reiterates. 
“Fine,” you say with a huff. It’s not worth arguing with him over. 
“Maybe you should apologize,” Dustin suggests softly.
“What?” Eddie asks.
“Come on, you have been on her ass about it all year,” Dustin says. 
“Thanks, Dustin,” you say. “But it’s fine.”
Eddie opens his mouth, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. Chair legs scraping against the floor, you push your seat back and stand up from the table. The guys all watch as you leave, dumping your tray in the trash before stalking out of the cafeteria. 
Tumblr media
Arguments with Eddie rarely happened. They’re so rare that neither of you know how to react when you next see each other. Are you still fighting? Has it been long enough where you both can pretend like nothing ever happened? There’s no chance to talk to one another in your shared algebra class the next day, so it wasn’t until lunch that you really came face to face. Eddie’s at the table before you, and you plop down in your usual seat next to him. 
“We cool?” Eddie asks as you’re in the middle of lifting a forkful of mac and cheese to your open mouth. 
“Uh, yeah,” you say, eyeing him over your full fork. “I guess.” 
“Good.” He slouches down in his seat, as if he can relax now that he knows you’re on good terms. “Oh shit, here I got you something.” Eddie reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar. “Band kids are selling candy, so I bought your favorite for you. Hide it before Henderson gets here or he’ll steal it.”
“Thanks,” you say with a grin. This was exactly the reason why your feelings for Eddie would never go away. Just when he pisses you off to the point where you swear you’re never going to sit with him at lunch again, he turns around and does something sweet and thoughtful without expecting anything in return. 
“Breaking news, losers,” Gareth says as he drops his tray on the table. “I have a prom date.”
“Well shit, I guess hell has frozen over,” Mike says as he and Dustin join the rest of you. 
“You’re not a senior,” Jeff points out.
“No, but my date is.” Gareth’s smirk is enough to earn an eye roll from both you and Eddie. 
“Who’s that desperate?” 
Gareth throws a French fry at you - which you dodge - before he answers. 
“Calling Kel desperate?” 
“What?” you almost screech. “How are you going with one of the sweetest girls at school?”
“I’m super cool,” he says, making the rest of you bust out in laughter. 
“But seriously,” Jeff says.
“You’re all assholes,” Gareth says before digging into his food. “At least I have a date.” 
Eddie goes to reply, but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say, so you scoop up your backpack and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once you step out of the cafeteria, you roll out your neck and shoulders, trying not to think of Eddie back in there talking about prom with the guys. You push the girl’s bathroom door open and breathe a sigh of relief when you’re the only one in there. Dropping your bag on the floor between your feet, you lean forward on one of the sinks and look at yourself in the mirror. A few deep breaths later, you feel your body relax. It’s short lived, however, when the door squeaks open on old hinges and two cheerleaders step in. 
You feel bad for the guttural reaction you have to seeing Chrissy’s blonde ponytail swinging behind you in the mirror. She is a complete sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the jealous green-eyed monster rears its ugly head and your fingers dig into the cool porcelain. 
“It really sucks,” the other cheerleader says to Chrissy. You know you’ve seen her around, but you don’t know her name. Both cheerleaders park at the sinks next to you to touch up their makeup. Chrissy throws you a bright smile and a friendly wave before taking her lip gloss out and turning back towards her friend. 
“I know,” Chrissy says. “I knew we were going to break up, but I was hoping for it to be after prom. How am I supposed to find a new date in a week?”
“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that,” her friend assures her.
“I don’t know,” Chrissy says with a sigh. “Everyone probably has their dates by now.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Your pulse is raging in your ears and sweat is starting to make your hands slip against the sink. The internal debate rages inside of you. Do you let your jealousy get in the way of something that will make Eddie happy? It would throw away any shot you had of going to prom with Eddie yourself - but you know that was a long shot anyway. 
Still undecided, you take a step back from the sink, and your backpack falls over. You bend down to pick it up and the Three Musketeer bar falls out. It feels like your gaze should melt the chocolate that’s laying before you. Damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness at buying you the stupid candy. You toss it back in your bag, wincing as you prepare self-destruction. 
“Hey, Chrissy,” you say.
She turns to you with a smile, putting the top back on her lip gloss.
“Hey! What’s up?”
“I, uh, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say as you slide your backpack on. You can’t manage to look her in the eyes as you speak. “But I know someone who doesn’t have a date yet.”
“You do?” She perks up in interest and the souring of your stomach almost keeps you from going further. 
“Yeah.” It sounds painful coming out of your mouth and you hope neither cheerleader notices. “Um, Eddie? Eddie Munson.”
“Really?” her friend asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts a hip out. You’re two seconds away from smacking the snotty look off her face when Chrissy speaks up.
“Eddie is great,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder at her friend before looking back at you. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Think he’ll say yes if I ask him?”
“I do.” Those two words were almost the hardest to get out. It was killing you how much of an understatement it was. 
“Okay!” The eagerness in her voice makes you want to cry. There’s no way you’ll be able to face Eddie back in there. 
“You can, um, ask him now if you want,” you say with a shrug. With a deep breath, you head towards the bathroom door. You stop halfway out the door and turn back around. “Oh, if Eddie asks,” you say, doubting he would because he’d be too consumed by the fact that his dreams were coming true, “can you just tell him I wasn’t feeling well and left?”
“No problem.” Her brow furrows in concern and she takes a step towards you. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve told in a while. “Cramps.” You put your hand to your lower abdomen and Chrissy gives you a sympathetic nod.
“Feel better!”
Without answering her, you walk out of the bathroom and down the hall, to the school exit. As soon as you slide into your car, the tears start. They start pouring so heavily and your hands shake so badly that you can’t put your key in the ignition. Momentarily giving up, you drop the keys in your lap and drop your head down to the steering wheel. 
Giving yourself enough time to get the worst of it out, you pull back and use your sleeves to wipe down your face. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to center yourself. After a few breaths in and out, in and out, you’re able to get the keys in the ignition on the first try. You pull your car out of the parking lot and head towards your house. The conversation you had with Chrissy keeps going through your head and you can’t keep from picturing the euphoric look that will be on Eddie’s face when she asks him. The saving grace you’re holding on to is the fact that Chrissy immediately defended Eddie to her friend. There aren’t many people in the school who would do that. 
Luckily, no one is home when you get to your house and you’re able to go inside and sulk in peace in your bed. More tears leak out as you hug your pillow to your chest. You must end up falling asleep because the persistent ringing of your doorbell jolts you awake sometime later. Heart racing from the adrenaline, you pull yourself out of bed and drag yourself to the front door. 
Eddie’s standing on the other side and it’s the first time his smile has ever broken your heart. 
“You are the best!” He swoops into your house and wraps you up in his arms. “Oh shit, sorry. I forgot, Chrissy said you’re having some girl pains.”
Right. 
“They’re better now that I’ve rested,” you say. “And you don’t have to thank me. Just doing what a good friend would do, right?”
“The best friend in the world!” He takes your head in his hands and presses a loud smacking kiss to your forehead. His happiness is infectious and despite your foul mood, a small smile curls on your mouth. 
“Now,” he says, taking both of his hands in yours. “We have to find a date for you.”
“Oh.” Your face drops and you shake your head. “I’m not going to go.”
It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would still be thinking about how you wanted to attend prom. The idea of his own perfect date should’ve been occupying his whole brain, but damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness. 
“What?” Eddie immediately frowns and it tugs at your heart. It tempts you to tell him you’ll go, but the mental image of Eddie dressed up and dancing with a flawless-as-usual Chrissy makes you bite your tongue. 
“You were right before,” you tell him. “It’s dumb and there’s shitty music. Plus, the dresses are way too expensive.” The dress you planned on wearing was already in your closet, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. 
“Are you sure?” Eddie dips his head down to meet your eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you questioningly. 
“Yeah,” you tell him. 
“I’m going to miss you there,” he says, and you almost slip up and laugh out loud at his statement. 
“Oh please, you’ll be having way too much fun to notice I’m not there.” 
“Like that could happen,” Eddie says with a skeptical look. 
You don’t bother arguing with him, even though you know he’s wrong. 
Tumblr media
On your way to the cafeteria the next day, you can’t bring yourself to walk in. You know if you do then you’re just going to be hearing about plans for prom and you don’t trust yourself not to break down in tears in front of everyone. There was no way you could avoid the guys entirely until prom, but you couldn’t face them today. Eddie doesn’t want to be with you. He wants to be with Chrissy. And you have to make yourself seem okay with that somehow. Just not today. 
There’s a vending machine on the way to the gym, so you pick up a bag of crackers and a bottle of coke. The gymnasium is empty, so you take a seat on the bottom row of bleachers and start to eat your sad little lunch. It’s easy to let your mind wander, so you try to redirect it away from where it wants to go. Usual calming fantasies revolve around Eddie in some way, but that’s out of the question right now. 
Your mind can’t stray far from Eddie though, so you let your mind divulge in a little dark fantasy as you eat. What would happen if you just ran away? What would happen if you just threw some clothes in a bag and bolted? You would never actually do it, but imagining Eddie being sad over you leaving brings you a sick sort of comfort. Because he would miss you. You know he loves you, it’s just not in the same way that you wish. 
As you crumble up your wrapper in your hand, the gym door opens and a familiar hat over tousled curls walks in. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, as he walks your way with his hands in his pockets. Sneakers squeak across the shiny floor and come to a sudden halt as he stops in front of you. 
Dustin dips his chin down and raises his eyes to look at you. He takes one hand out of his pocket and holds it out to you.
“Yes?” you ask, looking between his eyes and his hand. 
“I know what you did for Eddie,” he says. “We all know. Except for him, he’s an idiot. But it really was a nice thing to do. I never could’ve done it.”
“Thanks,” you say skeptically, unsure of where he was going with this. 
“He told us you said you don’t want to go to prom. I know that’s bullshit. So,” he says, bringing his hand back and extending it to you again, “I am asking you if I may take you to the prom.”
Your eyes immediately well with tears as you look up at the boy in front of you. Dustin was always one of the sweetest people you knew, but this was taking it to a whole other level. 
“Oh, Dustin,” you say. You take his hand and tug his arm until he’s sitting on the bleacher next to you. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve gotten in my entire life. But I can’t go to prom.”
Dustin sighs and nods his head.
“Can’t see them together?” he asks.
“Correct.”
He wraps his arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
“So, everyone knows, huh?” you ask. 
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stare at Eddie a lot.”
The laughter that bubbles out of you is so unexpected that you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. 
“I know,” you admit. “I do.”
“And you look at him differently than you look at anyone else,” he says. 
“Like he’s an idiot?” you ask and Dustin chuckles. 
“No, I think we all look at him that way.”
You sigh and pick your head up from Dustin’s shoulder. You pat his arm and give him a grateful smile.
“Dustin Henderson, you are the best. And if I were going to go to the prom with anybody at all, it would be you.” 
“Well, when I go to my senior prom, I hope I go with someone half as awesome as you.”
That makes the tears spill over and you hastily wipe them off your cheeks. 
“God, I love you.” You throw your arms around his neck and give him the tightest hug you’ve given anyone in a while. He chuckles as he hugs you back.
“Who doesn’t?”
Tumblr media
The night of prom comes, and you stand in your kitchen, alone in the house and in your comfiest sweats, making cookie dough. Screw warnings of not eating raw eggs, you were making this dough to eat, not cook. The last few days at school you went back to eat lunch with the guys but used a fake sore throat as an excuse for staying quiet and distant. You really only needed to fool Eddie though, since the other guys knew what was really going on with you. 
You take the bowl of cookie dough into the living room and set it down as you flip through the VHS tapes you’d rented earlier in the day. Steve had known about you not going to prom because, of course he did, Dustin tells him everything. You assured him it wasn’t a big deal, just wanting to get out with your movies. 
Settling on The Outsiders because you could stare at Rob Lowe all day, you pop the tape in and settle on the couch with your favorite blankets and your bowl of cookie dough. You can only eat about a quarter of the dough before your stomach has had enough. It sits on the table in front of you as you watch the rest of the movie. It’s not even eleven by the time the movie’s over but you don’t feel up to sitting through another one. You take the bowl of cookie dough back into the kitchen and stick it in the refrigerator. Thoughts of what’s happening at the prom have been trying to jam their way into your brain all night, but without the movie to distract you, those thoughts finally break in. Is there a slow song playing right now? Are Eddie’s hands on her hips or is one wrapped around her back while the other holds her hand? Is he having a good time? Are they playing any music that he likes? What did he end up wearing? You know you’ll end up seeing pictures but you’re not looking forward to seeing how pristine Chrissy is all dolled up when she’s naturally so beautiful on her own. Right now, you can imagine she’s wearing a garbage bag and her hair is all rolled up in curlers and her makeup looks like a clown’s. But once you see pictures, that illusion you’ve clung to will burst like a bubble in your heart. 
You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to try and stop the impending tears from falling. A few deep breaths and you get it under control. This heartbreak shit sucks. 
Before heading up to your room, you grab a water bottle from the fridge and your blanket off the couch. On your nightstand is a small radio and you click it on so you won’t be alone in silence with just your thoughts for company. The sheets feel cold and crisp as you slide into them. Putting your blanket back on top of you, you curl up on your side and nuzzle your face into your pillow. The light’s still on in your room, but you didn’t feel like getting up to turn it off.
The dial on your radio must’ve gotten knocked at some point - which happened often as you fumbled with things on your nightstand constantly - because smooth jazz starts playing and you huff a laugh into your pillow. You weren’t moving to fix that, either. When your parents come home, if you’ve already fallen asleep, your mom will turn both the radio and light off for you. 
But the jazz is actually more soothing the longer it plays. It calms your frayed nerves and helps you start to doze off, body finally giving in to the exhaustion you’ve been feeling from all the stress lately. 
In your half-asleep state, you hear your parents come home. They’re not exactly quiet walking around downstairs, but they also probably didn’t expect you to be sleeping this early. The thudding of your mom’s heels coming up the stairs echoes in the quiet hallway, drifting into you even over the radio. The footsteps keep coming towards your room and you’re looking forward to the sweet darkness you’ve craved when your mom gets to your room. But the lights don’t turn off. Instead, the bed dips next to you and you feel someone lay down beside you. 
She means well, you know, because she knew that you were bummed to miss prom, even if she didn’t know why. But the last thing you wanted right now was to have her try and talk to you about how you’re feeling. You know you’ll lose it and end up crying yet again. She stays quiet beside you though and you’re thankful for it. 
“I know you’re not asleep.”
The deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open. Eddie’s laying down on his side, facing you, head propped up on his arm. He’s smiling at you. It’s the first thing you notice before your eyes travel down, taking in the suit he’s wearing. Partially a suit, anyway. He’s wearing nice black slacks, which you didn’t even know he owned, with a maroon button up shirt. No jacket, but you’re not sure if he had one on earlier or not. He’s still your Eddie though, because he has his pick necklace on and his many rings adorning his fingers. 
“Look at you.” Your voice sounds a bit froggy between almost being asleep and all the crying you’ve done. “Not a stitch of denim in sight.”
Eddie chuckles. It sounds so nice. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“What’re you doing here?” you ask.
“Came by to see my best girl,” he says. Maybe he still says it out of habit, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be losing that title shortly. 
“But prom,” you say, whinier than you intended to. 
“It’s over,” he says.
You frown and crane your neck to see the clock on your dresser. The neon green tells you that it’s just after one in the morning. You must’ve dozed longer than you thought.
“How was it?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer. 
“Pretty much how I expected it to be.”
“Oh yeah?” The fake smile on your face is starting to feel second nature, and you hate it. “Everything you’d hoped?”
“No,” he says with a laugh. He shakes his head and twirls the ring on one of his middle fingers with his thumb. “I was right the first time. Shitty music. Horrible punch - which Principal Higgins was guarding like he was trying to keep the Huns from invading China. People at our school can’t dance for shit, myself included. And to top it all off, my favorite person wasn’t there.”
Your brow scrunches together and you sit up in bed.
“She stood you up?” 
“What?” Eddie asks. When he realizes what you mean, he closes his eyes and smiles. “No, you dork. I meant you. You weren’t there.”
“Me?” you ask. The skepticism in your voice cuts right to Eddie’s heart. He frowns and scoots forward on the bed so he can rest his hand on your hip. 
“Yes, you. You’re doubting that you’re my favorite person?”
“Well, kind of,” you say quietly. 
“Why?” he asks, and his frown makes your heart plummet into your stomach. 
“It’s just, you were so excited to go with Chrissy.”
“I was,” he admits. “But just because I had a crush on a girl doesn’t mean that you’re not still my number one.”
Had. The one word sticks in your mind and you know there are other things you should say, better things, but the question is burning your tongue so it has to come out.
“Had a crush?” you ask. 
Eddie nods and rubs his thumb over your hip bone.
“Turns out a lot of crushes can go away quickly if you actually spend time with the person.”
“Did she say something? Do something?” you ask.
“No,” he says simply. “She’s great. There was just nothing to talk about after the first twenty minutes or so. She knows nothing about my interests, and I know nothing about hers.”
“Just didn’t click?” you ask.
“Yeah, exactly,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, mouth pursed in thought. “This is a horrible analogy, but it’s what came to mind. It’s like when a present is sitting there in front of you, and it’s wrapped beautifully. Ribbons and bows and all that jazz. You just stare at it and want it, imagining what kind of fun thing could be inside. Then, you finally get it, you can hold it in your hands. You open it and it’s a new shirt. It’s nice, but not what you were expecting. You don’t dislike the shirt, it’s just not the present you wanted.” 
“Look at you with the metaphors,” you say with a smirk. “Senior English three times and you’re a full-on scholar now.”
He rolls his eyes at you and playfully squeezes the skin at your hip.
“I was being serious,” he says.
“I know. And I get it. You kissed a frog who didn’t turn into a princess.”
“And you thought I had an odd way of putting it,” Eddie says with a laugh. “But I didn’t even kiss her before I knew there was nothing there. Once the excitement wore off it was pretty boring, actually.” 
“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted,” you tell him honestly. 
“I’ve always known the prom itself would suck. Just thought it might be fun with the right date. And it might’ve been, but I didn’t have that.” He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “I should’ve brought you.”
The tears are coming but you force them to hold their position. It’s hard not to yell at him that that’s what you’ve wanted all along. But there’s no point. Any begging or pleading before the prom wouldn’t have gotten him to agree to take you. So, instead of living in the ‘if you realized this sooner I could have gotten to go to my prom’, you let it go by and just appreciate the fact that he wishes he had gone with you instead of Chrissy. 
“But I’ve had an idea,” Eddie says as he pushes himself off your bed. 
“And what’s that?”
“Well,” he says as he walks over to your closet. “First things first, I’ve got to see what we’re working with here.” 
“Why?” You scoot down to the foot of the bed to see what he’s doing more clearly. He’s going through your clothes, inspecting every piece, and deeming them unfit for whatever scheme he’s cooked up in his brain. 
“You’ll see. Wait. Are you kidding me?” He reaches into the back of your closet and pulls out the gold dress that you had bought for prom. “You told me you didn’t get a dress!”
“How do you know I haven’t had that dress for a while?” But your blush won’t let you get away with the lie.
“Well for starters, the tag is still on it.” He brandishes it to you and you huff.
“Okay, yeah, yeah, I had a dress. But I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t think you’d end up riling through my closet anyway.” 
“Put it on,” he says, tossing its hanger into your lap.
“I’m sorry, what?” The dress tries to slide from your lap to the floor, so you pull it up and lay it down on the bed next to you.”
“Put it on,” he says slower this time, as if that should clear up everything. 
“Why?” 
“Because I want to dance with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’d dance with you in your sweats, but I thought you might want to get all dolled up like me.” He smirks and runs his hands down the buttons of his maroon shirt. 
“You want to dance with me?” Maybe you’re still asleep and this is all a dream. 
“Yeah.” Again, he says it as if it’s something you do every day. His casual tone is making you think you’re the one who’s not making sense. 
“Okay,” you say as you stand. “I guess I’ll go change.”
“This is your room,” Eddie says, heading to the door. “Change here, I’ll wait out here.” He walks into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him. 
You slip the sweatpants down your legs and tug the sweatshirt off over your head. The single strapless bra you own is at the bottom of the drawer and you have to dig your way down to find it. The gold dress has a halter neckline so there’s no way you could wear a regular bra underneath. You squeeze the bra on, and even change your panties from blue ones with butterflies on it, to one of the few lace ones you own. 
The dress unzips easily and glides down your body as you get situated. You can’t zip it yourself, but Eddie can do that for you. Most of the makeup you own is in the bathroom, but you can make do with the little bit sitting over on your dresser. Looking in the mirror, you do a soft layer of makeup and then inspect your hair. It strikes you as funny when you see yourself in a golden dress with makeup on, but total bedhead up on top. You yank the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head to toss your hair around. It looks better but not great. Your eyes land on a silver hair clip dotted with pearls and you reach up to tuck some of your hair back and secure it with the pin. There. The look is done. 
When you open your bedroom door you expect Eddie to be waiting there but you don’t see him. You stick your head into the hall and look both ways but see no metal head. 
“Eddie?” you call.
“Coming!”
He jogs out of your dad’s office a few doors down, carrying a few sheets of paper. Eddie comes to a halt as he takes in your appearance. Heat blooms in your face as you watch Eddie scan every last detail of this ensemble. 
“You look gorgeous,” he says. It’s enough to make you pass out, but you somehow stay standing firm.
“Thank you,” you say. “You look very handsome. Did I tell you that when you first got here?”
“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Just a remark about me not wearing any denim.”
“Which is truly a miracle. But you do look handsome. Very handsome.”
He smiles and takes steps towards you, paper still in his hands.
“What’s this?” you ask.
“I’m not very good at origami, but I did my best to turn this sheet of paper into a corsage.”
Your heart leaps at his words and it’s another battle of wills with your tears when Eddie slips his improvised flower on your wrist. Some tears win the battle, and they trail down your face. Luckily, you were smart enough to apply waterproof makeup. 
“Eddie, this is…” you trail off, not having the words to express how you’re feeling. 
“You wanted prom, so I’m giving you prom.” He takes both of your hands in his and guides you back into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, his eyes never leaving your face. 
“Can you zip me up?” you ask. He nods and you turn around. His hands against your back sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps break out over your arms. You hear him chuckle and he trails the tips of his fingers over your shoulders as you turn back around.
“What’s with the smooth jazz?” Eddie can’t help but laugh at the saxophone solo coming in over the speakers. 
“I hit the dial again.”
“Well, let’s fix that.” He bends down and turns the dial to find a good station. The static goes in and out, some songs coming through in pieces, or sounding like they’re underwater. It finally lands on a clear station and Eddie grins in triumph. “Perfect. Love Comes Walking In.”
“You know I love Van Halen.”
Eddie stands up straight and takes the few steps over to you. He bows in classic dramatic Eddie fashion, and he comes back up with a frown on his face.
“You’re not wearing heels. Or shoes at all.”
“Eddie, I would’ve kicked them off the moment I got there anyway,” you tell him with a laugh. “Barefoot is fine.”
“Just checking. Want this to be an authentic impromptu prom for you.”
You giggle and Eddie reaches his hand out to you. You take it and he instantly pulls you in and holds you against his body. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t feel or hear your heart beating so fast it’s like someone is dribbling a basketball beneath your ribs. His right hand takes your left and he twines your fingers together. His other hand snakes around your waist until it settles warmly on your back. You place your other hand on his shoulder and smile up at him.
“This is already better than actual prom,” he says. “Good music. Perfect date.”
Red rises to your cheeks and you duck your head shyly. 
The pair of you sway to the beat of the song, bodies moving along with the rhythm. Eddie spins you and it makes you let out a giddy peal of laughter. He pulls you back into him and you wrap both arms around his neck. He places his hands firmly on your waist as you start to sway again. 
“Thank you,” you say.
“For what?”
“You brought all the best parts of prom to me. I didn’t have to suffer through the shitty parts. I’ve got my dress, my music, my favorite person. It’s perfect, Eddie.” 
“I’ll dance like this with you anytime,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”
The way he’s looking at you stirs some butterflies up that have been dormant until this point. He’s never looked at you this way and you’re not sure what it is. You know every Eddie facial expression and what they mean, but this one is new. His face is soft, and his eyes are wide, as usual. The brown irises are twinkling and there’s the barest smile on the left side of his mouth. 
“What are you thinking about?” you ask. 
“You,” he says. No further explanation, which leads your mind to grasping for answers as usual. 
“What about me?”
“Just…you.”
“Okay, I take back what I said about being a scholar now. You’ve lost the ability to words,” you say and wrinkle up your nose playfully at him. He catches you by surprise, though, when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the very tip of your nose. 
The blush you had before was nothing to the one now gracing your features. Eddie chuckles when he sees it and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. 
“Do you want to have another prom tomorrow?” he asks.
“What’s that entail? Dancing with you?”
“Yes.”
“Good music?”
“Of course.”
“Can I wear comfy clothes?”
“I’ll be wearing mine.”
“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to consider it. “Can we get food too?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I like the sound of that,” you say with a smirk.
“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks.
“Eddie, I’d have this kind of prom with you every single day.”
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”
4K notes · View notes
mnwrld · 2 months
Text
r u mine ? ━━ 5 ☆ grandma, ice bath, ugly animals
Tumblr media
🖇️ ― jisung is hopelessly head over heels for you. you're sort of head over heels for him too. the problem ? you're an idol and so is he.
previous ✮ masterlist ☆ next
word count. 1149 words
warnings. IGNORE TIMESTAMPS, suggestive comments/mentions of boners (jisung), swearing, sexual jokes, one mention of weed (brownies)
author’s note. our first ynsung interaction !!! count how many times jisung gets horny hahah what a silly boy
taglist. closed.
“Your performance was really great. You were really hot—I-I mean god. I mean good! I mean—” Jisung rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, looking down shyly as you blinked at him. He felt like he was making a complete fool of himself. But you hadn’t looked at him disgustedly or sent him away, so maybe things were okay still. He took a deep breath. “I mean, I really liked your performance and your new album is really great and you’re really talented. C-Could I maybe… would you maybe let me—uh, let me do the “Black Magic” Tik Tok with you?”
The urge to continue rambling was so strong, but he clamped his jaw shut and clasped his hands together, forcing himself to wait for you to respond. You blinked at him again, shock written all over your face. He watched as you swallowed and a small smile spread over your lips. “You wanna? You… want to do it with me? Not any of the other girls? O-Or is it just because I’m here—”
“No! I-I mean, uh, no, I wanted to do it… with you… specifically.” He cringed at the volume of your voice, but you didn’t seem to mind. You laughed a little and he thought it was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard. It made him horny. He thought about his grandma. 
“Okay, well, let me use the restroom really quickly and then we can find somewhere to film it.” 
He nodded and watched as you hurried towards the bathrooms. He pulled out his phone, fingers shaking and smile widening across his face. He had to tell the guys. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“Are you ready?” Your voice pulled him away from his phone. He nodded and pocketed it before following after you, a bounce in his step. 
God, you were so pretty. He wanted to kiss you. He chewed on his bottom lip and tried to push the thought away. He had to take it one step at a time. First step—dance with you. He could think about getting to know you and getting close enough to you that you would want to kiss him later. You stopped in front of a colorful wall and set your phone down on a table nearby. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and did the same. 
“So, I’ll teach you the dance before we start.” 
Jisung already knew the dance. Of course he did. He’d watched the Tik Tok you’d made probably a thousand times and it had only been posted yesterday. He didn’t say that though. He thought it would be hot to watch you teach him the moves. Maybe you would touch him. Fuck, his dick was getting hard. He thought of something that turned him off. 
When you figured Jisung had the movements down well enough, you asked Jisung to help you move the table so you could prop your phone up and have the colorful wall behind you as the background. You looked at him and smiled. He wanted to die. “Ready?” 
“Yeah,” he nodded and licked his dry lips. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 
The two of you tried three times before you sighed and pouted at him. “It’s too boring, you know? We need someone to film it.” 
“Hm, you’re probably right.” He frowned a little too and looked around at the empty hallway you were in. “Uh, let me text one of the guys and see if they’re available.” 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“Felix is coming.” 
You grinned. “Okay, cool.” 
It was quiet for a long moment. Jisung’s mind was racing. Should he say something? Was this awkward? Did you think he was weird? Would you even want him to talk to you? What if you thought he was a loser? Wait, that would be hot, actually. He blinked quickly, he had to stop thinking horny thoughts about you. 
“So, you liked our performance?” You finally asked, turning to look at him. 
“Oh, yeah!” He nodded enthusiastically, smiling widely as he remembered it. “It was great. Really.” 
“Ah, that means a lot coming from you.” 
He shook his head looking away and toeing at the tiled floor. “Nah, I’m not anyone special.” 
“You are!” You insisted, grabbing his hands so that he would look at you. His heart jumped into his throat as you spoke. “You’ve been at this for a while already and we’re still really new. And you’ve always been a really great performer. Really charismatic, you know? And just… talented. So compliments from you mean a lot to me.” 
He didn’t have a chance to say anything else because Felix showed up clearing his throat awkwardly and smirking at the two of you, eyes fixed on your joined hands. “Am I interrupting something?” 
“No!” Jisung jumped, pulling his hands out of yours carefully, a blush spreading over his cheeks. He missed the warmth of your hands in his. “No, we were just—I just—ugh! Just take the video please?” 
You snickered a little from beside him and it only fueled his embarrassment. Which kind of made his dick hard. Grandma, ice bath, ugly animals. Felix grinned and took your phone from you, quietly congratulating you on your comeback and your performance. Jisung hated that his heart panged painfully at the smile you gave Felix. He wanted you to only look at him like that. 
Felix filmed the Tik Tok for you and you were immediately pleased. You grinned up at Jisung and he felt like he was seriously close to purring like a cat at all the attention you were giving him. “I really like this take, but what do you think?” 
“Uh…” He was tempted to say no just so that he could spend more time with you. But he was sure you were worn out from performing and he didn’t want to force you to be in his presence any more than you had to. So he smiled at you and nodded. “I think it looks good. Great. I-It looks great.” 
“Thanks Felix,” you smiled at him again. He shrugged it off and left, claiming he really needed to find a bathroom. But when your back was turned he gave Jisung an over-exaggerated wink. Jisung flipped him off. 
You turned back to Jisung, “Um, thanks for… doing this with me. It was fun. I—”
“There you are!” Jisung looked up, face blanching as he saw his manager walking towards him. “Oh, good, you’re already with yn.” 
That was when Jisung noticed the other man trailing behind his manager. He must be your manager. The second man spoke. “Did someone already tell you?”
“Tell us what?” You looked confused and turned to Jisung. “We were just filming a Tik Tok.” 
“Ah. Well, we have some exciting news for you,” your manager grinned. 
Jisung’s stomach turned. His manager smiled too. “Music Core has asked you both to MC for them this season.” 
418 notes · View notes