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"Was this life a gift...or a burden? Did you find...fulfillment?"
Art by liliyalilium
#final fantasy xiv#ffxvi#zenos yae galvus#zenos viator galvus#zenos#wol#warrior of light#zenoswol#still my favorite comm i asked for
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Hello ❤️ I have some meta asks for your ocs
Kana: What controversies/drama would your character incite in fandom?
And (yes she gets two because I am biased and looking for crumbs)
What is the quote between your character and their love interest/whoever they might be shipped with that their fans would latch onto?
Kurumi: What would be the ‘incorrect but wildly popular’ interpretation of your character in fandom?
Yui: If your character had a breakout show/film/comic, what would the plot be? Who would be in their supporting cast?
- 🍎
Hello 🍎Anon 🫶✨👀 Thank you for sending this over and enabling me to yap more about my blorbos 🥰🥰🥰 I only know what to talk about when I draw them, but for pure text posts I often blank out on what to say, so I love asks! I will try my best to give you Kana crumbs too!
🍎Kana: What controversies/drama would your character incite in fandom?
If Kana were a canon character, Kana and controversies/drama are like blood brothers, like soulmates. They are a set package. It wasn't there at the start or perhaps there will be initial discourse about her gender. But fandom will find out eventually that they have bigger fish to fry. As more and more layers of her character gets revealed, the more fandom discourse there is. She is certainly not a character for people who view things in a black or white manner or those with low reading comprehension 😭🤣😭🤣 *looks at those gear grindingly loud mfs on twi//ter*
On the surface, she would prob be reduced to either a some kind of siscon (memes included) or straight-up a cruel/heartless character with ulterior motives ("maybe her love for Kurumi is just a facade? and she has ulterior motives?"). If you peel off the first few layers, you will see that she really does genuinely love Kurumi and her family, for better or for worse. If you peel off more layer, you will see an asshole. If you peel even more layers, you will see an even bigger asshole banned from hell.
Also do you know that one meme where they keep putting Oi\\kawa (from Hai\\kyuu, a VOLLEYBALL series) in a line up of actual villains/war criminals?
Kana would be there, except she kinda deserves to be there. People who don't get the joke would complain about why Oi//kawa keeps getting included in these fuckass lists that includes Kana and other messed up characters lmao (truthfully i didn't get it at first when i saw it and was lowkey pissed since im an oi//kawa oshi lmaooo now it's just funny every time i see it. still crazy to see him lined up with characters like d//io or aiz//en or gri//ffith like damn wwwwww)
Did you know? My favorite character from Monster is Joh//ann Lieb//ert hahahaha nothing important, just wanna say it haha,,,hahaha,,,,, pls ignore if you don't know Monster sdkjfsdhvfsd
🍎Kana: What is the quote between your character and their love interest/whoever they might be shipped with that their fans would latch onto?
The least spoilery thing I can come up with on the spot on is Hibari telling her "You're so stupid (affectionate & relieved)" after she does (and says) something objectively very stupid that could even give YuiRumi&family a heart attack & a stroke simultaneously.
Short, simple, effective. ME, personally, I will lose my mind and latch onto it even on my deathbed.
If you want something that could potentially come from a Kana POV, I do have a quote like this saved:
🎀Kurumi: What would be the ‘incorrect but wildly popular’ interpretation of your character in fandom?
For Kurumi, I think modern fandom would focus too much on her gender? There would be a divide in the fandom based on how they interpret the "Gender: ?" in her profile lmao We can see a lot of people insisting that she's non-binary. That's fine and all, everyone is free to interpret characters as they like (except if the creator has reiterated clear rules and boundaries for it). The problem is that we can also see people say that you can't refer to her as anything else but non-binary sjdgbhjsdfvhjsbfd
🤖Yui: If your character had a breakout show/film/comic, what would the plot be? Who would be in their supporting cast?
My understanding of this question is that it's asking for a Yui spin-off where he's the MC! It would be in a light novel format under the romantic comedy genre (with some sci-fi, perhaps? because he loves making robots hahaha inb4 it becomes a mecha story). The story's main couple would be him and Hiyori, because that's what Yui would've wanted. He is delusional and down bad.
In terms of shipping, we actually have three main ships we've committed to. It's just that I often end up posting about the two CanonxOC pairs more sjkdfjskdf but the third one is an OCxOC pair between Yui and Hiyori (YuiHiyo). Sowwwwyyy Yui! uwu Hiyorin is holding me at syringe-point and telling me to shut the fuck up about it.
#khr#khre#khr oc#oc#oc ask#ninomiya kanako#ninomiya kurumi#yorimitsu yui#i keep implying kana is a red flag and red just might be one of my favorite colors 🥴🥴#the answer for kurumi's is based on sou's fandom exp too lol#my observation so far from the answers in the fandom ask meme is that yuirumi are the type of characters that would suffer from fandom#while kana is the type of character that would make the fandom suffer#if i find a VA i can comm that can do taka//shi kon//do impressions its gonna be so joever for me and whoever is in this ship with me#problem is i can't even find one for yui so like what more for hibari sdjfbdjbf (so his profile won't have a voice clip like kanarumi's)#anyone out there feel free to hit me up if u find a good candidate#i still find it so lucky i knew about eru bc i followed her during my ai//nana addiction era and are moots on twi//tter#im still saving up for it but i do have plans for kanarumi voice drama at least haha i will be fed for the next 100 years when i manifest i#wrt to what i said in the 1st paragraph i should rlly just make separate text posts for the shit i yap abt in the tags so more ppl can see
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sat here thinking of the ichigang playing mario party and i was like 'i should make a tierlist of how rgg characters play mario party' but wouldnt you know it my brain is huge
#snap chats#ive been watching my favorite guys play mario party while i work on comm stuff so thats why i was thinkin LMAO#i was also thinkin of one of my fave hcs wherein despite ichi being a true lover of videogames hes not super good at them#like hes GOOD but not AS good as you might think- true casual behavior he's just here for a good time#esp not after not bein able to play anything for like... two decades..#anyway maybe i should update the mario party list.... no i think im still solid on this analysis#i miss playing mario party with my sibs..#we played 4 a lot growin up and APPARENTLY 6 also but when i was Too Young To Remember#apparently i got so mad losing a minigame i accidentally pulled the controller and the gamecube off the table#and that damaged the disk enough to make it unreadable. LMAO baby rage real#ok bye i should finish at least one comm today i have a lot to catch up on#also can i remind everyone tumblr tag system still sucks cause i KNEW i made the mario party post before#but of course trying to look for it tumblr was gaslighting me into thinking it didnt exist like OK. Asshole#luckily i had the og png portraits so i just checked the file date on those and went to look for the ask#ok im gone now bye
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Just wanted you to know I appreciate the tags on your boy. I see them every time you reblog him and it makes me smile every time <3 so glad you like him so much
I love him with my whole heart! I'm always so impressed when I look at him, can't believe you felted all of his little spines. I could gush for a while about all the little details tbh. The thing that impresses me the most is pose and proportion and all of the shapes which are all just so natural (which feels weird to say, but I've done a few felting projects and getting shapes to look and flow right while also being distinct is something I struggled with, so I admire how you did it!!).
Also he has his little front feet crossed in the same way our cat crosses her paws when she sits in her hammock, which is just a silly little detail that I love so much.
#frowningfox#asks#sara speaks#im glad you enjoy the tags#i like when artists send their art around again#especially when it's a comm i got#and i get to just point and shout and say I STILL ENJOY THIS!#i think its nice to be able to say it again.#it feels like the internet can just swallow up craft in favor of new new new onto the next thing#which has its benefits but also... i still enjoy what's been made yknow?#i am still enjoying it. i will continue to enjoy it.#oh its a bit late and i have rambled a bit#anyway my husband got me a felted sculpture of the dragon my dnd character raised and its one of my favorite possessions#and you all ought to maybe see about getting yourself a beloved little dragon too!
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Are you still continuing the Earthbound fic? I loved the first chapter
oh gosh. Not to be obi wan kenobi on main but. That is not a name I have heard in a long time 🥺🥺🥺
Ok so like, I was, I really was going to continue it. And that fic is my baby. That’s like. My first born child. I was SO proud of it. So it wasn’t that I fell out of love w the series or I lost my passion for it bc . Gahhhh it was the best thing I’d come up w/ in a while. This is the fic
What happened was, the app I was writing on (My W Days bc, idk it was convenient at the time and I wasn’t really into google docs) decided that in the middle of the second chapter (I had literally written out the whole library scene where Ness gets the map and part of the Sharks stuff) it would just. Destroy half the file????? so I was like. Ok.
And I just. Never wanted to go back it made me so pissed. Left a bad taste in my mouth idk.
But idkkkkk I can’t say I won’t ever go back to it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i still have the whole fic scripted out I’m my notes and I go back and reread it sometimes lol it would’ve been 22 chapters fr
Seriously though thank you so much for having read and enjoyed the first chapter. I really wish I could’ve shared more with you 💕💕
#listen like. at the time that fic was SO important to me#writing Ness as a community college kid helped me understand my own feelings abt being a gifted kid in high school and then.#by circumstances having to go to comm college#which now I’ve been accepted to a prestigious 4 year so i guess I’m more like Porky now haha#but like. this was at the height of my love for catcher in the rye and I think it shows. ness is very holden-coded#catcher in the rye is still my favorite book I’ve read it three times. idk I just like pessimistic characters who try to be quirky lol#writing them is just so fun#i will say. something that didn’t help was that I got into persona immediately after I published the first chapter#and if i was going to finish something I’ve got some Shu/ake and Maru/dachi stuff I really need to finish up#but man . i do think abt this fic a lot and I hope to return to it someday#thank you so so much for asking about it im really glad you enjoyed it. that makes me happier than. man idk what#ask
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writing rain world fic so fun i love coming up w all the background iterator dynamics <3 we arent gonna see any of them but i WILL keep leaving hints about their relationships <3
#if u wanna hear more about this fic um. send asks :333#chatter#my favorite bit i came up w is that#moon and sig are like BESTIES besties bc they were the first two in the local group#and so for a real long time it was just the two of them. ride or die for each other etc etc#and so cut to when pebbles comes into play and moon is like 'sig if anything happens to me#(bc shes assuming when iterators start breaking down from time she'll be one of the first to go bc shes Old)#you be there for pebbles okay. hes my little brother i love him'#and sig is like 'aight bet' and then. when pebbles kills moon#all bets are OFF okay. sig is like cool. now its my life mission to Ruin Pebbles' Life#course when moon finds out she feels VERY conflicted about this lol#bc sig is still her bestie despite this but pebbles is her brother and i think moon loves pebbles to the point where like.#she'd let herself be hurt by him and not really be able to hate him even if she is mad#(ex how long she waits to force comms with him even tho not doing this Is killing her)#meanwhile she learns about srs and is like oh cool. i hate them forever. this is easy :)#anyways NORMAL ABOUT THIS GAME fic is 17k and counting :)
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"i happen to love happiness"
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pairing... op81 x norris!reader
now playing... daylight by taylor swift
summary... lando is not happy about the developments between his teammate and his sister
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liked by oscarpiastri, alexandeasaintmluex, lilymhe, and others
yourusername girls love monaco, proud of you lan
view comments:
mclaren our favorite sibling duo!
yourusername also your only sibling duo??
landonorris you're going to make me lose my job
user y/n being an icon as always
lilymhe gf 😍😍
yourusername gf 😍😍
user oh to have norris genes
user ikr every day i wake up mad that i dont look like a norris sibling
landonorris thanks for coming, y/n/n
yourusername 🫶
user them still using their childhood nicknames for each other is my favorite thing ever
alexandrasaintmluex mother
yourusername 💍?
charles_leclerc seriously y/n
alex_albon you get used to it 😊
yourusername you guys are just mad i stole your bitchessss
user the day y/n gets pr trained is the day i die
user i'm new to f1, is it a big deal that oscar is in her likes?
user no, lando and oscar are very close so it makes sense that y/n and oscar follow each other and like each other's posts. especially bc y/n is somewhat of an influencer
liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and others
mclaren a very requested norris siblings dump!
view comments:
landonorris whos that ugly rat next to me in all these photos
yourusername die.
danielricciardo awe look they used to get along
landonorris false, we chased each other with knives
yourusername false, i chased you and you cried
user y/n being the younger sibling and the chaser is my favorite thing ever
oscarpiastri my favorite norris and her annoying older brother
user WOAHHHH OSCAR
user oscar i was not aware of your game
landonorris excuse you?
charles_leclerc scureriaferrari where's mine and arthur's dump 🤨🤨
scureriaferrari our bad, on it
mclaren copycats
user oh how i love admin beef
yourusername's story
view reply from landonorris
landonorris y/n/n
landonorris what the fuck
landonorris where are you
landonorris who is he
yourusername jesus lando no "i hope it goes well"
landonorris i hope it goes terribly you're too young to dare
yourusername IM 21?!?!
view reply from georgerussell63
georgerussell63 i was asked to check in on you
yourusername everything's going great, thank you george
view reply from alex_albon
alex_albon i was also asked to check in on you
yourusername i promise it's all fine tell lando to calm down
view reply from carlossainz55
carlossainz55 he's sitting in your apartment waiting for you to come home btw
yourusername great.
view reply from lilymhe
lilymhe GIRLS DATE TOMORROW I NEED DETAILS
yourusername 🫡
TWITTER:
landonorris this is my formal request for everyone to go on a manhunt for my sister and this boy (i just gagged while typing that) she is on a date with. she is at a nice italian restaurant in monaco. internet do your thing.
user overprotective brother lando has made his public debut
user lando i have some unfortunate news for you.
landonorris WHAT
user oscar was just spotted at a nice italian restaurant in monaco
landonorris no.
f1wagupdates oscar piastri was just seen with who appears to be lando norris's sister, y/n norris. y/n posted a picture of their meal on her instagram story with the caption "first date, kinda nervous" and tagged monaco as a broad location. what do we think?
view attached image
user oh my god they're adorable
landonorris i just vomited
danielricciardo oh this is fun
user i cannot wait to see how this unfolds
landonorris oscarpiastri if what i am is hearing is true, count your fucking days.
user a non-pr trained norris strikes again
INSTAGRAM
liked by oscarpiastri, lilymhe, francisca.cgomez, and others
yourusername i can explain
view comments
landonorris y/n im nauseous
landonorris how could you do this to me
landonorris no point in soft launching i already know you betrayed me
yourusername i will explain if you come to my apartment and KNOCK instead of breaking in
landonorris will HE be there
yourusername no.
yourusername food will be provided
landonorris deal
georgerussell63 ok this is cute
landonorris GEORGE YOU TRAITOR
maxverstappen1 y/n you're going to kill your brother with a heart attack
yourusername good 😊
user THEYRE SO CUTE
user ahhhh y/n in her gf era
user more like wag era!!
fransisca.cgomez im so happy for you 🥹
yourusername ily kiks
lilymhe ❤️
liked by yourusername
charles_leclerc you torturing lando is incredible
yourusername thanks i've had lots of time to train and perfect my abilities
danielricciardo ok but on a real note you deserve this, so glad you're happy
yourusername this is why you're my second favorite driver 🫶
landonorris IVE BEEN DEMOTED TO 3RD?!?
yourusername pls you're 18th
user bye i want to know who y/n has beef with on the grid
oscarpiastri 🫂
liked by yourusername
user THIS IS GETTING REALLL
liked by yourusername, mclaren, logansargeant, and others
oscarpiastri 🧡
tagged yourusername
view comments
user OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING ITS OFFICIAL
yourusername ❣️
liked by oscarpiastri
lilymhe this is the cutest thing ive ever seen
alex_albon i tell you im in love with you in your comments??
lilymhe shush alex
landonorris hello.
oscarpiastri hello.
yourusername LADIES, LADIES! THERES ENOUGH OF ME TO GO AROUND
user oh how i love yn
logansargeant OSCAR??? WITH A GIRLFRIEND?? THIS IS UNHEARD OF
oscarpiastri 😐
mclaren so... need another paddock pass for canada?
oscarpiastri yes 😅
landonorris no
user my ynoscar heart cant take this
user THE SUNSET DATE??
user THE AQUARIUM DATE??
landonorris bleh.
TWITTER
landonorris oscar jack piastri i am in your walls
yourusername he was actually just in mine this morning 😊
user Y/N 😭
landonorris OH MY GOD Y/N
landonorris YOU'RE LITERALLY A CHILD YOU SHOULD NOT BE DOING THAT
landonorris ARE YOU AT LEAST BEING SAFE???
f1tea make the replies lando's search history
user how to get my little sister's boyfriend to leave her but not hurt her feelings
user are condoms 100% effective
user oscar piastri social security number
user how long until the average couple breaks up
user should i be happy that my sister is in a relationship
user what to do if you don't get along with your teammate anymore
user oscar piastri mclaren contract end date
user oscar piastri dating history
user oscar piastri location
INSTAGRAM
liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, yourusername, and others
landonorris look at what i have to deal with. i hate happiness.
tagged yourusername, oscarpiastri
view comments
yourusername awe lando this is probably the sweetest thing you've ever done in response to my relationship
landonorris stfu i'll delete this
user norris sibling bond has not been broken
user WAR IS OVER (??)
maxverstappen1 i see some of the convincing worked
landonorris don't flatter yourself
maxverstappen1 i actually take full credit for this
georgerussell63 hey it was a group effort
alex_albon ^
charles_leclerc ^
carlossainz55 ^
danielricciardo ^
logansargeant ^
lewishamilton ^
oscarpiastri am i allowed back at your house or no
landonorris you may come if you feel so inclined
zbrownceo see lando supporting your family is good for you
landonorris meh 2/10 experience
liked by oscarpiastri, kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmluex, and others
yourusername i happen to love happiness ❣️
tagged oscarpiastri
view comments
lilymhe AWEEEEEEEE
liked by yourusername
iamrebeccad this is precious
liked by yourusername
logansargeans he's giggling and kicking his feet rn
oscarpiastri am not
georgerussell63 are too
alex_albon are too
alexandeasaintmluex my favorite ❤️
yourusername i love u
user YNOSCAR HAS MY ENTIRE HEART
user how can they be so cute
francesca.cgomez y/n/n and her boy 🥹
liked by yourusername
oscarpiastri you're my favorite person
yourusername and you're mine
landonorris gag
yourusername FUCK OFF LANDO
landonorris i am still nauseous but this is growing on me
yourusername jesus finally
#formula 1#f1#smau#lando norris#mclaren#oscar piastri leclerc#oscar piastri#oscar piastri smau#op81#op81 x you#op81 fluff#op81 imagine#op81 x reader#lizlovestofangirlformula1#smaus ᡣ𐭩
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32 / 1.4k / soap soulmate au, part 9
...
Soap goes still and quiet, his grip loosening. "People?"
"Human trafficking."
"How do you know?"
"Because security is quadrupled in the basement lounge. The client and his inner circle are scheduled to move downstairs after midnight. They're calling it an afterparty."
"You're sure it's not drugs?"
"I'm sure. I saw the dossier given to security downstairs."
Soap's mouth twists. The target sure as hell isn't leaving this place alive if he can help it. “Could’ve mentioned that earlier."
“I tried. Who do you think tipped Laswell off?"
That gives Soap pause. "Laswell? You’ve been in touch with her?"
"Once." You curl your fingers tighter into his vest and grab his chin to make him look at you. "Johnny, listen. If you kill him now, everything locks down. You won't be able to get into the basement. You need to get down there quietly with the element of surprise."
"What have you got in mind? Covert extraction, no prep, no briefing?" He raises one hand as if to cover yours, to trace along your knuckles. After so long, he can’t help it. He just wants to touch you. "That's a lot to ask. What was your plan if we didn’t show? Go it alone?"
"Figure it out as I go along, I guess."
"Christ, you're a headache." Soap's hand tightens around yours, gently pulling it off his collar to bring your hand up to his cheek. He turns up your palm and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You're on his side this time. He can't put into words how light it makes him feel.
He makes a low sound in his throat before he pulls back again. He clicks on his radio. "Captain, LT, you'll want to hear this."
While Soap explains the situation on his team's comms, you put yourself back together, checking your rifle and your gear. He watches you the whole time. You’re not what he remembers—not the cornered animal he met in that interrogation room before. You're in your element. If he could, he’d drag you away, take you back to some safehouse somewhere, and focus on getting to know you in every way and every position he knows. Patience, he tells himself. After this mission, he'll have all the time in the world.
After the brief conference--and Laswell confirming she’d received an anonymous, cryptic tip about stolen goods in the target’s favorite Swiss Alps resort--he turns back to you. "Price wants the target no matter what. We're pullin' back to regroup and plan our strategy."
Your stomach drops. "What? There's no time."
"You said it yourself: we have no intel, no time to prep, and no good way in. Civilians everywhere. If it goes tits up, people die." He grabs your hand and pulls you into the hall, heading for the stairwell. "We're fallin’ back and regrouping while we still can."
You jerk your hand out of his, stumbling back. "We have intel. I was briefed on this mission. I can get downstairs,” you argue.
You mean alone. Soap doesn't like that. "Not happening,” he snaps, his voice rough with frustration. He glares down at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth. “I know you can more than handle yourself, but not against a hundred of these bastards."
"Those bastards are my coworkers," you retort. "They won't look twice at me."
That's the worst part. Your familiarity with this place makes you an undeniable asset for this mission—that’s why he sought you out. The reason that’ll be in the official report, anyway. Damn it. He's torn between the knowledge that he should be happy you’re willing to help his team out and his desire to throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of the building.
"You said yourself security's quadrupled down there. If it goes loud, you're done. I'm not lettin’ you play hero. No. Ain't happenin'."
“Then we find a different plan,” you argue. You've never met someone so hard-headed.
"She might have a point," Gaz's voice says in Soap’s earpiece. "If we find a way to bring security up to the ground floor instead, you and Ghost can get down there and find the hostages. Security's already jumpy with the power out--give them a reason to come upstairs and they will. It’s just a matter of finding a distraction. And we've got snipers posted. Distractions are easy."
Hearing Gaz, you nod. “I'll take the target and lead him into view for your snipers.”
Soap curses under his breath, running a hand over his mohawk. He wishes he’d turned his radio off. He doesn't like putting you at risk.
You huff and sling your rifle over your back. Time is slipping away. "I need to find the target. I'll wait for your signal and--"
Soap grabs your arm before you can walk past him. "Jesus, stop. Give me a minute to think."
"We don't have--"
"Time, I ken." Soap's grip tightens. He tugs you against him again, one hand going to the back of your neck to hold you in place. "You're not goin'. Not without me."
"That's ridiculous!" Your voice climbs despite the way he forces you closer--folds his arm around your lower back and pulls you chest-to-chest. "They’ll see you. And they’re not just going to arrest you, okay—they’ll kill you."
Soap’s expression tightens. "How do I know you won't abscond with the target? Wouldn’t be the first time you left us high and dry."
You close your mouth and stare at him. He’s worried you’ll betray him. Your gaze falls to his chest, silent, because it wouldn't be the first time.
At the look on your face, Soap’s chest feels like it’s caving in. But he keeps going before he loses his nerve. He doesn't care if it's selfish. "You disappeared. No word. No message. Not even a thank you. I'm not lettin' that happen a second time. One wrong move and I'm pullin' you out."
He lets go of you, unhooks the collar radio from around his neck, and puts it around yours instead. "Tell my team when and where you have the target in place. They'll take care of the rest."
You put the earpiece in place and adjust the bit around your neck. "Fine."
He stands still, arms crossed, as you adjust your gear one more time. Your nerves are shot.
You glance at him, an apology stuck in your throat. "I was going to contact you, I just..."
"Just what? Had more important things going on? Assholes to protect?" he snaps. He stalks closer, towering over you again. The frustration flashing through his eyes eclipses the sudden, haunted look of a man who hasn't slept well in weeks.
You press your hand to the armor on his chest and lower your voice. "I get it if you don't trust me. Just... trust that I want your target dead as much as you do."
"Promise me you won't disappear on me again."
You bite the inside of your lip and put your hand on his cheek. Something in your chest twinges when he leans into it. "I promise," you lie.
"Good." He closes his eyes and lowers his forehead to yours. He breathes deeply, committing your touch to memory.
Then he opens his eyes and angles your jaw up toward his, his mouth slanting over yours in a hard, possessive kiss that empties your brain completely. When he pulls away, his eyes glimmer.
"You’d better stand by that promise, darlin’,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “I let you go in Las Almas because you didn’t want my protection yet. Could’ve taken you with me whether you liked it or not, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you hatin’ me. Even if it meant keepin’ you safe.” The cool leather on his knuckles brushes tenderly against your neck. "But those reservations aren’t holdin’ me back anymore. I will do what needs to be done if you play games with me. You understand?"
You stare at him, heart thumping strangely. "I don't think that's... necessary."
“I hope it’s not.” He cups your jaw in his hands and brings your lips to his again. The kiss this time is gentler, softer—just a slow, intimate press that melts you completely. You’re breathless by the time he lifts his head. "When this is over, you're mine."
You nod weakly, not trusting yourself to speak.
...
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / [part 9] / part 10 / part 11 / part 12
more Soap / masterlist tag
#soulmate soap#mine#story#soulmate au#fem reader#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#soap cod#johnny mactavish#soap mactavish#soap x reader#x reader#soap x you#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x you#cod#cod x reader#call of duty#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#tf 141#tf 141 x reader
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champagne problems: part two
pairing: jake sim x f reader
genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff
part two word count: 33.2k
part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system
soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic
part one can be found on my masterlist!
note: reuploaded from my old blog with the same name! welcome back if you've been here before, and enjoy the conclusion to part one if you're new. happy reading ♡
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
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。⋆
note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.
#enhypen fanfiction#jake sim fanfic#jake sim x reader#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#jake sim scenarios#jake sim imagines#enhypen fanfic#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#jake sim fluff#jake sim angst
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Feral
Survive The Night Day 2: Predator/Prey
Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader
Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Chasing, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Creampie, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Restraining Holds (i.e pinning/holding reader down), Fear Kink (?), Alien Genitalia (not really the focus, but its there), Knotting, Belly Bulge
Word Count: 7.3K
A/N: Based off a dream I had where Neteyam chased me through my house and I was running for my fucking life. Why didn't I let him catch me, you ask? Cause dream Talie is stupid.
Summary: You never understood why the Na'vi don't use this particular plant in their healing practices. It's a miracle plant for the humans - cutting healing times nearly in half when used as a topical paste. You would think it would have some similar benefits to the Na'vi. You would be wrong.
**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**
Translations:
Tawtute - Human
Kehe rikx - Don't move
Rutxe ftang - Please stop
Kehe - No
Even considering he’s a nine foot tall blue alien, Neteyam Sully still looks extremely out of place standing on the clean, white tiled floor of the lab.
His siblings don’t look so out of place when they visit - comfortable and familiar enough within the confines of the lab to make themselves at home among the multitude of beakers, whirling machines, and thick observation glass that make up your day-to-day workplace. Their large bodies twisting and contorting with ease when necessary to accommodate for the smaller space.
Neteyam isn’t so lucky. He doesn’t like the human facilities, opting to follow in his mother’s footsteps and stay as far away from the skypeople as he can. He’s only here because he was ordered to be, sent by his father to fix his broken throat comm before they head out with the hunting party on a three day hunting trip.
He looks uncomfortable as he stands behind you, back stiff and arms crossed across his broad chest as he watches you tinker with the comm. Repairing tech has never been your strong suit, so it’s taking you a bit longer to figure out than it probably should have, but since you're currently the only person left in this half of the base, the responsibility has unintentionally fallen to you.
You should be out there too. The thought forms bitterly in your head as you poke at the small opened compartment of the comm with your tweezers. Your favorite part of research is going out into the world and finding the specimens. The lab is great, a fine place for breaking ground and learning new things, gathering knowledge and data about a flora and fauna in a way that no other humans had ever had the opportunity to do before. Pandora is your home, where you grew up and lived your whole life - and yet, it’s still a mystery, and you learn something new and beautiful about it everyday.
But the real fun is outside the lab. It’s when you're out there, in the thick of it, stepping over breaching roots and feeling the moss of the ground between your toes when you take off your shoes during a rest break. It’s feeling the gentle breeze of air along your skin and hearing the trees rustle in the canopy above you as a result, and pretending that - just for a minute - you can feel the breeze of alien air brush against your face instead of your mask.
Usually one of the older scientists, Alice, offers to stay behind at the lab to run tests and be on call for the Omatikaya should human tech ever be needed. But she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to locating the elusive and seasonally grown plant that’s come to be known as the Rust Plant.
So, that leaves you here, on your ass and pouting while everyone else gets to go off and have their fun.
As far as you know, the plant doesn’t have any special properties or spiritual significance to the Na’vi. But when the red dust-like powder is collected from the center and manipulated into a liquid, the result is a miracle paste that significantly reduces healing time with human injuries. You asked about it once - why the Na’vi don’t try to make the paste for themselves to see if it will work on them - but the only answer you got back was that it had some ‘unintended consequences’ when used by the clan, so they stay away from the plant altogether.
You don’t think about that when Neteyam walks in.
The plant mixture, once rust red, is now a beautiful glowing purple inside the beaker - a reaction from the solution added to the powder to form the liquid base. It’s been on the hot plate for a while now, but it’s only just starting to heat up enough to provide small spirals of smoke inside the clear glass.
You’re glancing at the clock when you hear Neteyam sniff slightly behind you. You don’t turn around, ignoring the little puffs of air that somehow sound like bullet shots in the silence, but a part of you is instantly insecure. What is he smelling? It can't be the mixture in the beaker. Despite the smoke, it doesn’t give off any kind of smell. Subtly, you press your chin to your chest, trying to see if you can smell yourself to find out if maybe it’s you giving off some kind of stench that his overly sensitive nose is picking up on, but you don’t smell anything off about you either.
The purple liquid is still thin inside the container, needing several more minutes of constant heat in order to bubble and thicken slightly before it can be considered a usable product, but you pause your tinkering on the comm to note the time for the smoke in a small notebook.
Neteyam lets out a loud sigh when you drop the tweezers to grab a pencil, the annoyed huff nearly ear piercing in the quiet of the lab. This time you can’t help but glance towards the harsh noise, a slight tilt of your head towards the large Na’vi and your eyes meet amber for just a second before they drop again to the paper as you scribble.
A part of you wants to be snobby, ask a prissy ‘can I help you?’ just because you feel like he’s being so unnecessarily rude when you're just trying to help, but you keep your mouth shut.
He doesn’t.
“Are you nearly done?” He grunts, accented tone pitched with agitation as his feet shuffle on the tile.
“Yes, just a few more minutes,” You say, picking the tweezers back up. “Be patient.”
You think you’ve almost got the comm fixed, just a minor replacement to the tiny inside panel, and you're thankful that’s all it is. It shouldn’t take too long. You’ve nearly got the replacement piece in place now, so all you should have to do is solder it in and it should be fine. Which is good because the sooner you can get this fixed, the sooner you can get the huffy, oversized, unfortunately very handsome despite being an incredible dick of a Na’vi out of the lab so you don’t have to feel him breathing down your neck anymore.
It only takes another couple minutes for the smoke to consume the rest of the empty space in the beaker, thick white wisps swirling inside of the glass and spiraling out of the top. You drop the tweezers again, cutting the power off to the hot plate and grab the pencil again to log the time.
Neteyam sniffs again, this time audibly louder and longer, before it sounds like his breath gets caught in his lungs.
Immediately, your head spins around to stare at him wide eyed, surprise and concern flooding your chest when you notice he’s backed up a few steps. He’s staring at the bubbling beaker, yellow eyes set with suspicion and what almost looks like distress.
“Are you o–”
“What is that?” He interrupts, voice gruff as his three fingered hand points to the beaker.
“It’s… the mixture for our healing paste,” You reply, confused.
“No! What is it?”
“The Rust Plant? The one that grows on the sides of river b–”
You’re cut off again by a sharp hiss, and you have just a second to register Neteyam’s dagger-like teeth as he stalks forward, spitting out a frustrated “You stupid–” before he’s jerking back, hand immediately covering his nose as if to stop himself from breathing.
He looks wild, eyes frantic as he stares at the beaker, and every muscle in his body looks tense, stung up tight like a bow ready to shoot. You’re a scientist, you’re meant to be observant, so you don’t know why you didn’t see it before. But it’s clear as anything now. The smoke doesn’t have any kind of smell to you, but to him - with the way he’s backing away and covering his nose to keep from breathing it in - it must be horrible.
His tail is trashing behind him, so upset that you think you can almost hear a swish from it cutting through the air like a whip.
“I need to leave,” He says suddenly. Instinctively, you back up into the desk at the sight of the large and angry Na’vi coming at you again, but he just grabs the still broken comm and turns around to storm out.
He’s big though, too much for the small space of the lab, and his frantic tail is still thrashing as he turns. The thin appendage accidentally snaps against the side of the still smoking beaker, sending it flying off the desk and onto the ground.
The glass shatters against the tile, glowing purple spreading across the white floor in a large puddle as the smoke spirals up into the air. Neteyam’s hand instinctively drops from his nose to grip onto his tail, holding the end of it close to him as if to keep it from swinging and smacking into anything else. But you watch, shocked and frozen in your spot as he takes one shuddering breath, and then another, tense back muscles shifting under his cobalt skin with each inhale and exhale of air.
“Neteyam?” You ask, timidly. Dread shoots through your chest and you have the feeling that something very serious just happened, but you don’t even know what.
He’s just standing there now, back towards you, but he’s not moving towards the door anymore. It’s like something is keeping him from moving, some unseen force that exploded out of the glass container when it burst and wrapped its tendrils around him before he could take another step.
Whatever he was smelling from the beaker wasn’t good for him, and now it's in the air, invisible signatures swirling through the small space of the lab, and it's affecting him - the ‘unintended consequences’ of the Rust Plant on the Na’vi.
Your every instinct is telling you to stay away from him, that he’s dangerous. But he’s one of the Omatikaya, and regardless of how he views humans, you know he would never hurt you and disobey his father like that.
“Hey,” You say, gently. You force yourself away from the desk, slowly moving around him to try to not startle him as you attempt to make your way to the airlock door. “Just relax, okay? Let’s try to air this pl–”
His deep growl has you frozen again, cold ice shoots through your veins at the predatory sound. It’s not a normal growl - not a low, quick sound made in anger or frustration. It sounds dark, a deep dangerous rumbling that came from his chest. A warning.
You watch in horror as he slowly tilts his head towards you, the pointed tips of his sharp teeth visible under the snarled curl of his lips, glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the lab. Your brain screams at you to run - danger, danger, danger, it shouts, but you can’t move. The realization hits hard: he’s not Neteyam anymore. The Na’vi in front of you is not the same human-indifferent, scoffing, fearless warrior son of Toruk Makto.
He’s an animal. A predator.
Feral.
His golden eyes are now just a thin band of dark honey encircling two endless black holes. And in their reflection you see yourself - tiny and weak. Scared.
Prey.
His body shifts slightly, just the most minuscule movements as he angles himself towards you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had your survival instincts not been ringing alarm bells in your brain. Without thinking, you grab the hot plate, gripping it tightly at its base and holding it in front of you as your only form of weapon.
“Neteyam Sully!” You shout, and you can’t even believe how out of your mind you are to try to use his full name like an upset mother. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you stop it right now!”
There’s not even a second after the words leave your mouth, not a beat or breath or anything before he’s coming at you.
Your body registers his sudden movement before your brain does, the roaring snarl bouncing off the walls of the lab as he lunges at you. The hot plate is out of your hands in an instant, the hard base of the plate smacking into his face with a loud cuh-thunk. His snarl is interrupted with a grunt from the hit, body jerking back a step from the impact, and you don’t wait around to see the way his eyes zero in on your retreating form again in rage.
You can’t think - your body is moving without your brain telling it what to do. Pure panic mixed with raw survival instincts is what drives you through the door behind you, nearly smacking into the wall as you barrel down the main hallway. You hear Neteyam’s footsteps close behind, bare feet smacking against the tile.
It’s a sound you never thought you would find terrifying. You think of little Mae, the daughter of the staff nurse and one of the science guys, and how the sound of her tiny footsteps stomping on these same tiles floors always brought a smile to your face. You could always hear her coming before you saw her, just a few seconds before she rounded the corner with unsteady steps ready to cause havoc as she tries to run from her exhausted and overstimulated mother.
These ones are louder though. Heavier, but somehow more quiet as they rush at you from across the unobstructed hall. Your body doesn’t wait for your mind to catch up, and that’s probably a good thing considering you have no idea how the fuck you knew to take the split second turn to your right the exact moment Neteyam tried to pounce.
You hear his snarl of anger as he rights himself, loud and echoing through the hallway. You’ve managed to best him for a second, but he’s still on your ass - gaining ground on you with his long Na’vi legs despite the cramped human-sized halls.
Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding with fear, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you going. You can’t breathe - shallow, panicked, quick puffs of air rip from you as you run, your high pitched gasps sounding against the hall walls as a foil to Neteyam’s predatory growls.
“HELP!” You scream, voice cracking with how loud you're trying to scream. The desperation and pure terror are evident in your voice and you know if someone were around they would hear you for sure. Someone has to be around. They have to be. “SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!”
No one responds. No one steps in to intervene. No one even opens their door to try to take a little bit of a peek. No one to run to for help even though it feels like you're about to get mauled to death by a Thanator.
You’re truly alone. And that thought makes you somehow even more desperate.
Most people have a tendency to close the doors of their bedrooms, trying to keep as much privacy as they can in the small base. Norm has no such desires, often too excited or too focused on getting to his studies that he outright forgets to close his door.
It’s a god send now that you’re sprinting through the residency part of the outpost. Your room is one of the last down the hall. You won’t make it. Not with the way you’re shaking right now, body feeling like it's somehow both freezing over with ice and lighting on fire as the fear and adrenaline fight for dominance for your immediate attention. Neteyam’s right behind you, long stride more than twice the size of yours cutting any distance you gained through your miracle of a move back down to barely anything at all.
He’s going to catch you.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.
Throwing yourself at a random door is dangerous. Just the extra second it takes to turn the knob and push the door open could almost certainly be the difference between life and death if you even still have a chance at life at all. And even then you run the risk of it being locked. Your eye catches on Norm’s door - open and shining like a beacon of hope amongst the fluorescently lit hallway.
You don’t have another choice.
You turn.
As soon as you make it through the threshold, you slam the door behind you as fast as you can.
You don’t know what you expected, naively hoping that the door would somehow succeed in protecting you and keeping Neteyam out. It’s not even locked.
You scream as the door explodes under Neteyam’s weight, the wood splintering as it bursts apart, smaller bits of fragmented wood spraying towards you as the feral Na’vi shoulders his way in. The bathroom to your left is the only option, and you lunge for it just as Neteyam lunges for you. The tears pouring down your cheeks burn your eyes and blur your vision, your loud hyperventilating cries make your throat raw. Another door just barely slammed in his face and your back presses against the opposite door, your panicked hand trying to jiggle the knob but your brain not reminding you how to twist it. This other door hasn’t been used in years - the bathroom that once connected these two rooms together is just used by Norm now since Mary had her baby and her and her husband moved into a larger room to accommodate the crib. It’s locked, and your fingers are struggling to twist the mechanism up to unlock it when Neteyam breaks through.
Even through your blurred vision, you see it clearly. His arm reaches through the hole his shoulder has made, and the bathroom is too small, too fucking small because that arm looks like its reaching across the entire length of it, fingers splayed out like if he can just get one of the tips to brush you, he’ll snatch you up.
“HELP!” You scream again. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to fucking die. “HELP ME!”
You watch the door in horror as Neteyam pulls his arm back, head dropping to glare at you through the opening, and your veins fill with ice.
He looks murderous - pupils blown so wide you can’t see the golden ring wrapped around them at all. You want to drop to the ground under that stare, beg for mercy even though the look in his eyes makes it clear there won’t be any.
“N-Neteyam,” You stutter. Your heart is pounding so fast, blood sounding like it’s rushing in your ears so fast you don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack yet. “P-please s-stop. P-please.”
His eyes stay locked on yours through the hole in the door, dark and glaring but for some reason he’s paused his attacks. A part of you wonders if your begging is making it through to the non-animalistic part of his brain. Whatever the smoke from the mixture of the Rust Plant did to him, it has to be only temporary. He’s still Neteyam. Neteyam is still in there somewhere.
“Please,” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”
He leans forward, one hand curling around the broken wood from the open hole in the door. When he speaks, you don’t know if you’re relieved to hear that he can despite the overwhelming feral actions, or if you’re horrified at how his voice comes out.
He doesn’t sound like himself at all. His words are clipped, short words made sentences that you don’t understand as both the gravely and growled way he says them as well as overall meaning.
“Tawtute,” He growls. “Mine.”
“Wha— I-I don’t understand,”
You scream when he hisses at you, long canines and sharp teeth on display through the damaged opening and you have a front row seat to the show as your back presses harder against the door behind you. The hand wrapped around the edge of the hole pulls back suddenly, taking with it a huge chunk of the center and the loud crack and snap of wood snaps your body back into gear. You twist the small lock on the door behind you, unlocking it and wrenching it open when Neteyam throws his body against the opposite door again. You’re out the door and into the next room, slamming the door shut behind you just as you hear the telltale crash of the wild Na’vi breaking through the other barrier. Without thinking, you round the side of the bookshelf that stands on the side of the doorframe. You push with all your might, tipping the bookshelf on its side so that it falls diagonally across the door. A dresser sits just on the opposite side of the door, the bookshelf catching on the edge of the dresser so that it blocks a good portion of the bathroom door.
Any other time you’d be heartbroken to see the books that fall off the bookshelf in your mishandling scatter along the floor and at your feet like they were nothing more than trash. Today, though, you can’t give a shit about that.
Your hands grip your hair in frustration as you hear Neteyam’s body barrel into the door, hot tears racing down your face as you waste valuable seconds staring at the bending wood behind the tipped bookcase. It won’t keep him back for long. He could probably easily push it out of his way, but it's something. Your only hope now is that it keeps him long enough for you to get away and that his instinct driven brain doesn’t realize he can just go back the way he came to get around the obstacle.
Turning on your heel, you sprint out the bedroom door, heading back down the hallway towards the lab. The sound of the loud crash echoing through the empty hall makes you run impossibly faster. Was it the door finally giving way under his weight? Or was it the bookshelf being tossed to the side like it was nothing and he’s about to barrel down the hallway to finish the job that you’ve somehow managed to postpone until now?
You make it back to the lab, foot smacking against the forgotten hotplate still laying on the ground in your haste to get to the airlock. Your hand smacks against the button on the side wall, fingers practically choking the heavy handle as you go to yank it open. The oxygen masks lay forgotten on the shelf next to the door. You don’t care about them, don’t care about breathing right now because what’s good about breathing when Neteyam could end your need for it in just seconds if he catches you.
The airlock door hisses as the seal breaks and for a split second you think you’ve done it - have somehow managed to survive this deadly game of cat and mouse you’ve inadvertently been forced to play. You can grab a mask and slip inside the airlock. Keep Neteyam locked up here in the lab while you sit safely outside until the others get back or he comes to his senses enough to remember how to open the airlock door himself.
But no sooner than the thought crosses your mind, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you from your death grip on the thick metal door.
You scream as you’re tossed to the floor, body pressed against the cold tile as Neteyam straddles you. His hips pin your legs down, leaving them useless and unable to buck or kick under his massive weight. You beat at his chest with your fists as hard as you can, trying to ignore how they hurt from your balled up fists trying to hit against pure solid muscle.
Panic manifests in your desperate cries and you aim for his face too, trying to hit or slap or scratch - anything to get him off of you. You feel like an injured animal caught in a trap. And you suppose you are.
“Get off!” You cry. “Get off me, Neteyam!”
He snarls as one of your hits lands too close next to his eye and he grabs your hands tightly in one of his, pinning them above your head.
Your screams stop, catching in your throat when the bright fluorescent lights of the lab catch on the knife on his hip. The light caresses the blade as he pulls it from its sheath, the sharp tip sparkling as he brings it to press against the base of your throat.
His face is in front of yours in an instant, so close you feel like you can barely breathe in the wake of the knife resting at your throat and the way his huge eyes feel like twin black holes threatening to suck you into their depths if you move even a single centimeter.
“Kehe rikx,” His words are hardly more than a whispered breath against your face, but their translation rings loudly in your ears.
Don’t move.
The point of the knife drags against your neck, scratching lightly as he draws it down your collarbone. It pulls at the fabric at the neck of your t-shirt as he moves it down your chest, stretching and bunching it down as he scrapes the tip through the valley of your breasts. Your heart pounds under the deadly tip of the weapon and your body wants to fight, keep fighting for your life that you know could be taken from you with just a quick movement of his hand, but your fear keeps you frozen.
Something hard presses against your trapped thighs and your eyes automatically rip themselves from the knife down to the space between your bodies, and your breathing catches in your throat again for a whole other reason.
Neteyam’s cock is hard in his loincloth, having escaped its sheath and filling out under the thin material enough to raise a sizable tent inside it.
He doesn’t give you time to react as his head bends down and latches onto the swell of your breast through your shirt, sharp teeth digging into it just enough for marks to surely be left even through the layers of shirt and bra. You yelp, back arching instinctively against the pain, and your body unfreezes as his teeth scrape against your breast before digging into the material of your shirt and ripping.
The loud sound of tearing fabric rips through the room and Neteyam releases the torn fabric from his mouth just to grip it with his hands instead, pulling up and out and exposing your bra clad torso to his darkened crazed eyes. The knife is still in his hand, but the blade is pointed sideways now as he uses the fingers around it to rip your shirt apart. It’s not smart, not a smart idea at all to try your hand at smacking at him again, but you have to do something.
You don’t know what he wants anymore. What did that mixture do to him? He was chasing you through these halls, growling and snarling like a predator on the hunt for its next meal, and now he’s on top of you - hard and tearing your clothes off like he wants to fuck you.
You only get a couple smacks in before the knife is back at your chest and you’re forced still again. Neteyam’s eyes are locked onto your chest, following the tip of the knife as he slides it under the band of your bra directly between your breasts. It cuts easily under the pressure of the sharp knife and the covering falls on either side of your chest, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze.
There’s a mark on your breast from where his teeth had dug into it and he pauses to stare at it greedily.
“N-Netayam,” You say, slowly. He seems a little calmer now that he has you trapped under him. You need to talk him to his senses. He’s still in there somewhere. He has to be. He’s not all animal. He can be reasoned with. “You don’t wanna do this. Plea–”
Your plea is cut off as he rises off of you, crouching back just enough to give himself room to flip you roughly over on your stomach. You grunt as your bare chest hits the cold tile, arms splayed uselessly on either side of you as you try to get your bearings from the quick movement before he’s using his knife to cut through the denim of your shorts.
“Neteyam! Rutxe ftang! Kehe!”
You don’t know why you think pleading in Na’vi will be any different than English, but desperation punches the frantic words out of you before you can even think about deciding to say them. Your hands finally find purchase on the ground beneath you and you try to push yourself up in hopes of crawling away, but Neteyam’s dropping the knife and taking hold of your hips before you can.
High pitched squeaking sounds hit your ears as he drags your body across the tile. Your hands scramble frantically against the floor as you’re pulled backwards, but there’s nothing to hold onto. They just slide uselessly, voicing their protest in the way the tile screams under your grasping fingertips as you’re hoisted up with your lower half in the air.
Your back arches against Neteyam’s hold, legs kicking in the air but doing no harm despite their efforts. The hole he’s created in your shorts is enough to have your pussy on display for him, and you can feel his breath on it - hot puffs are the only warning you get before his mouth is on you. Your voice is raw from all the screaming you’ve done, the sound crackling and almost pained as you shout again - shout for him to stop and to let you go as you kick and squirm and beg.
You want to cry more, any drying tears of fear you have still tracked on your cheeks are replaced with tears of humiliation. Your clit pulses under his relentless tongue, pussy subconsciously clenching around nothing as he licks and sucks over the puffy folds.
You’re wet.
You’re so wet already, body confusing the adrenaline caused by fear and desperation and flooding it with the adrenaline that comes with arousal instead. His textured tongue slips across your sticky cunt, licking up your wetness, and a reluctant moan escapes your lips at the rough feel on your sensitive parts.
A gleam to your right catches your attention and a flicker of hope rushes through you at the sight. Neteyam’s knife is laying on the ground next to you, scattered just far enough when he dropped it that it's a stretch for you to grab it, but not impossible. He’s distracted by your cunt, chest rumbling in what you can only describe as a more aggressive type of purr and your face contorts in unwanted pleasure as the vibrations pulse against your clit.
You reach for the knife, using one hand pressed against the tile to gain any kind of leverage you can while your other arm stretches out towards the forgotten blade. You're not even sure what you’re going to do with it when it’s in your hand. Would you just threaten him with it? Tell him to back off and that you’ll use it if he doesn’t? Would you cut him a little to show that you’re serious?
Would you stab him if it came to it?
Your fingers graze along the hilt of the knife, fingertips brushing along the part that it can touch and curling in, trying to coax the knife just a bit closer so you can grab it. Neteyam growls into your cunt, and you let out a gasping curse when his foot lands on your wrist, pinning it to the tile before you can work your hand around the knife.
“You son of a bitch!” You yell, anger burning through your desperation, but all Neteyam does is push his face deeper into your pussy. His large hands rip at the back of your shorts more, fingers digging into the exposed curves of your ass to spread you apart.
The pressure in your belly intensifies as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his lips around it in what feels like an almost pleasured punishment.
You’re going to cum. Fuck fuck you’re going to cum on the tongue of the practically feral Na’vi who just chased you through the halls of your own home and made you think he was going to rip you to shreds and leave you to die on the floor for your coworkers to find. It feels so good, so so good and you wail as your pussy spasms against his relentless tongue, contracting against the wet muscle as the coil in your belly bursts in an explosion of uncontrolled pleasure.
Neteyam groans against your core, lapping up everything you have to offer as you whine and shake. Your legs, still suspended in the air, are becoming numb - the tingling sensation of your limbs losing their life combining with the dramatic pulsing over your oversensitive cunt.
You grunt as he drops you to the ground, his foot lifting off your wrist as he crouches back up, and you pull it to your chest, cradling it there and quickly checking for any injury as your body automatically tries to curl up in a protective ball.
His hands are back on your hips in an instant, pulling you back again across the floor until your ass is pressed up against his front. Your blood runs cold when your bare ass meets bare skin. The bulge that was once blocked by the thin layer of his loincloth is now free - large, dominant, and demanding of attention as it presses tightly against you.
Demanding of your attention.
The hand on the back of your neck is uncaring as it pushes you down, forcing your face against the white tiled floor as he lines himself up with your entrance.
“Neteyam, no! Please!” You beg, even as your back is forced to arch from the exposed position he has you in.
And maybe if this was a different situation, a different circumstance, he would have used this opportunity to tease you. Tell you to stop fussing and stay still. To be a good girl for him while he fucks your tight cunt and maybe if you’re good enough, he would let you cum again. You would let him. Neteyam is beautiful, more handsome than any other Na’vi you’ve ever seen. If he would have been kind to you and shown interest in you like that, you would have agreed to fuck him in a heartbeat.
But he’s not himself. Doesn’t even have his mind enough to acknowledge your pleas with anything more than agitated snarls and frustrated growls.
His cock feels monstrous as he rubs it between your soaked folds. Thick and hard as the wetness of his own slick mixes with the sticky mess you have already between your thighs. The head of his cock rubs against your tender clit and you can feel how the sheer size of it forces your pussy lips apart.
You can’t take it inside you. Fuck. You can’t. You can’t.
You whimper when the tip makes its way back to your entrance, nudging against it before the blunt tip presses forward. Your hands press into the tile on either side of your head, mouth falling open in a silent scream even as he presses your cheek further into the floor as he pushes his cock further into you. You feel every thick inch of it as it spears you open, and you expect it to hurt. It should hurt, especially with the way you’re clamping down around him, body automatically trying to keep it out even as it bullies its way deeper inside you.
There’s pressure, so much pressure. He’s too big, large alien cock way too much for your tiny human body to take, but somehow it is. Your brain is trying to tell you to panic, that the pressure is pain and you should scream and cry and try to wiggle away from it. But it's not. He’s stretching you so much, filling you up - but it doesn’t. hurt.
And that realization hurts you more than the cock currently rearranging your guts ever could.
You know it’s the slick. Despite never being with a Na’vi yourself, you know that the wetness that coats a male’s cock to aid it with slipping out of its protective sheath has something in it that eases the pain of penetration. It’s a good thing. Inherently helpful for any relationship, especially for those between a human and a Na’vi to curb the extra struggle of the size difference.
You always thought it was sweet. A way for Eywa to reward the loyalty of the good sky people who are lucky enough to find everlasting bonds with her own children.
Now, the idea of it leaves a bad taste in your mouth as the cock inside you pulls out only to thrust in harder. The texture on his cock scrapes against your slick walls as he starts to fuck you, the bumps and barbs rubbing and pressing against the sensitive spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had.
A waterfall of moans and whines rip from your throat as he moves faster, your higher pitched pathetic sounds a stark contrast to his deep guttural grunts. His hand is off the back of your neck now, instead finding a place at the side of your face as he keeps you pinned to the floor. It’s so big compared to your head that it spans the entirety of it, thumb hooking just under the edge of your jaw while his fingers curl around the top of your head as he holds you down.
Your thighs shake underneath you as he pounds into you, thick cock so far inside you that you know there has to be a bulge in your belly. There is, you can feel it. The way the head of his cock pushes against your lower abdomen roughly with each thrust and you know that if you could move your hands from the death grip press they have on the tile, you could feel it disappear and reappear under your palm.
He adjusts behind you, both feet planted on the ground as he crouches behind you to try to push in deeper. Pleasure soaks into your brain as you subconsciously push back against him, pussy clenching and squeezing around him trying to suck him in.
“N-Neteyam,” And you have more to say, you do. But you can’t form thoughts anymore. Nothing else will come out other than little punched out breathless gasps.
It takes you a long time to realize that he’s speaking, and even longer for your fucked up and fucked out raddled brain to register what he’s saying. It’s not normal sentences, it’s not even English. His words are still animalistic, growled through gritted teeth as he spits out broken Na’vi between his groans of pleasure. You grew up with the language, but you’re so distracted, so overwhelmed by him and the cock inside you that your brain can’t seem to latch on to what he’s saying.
You think you hear the word for ‘whore’, maybe ‘take it’, something ‘baby’ but you can’t be sure.
And then he’s leaning forward, body curving overtop yours as he covers you completely. It’s only then you feel what you’ve been too distracted to notice. The thick knot at the base of his cock, fully engorged now as it prods at your entrance.
Your hands finally leave their place pressed against the floor as you throw them behind you in newfound panic. One hand pushes against his abdomen as best as it can, trying to slow his thrusts while the other grabs at his wrist in an effort to pull his hand away from your face. The hand on his abdomen doesn’t do anything to slow his relentless pace, but the hand on the side of your head moves to tangle in your hair, gripping it in his fist close to your scalp just hard enough to burn a little as he yanks your head back.
You gasp at the sharp sting and your gasp quickly turns into a whimper as his knot presses tighter against your soaking hole. He’s unforgiving as he digs it against you, holding your hair tight and forcing your back to arch as you stretch even further around it. You’re too wet, pussy too wet and almost greedy and it takes him in, determined despite the obscene size of the engorged ball of tissue.
“Please!” You squeal. Please stop. Please more. “Neteyam, fuck!”
Your eyes roll back into your head when the knot slips inside you, sheathing itself within your heat with another solid push of Neteyam’s hips against your ass. His cock hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, your vision whiting out and there feels like there’s cotton in your ears as you cum around him, squeezing him tightly as you soak his length in your juices. Your breath catches in your lungs when you feel his cock pulse inside you, twitching and feeling like it’s expanding even bigger as his own orgasm hits him.
He holds you close, keeping you pinned and still underneath him with the savage hand in your hair and the firm grip he has on your hip - fierce and unmoving as if to keep you from running away.
As if you even could with the knot locked inside you.
His growl of pleasure reverberates off the walls as he paints yours. Long, thick ropes of release coating your insides and it's so much, so so much that you feel like you can’t fit anymore. Like if he cums anymore, you’ll burst. The knot is still lodged inside you, locked in and refusing to let you free, but there’s no space left inside you, no space, and you feel the excess cum seep out of your hole from around his knot to trail down the insides of your thighs.
You don’t remember blacking out, and you’re not sure when Neteyam was able to pull free from you or when he passed out next to you either. But when you wake up next, it’s to voices.
“Oh my gosh!”
“Y/N!”
“What the fuck happened?”
The bright florescent lights of the lab are blinding when you try to open your eyes. Exhaustion seeps from every pore of your body and fuck, you feel so sore.
Norm’s shocked face is looking down at you when your eyes finally adjust to the light, Max and a few of the other scientists are behind him, faces an equal mixture of shock and horror as they stare at you with wide eyes.
It takes you a moment to remember what happened - why you’re here, waking up on the cold floor of the lab. Naked. You scramble up, hands clutching at your chest as you desperately try to cover yourself. A deep groan to your right steals your attention from your group of onlookers, and your eyes fall on Neteyam, just waking up from his own sleep.
His eyes are back to their normal gold as they open, groggy at first and then alert in a heartbeat as it registers where he is. He’s up in a crouch in an instant, looking ready to fight but not really sure what he’s supposed to be fighting. Those golden eyes catch on the group, confusion twisting on his face and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to figure out what’s going on.
Then his eyes meet yours, taking in your torn clothes and near nakedness, and you sit in horror as it clicks for him what must have happened.
And you watch as the horror in your eyes becomes mirrored in his.
**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!
Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @bambithewriter @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @criticallybella
**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!
#𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✎#AvatarSurviveTheNight#neteyam smut#neteyam x reader smut#neteyam x female reader smut#neteyam x human reader smut#tw: noncon#tw: non con#tw: dubcon#tw: dubious consent
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Oh this is way better than what I imagined!
Totally not side eyeing people who said I was wrong and Vernestra wouldn’t throw Sol under the bus or (probably) cover up the “death” of her padawan, Qimir👀
Qimir is immediately trying to hold hands and Osha looks like she’s gonna learn just enough tricks to kill him
Plagueis! Plagueis!
Mae’s memory gets restored by like, Yoda, halfway through next season, guaranteed. Just enough time for Osha to get deep into the dark side (and Qimir to get deep into Osha 😉)
The entire time Sol is dying, Qimir’s whole expression is “she found a new answer to my riddle! Sometimes the student teaches me!”
Oh, Qimir is down bad for her, Plagueis is probably going to try to just replace Qimir with Osha, since he’s probably going to view that as weakness
Did Osha’s eyes briefly turn red when she took that helmet off?
Also, I love that she turned off the comms so Qimir couldn’t talk to her at all on the way to Brendok. This is on her terms and I love that for her. This will make his odd little courtship that much more interesting since she will absolutely be picking and choosing how close she allows him to get. Also, it’s just funny as hell. New favorite moment from this season unlocked, right behind Bazil kwon do.
We still don’t know if Qimir is actually his name. I would put a large amount of monopoly money on him literally trying to make out with her, Osha asking his name, him saying something stupid like “call me master” and she just gets up and walks away like, “I’m out”
#star wars#the acolyte#qimir#osha aniseya#mae aniseya#oshamir#master sol#osha x qimir#qimir x osha#vernestra rwoh#darth plagueis#yoda
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I'd like to request batfam x male reader, who crotchets a lot. He has some medical issues, so he doesn't go on patrol, he helps out with information gathering though.
When Damian got added to the strays, the reader tried being a good older brother, and he crochets him a little stuffed animal for him as a welcome gift. Everyone in the family has one, even Alfred. Let's say, Damian had a bad day, and coincidentally the reader just finished the crochet animal and goes to his room to give it to Damian. Damian snaps and destroys the stuffed animal in front of the reader, also saying some pretty hurtful stuff. The reader cries because it took a lot of time to male it. You can end it however you want
Take your time <3
Sure. Oh Damian is so dead. Nobody messes with (Y/N).
Summary: Damian messes with the wrong brother.
Warnings: angst, fluff, reader is a sweetheart, everyone loves the reader, unspecified medical problems...
(Y/N) sometimes envied his brothers. If it weren't for his medical problems, he would have been out and running, fighting crimes. But he was still happy with his position as Oracle number two, helping Alfred out when it came to patrol and information gathering.
" Can I get you some more tea, master (Y/N)? " Alfred asked him, standing up.
" Please do. " (Y/N) said, giving Alfred his favorite mug.
(Y/N) turned his head back to the computer, rubbing his eyes. He yawned, putting his hand over his mouth.
" Tired? " Alfred asked as he poured some tea.
" A little bit. " (Y/N) answered.
" Guys, we need access to GCPD data base. " Bruce said through the comms.
" You have an access to it, why do we have to? " (Y/N) asked, confused. Alfred came back with tea, also confused.
" Something is jamming the access. " Bruce explained further. (Y/N) put the tea aside, trying to get into the said database.
" Hmm. Something is happening with the network. It's down... " (Y/N) said, confused.
" I would go to GCPD and check it out. " (Y/N) said, taking his tea.
" Alright, will do. "
With that, it was quiet and they knew that this was in one way or another it for the night. (Y/N) glanced at the crocheted bat he made for Bruce.
(Y/N) had a little bit of tradition for everybody. He makes little stuffed animals. Every single member has one, even Alfred. He would make it for everyone who would come into the family, just to feel welcome.
And it did work. It made all of them feel nice and welcoming. And it made them like (Y/N) and it made everyone more protective of (Y/N). Jason took the number one spot at the amount of protectiveness he had for (Y/N).
Everything changed when Bruce announced he had a biological son. With Talia al Ghul. (Y/N) didn't know what to think about it. Bruce was always saying to use protection, so how did it happen? As a playboy, you are supposed to be a careful person when it comes to sex.
" I'm sorry, how did Damian happen? You are usually the one telling us to watch ourselves, you know, use protection amongst other things. " (Y/N) asked, taking a sip of his tea.
" Talia spiked my drink. " Bruce said, making Jason snort. (Y/N) smacked him on the arm.
" I'm sorry, but how didn't you notice it? " Jason questioned, trying not to lose control again.
" Jason not now. Damian is in the cave, Alfred is going to bring him up. Please be nice. " Bruce said, sighing as he heard Alfred coming.
Everyone turned their heads to see Alfred walking in with a small boy with green eyes and who eerily looked like Bruce at that age. (Y/N) knew because he saw the pictures once. Alfred showed him the photos.
" Everyone, this is master Damian. Master Damian these are master Jason, master (Y/N), master Tim and master Dick. " Alfred introduced Damian to everyone.
Damian didn't say anything, instead he turned back to Alfred to ask him to show him his room.
" I don't know about you, but this is going to be interesting. " Jason said to (Y/N).
" I think he just needs to adjust. It's never easy to come somewhere new. " (Y/N) replied, taking another sip of his tea.
" Will he get a stuffed animal too? " Jason asked, standing up.
" Yup. It's a tradition here so... " (Y/N) said, trailing off.
" If you say so. " Jason said, watching as (Y/N) took last sips of his tea before putting the mug into the sink.
" Any chance I can ask you to help me with a case? " Jason tried as they were going to their rooms.
" Nope. I need my sleep. " (Y/N) said, opening his bedroom door.
" You are mean. " Jason said, chuckling. " Good night. "
" Good night Jay. "
It has been a couple of weeks and (Y/N) finally finished up his stuffed animal for Damian. He made a Robin stuffed animal in his colors. Well, the suits color. Green and red with a R to symbolize the Robin. He was happy with his creation and was now actively looking for Damian.
What (Y/N) didn't know however, was the fact that Damian had a very bad day. To put it bluntly, everything went to shit. Absolutely everything that Damian had planned went to shit. Absolutely everything and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.
Coincidently, (Y/N) decided to gift the stuffed animal to Damian. He knocked on Damian's door, entering after hearing a harsh what. (Y/N) entered the room, holding his bird in his hands.
" So, we have a tradition here where I make newcomers stuffed animals. So here is yours. "
" I don't need that right now! And I don't need something from someone so worthless to the family! " He yelled grabbing the stuffed bird, ripping it apart.
(Y/N) was heartbroken. He slowly stepped out, closing the door before he started crying in the hall.
" (Y/N), what's wrong?! " Jason asked, confused. He just came from the dining room and seeing his favorite brother sad was something that should be illegal. (Y/N) shook his head, running to his room and slamming the door shut.
Jason scowled, wondering what made (Y/N) upset. Well, who made him upset... He looked at Damian's door and went there. He opened the door and his eyes feel down onto the remains of (Y/N)'s stuffed animal. He looked up at Damian before he jumped at him.
The two started fighting. Jason was blinded with anger and rage, punching wherever he could. Bruce heard the commotion and when he saw what was happening, he had to tear Jason off of Damian.
It was difficult to separate them, but once he did, he was pissed. Beyond angry.
" WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?! " Bruce yelled, mad now.
" He took (Y/N)'s animal and tore it apart! He is heartbroken! You didn't saw him when he started crying! " Jason yelled back, face bloody. The kid can definitely punch.
" Out. I will talk to Damian. " Bruce said calmly. Jason wiped his nose, going straight to the bathroom in his room to clean it up.
He can't allow his brother to see him bloody. He really can't. He washed his face and once he made sure that he has stopped the bleeding, he went to (Y/N)'s room. He opened the door and his heart broke.
(Y/N) was still crying on the bed, curled into a fetal position.
" Oh (Y/N)... Come here. " Jason said softly. (Y/N) sniffed and turned to face Jason. Jason sat down on the edge. (Y/N) moved closer and put his head in Jason's lap.
" Why did he do that? I just tried to be nice... " (Y/N) asked and Jason gently scratched (Y/N)'s scalp.
" I know that. Damian is just Damian... " Jason said, knowing that (Y/N) doesn't like when they are talking negatively about Damian. Or any of them.
Jason stayed like that for a couple of hours and (Y/N) fell asleep during that. Jason didn't mind, but he had to move. He gently put (Y/N)'s head on a pillow. He covered him and left the room.
He didn't expect to see Damian in the hall.
" What do you want? " Jason asked quietly, not to disturb (Y/N).
" I wanted to... Apologize. "
" Did Bruce make you do that? " Jason said, not believing a single word that came out of Damian's mouth.
" No. I just had a bad day and I let it out on the wrong person. " Damian said, meaning every word of it.
" Well, don't wake him up now. You know, everyone has a stuffed animal made by (Y/N). Even Alfred. " Jason said. " Bruce has one near the Batcomputer and sometimes takes it with him somewhere important. He took it to outer space once. " Jason wasn't sure why he was telling that to Damian, but it felt important that he knows. " Again, don't wake him up. " Jason said, leaving Damian.
Damian had no plans on doing it.
#batfamily x male reader#dc x male reader#dc comics#x male reader#batfamily#batkids#bruce wayne x male reader#jason todd x male reader
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if you post less...... do you have a new sideblog perchance. a new interest
makin this sound like a rumor that i got a crush on a classmate !!!!!!!
#snap chats#like you know in school where mates'll be like ''OOOOOH AMANDA GOT A CRUSH' and amanda gotta be all 'guys staawwwpp His Names Brad U//U'#allegory aside if i do things will be as they always have. as in you have to find that out yourself LMAO#because my favorite asks are the ones where someones like 'hey wait didnt you draw This before wtf are you doing here'#like yeah i just moved neighborhoods sorry bout that didnt warn you lot#either that or just. wait for me to drop an art bomb on twitter vjalkjalkj#but Even If I Do ill still post here LOL again theres gonna be a summit later this month im tuning into#and undoubtedly whatever info comes from that's going to spark SOMETHING in me#ive been busy for a while though just cause ive had to handle comm and school stuff#and im reopening my comms tomorrow so. i may be busy Again but yeah thats why i havent posted much#i always want to draw and create whether its rgg related or not i just Am Busy and i get tired After being busy#i am human ... and it takes time and energy to make things so
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Love That Burns ~ 18
LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST
< previous chapter
Word Count: 2,615ish
Summary: The team influtriates the base at Alkali Lake.
Warnings: fighting, injuries, main character death(s)
Notes: Welp, here's another chapter! Please let me know how you like it!
Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!
Rogue, Bobby, and Pyro weren’t happy to be left on the jet while the others followed the plan and entered the Alkali base. Mystique went in first, disguised as Logan. As soon as she was able to gain control from the inside, she opened the spillway doors and allowed the others to enter the base. Logan stepped inside and immediately sniffed. He caught wind of your scent. It was barely there, but it was there. The group met Mystique in the control room.
“Have you found it?” Magneto asked, going up to the controls.
“A large portion of the energy from the dam has been diverted to this chamber,” Mystique explained, showing the map of the base on the screen.
“Cerebro,” Ororo whispered.
“There is it,” Magneto said.
“Can you shut it down from here?”
“No.”
“Come,” Magneto said to Mystique. “There’s little time.”
“Not without us,” Jean told him.
“Oh my God,” Ororo said, noticing one of the screens. “The children. Kurt, will you come with me?”
“Yes.”
As the others continued talking, Logan looked over the monitors, trying to see if he could find you anywhere. He caught sight of Stryker, most likely head towards Cerebro. If he couldn’t locate you immediately, then the next best thing was Stryker. The others were too busy forming a plan to see Logan slip his comms device out of his ear and head out of the room.
~~~
Stryker marched down the halls, headed for Cerebro.
“Make sure Weapon XII is ready,” he ordered. “I need more time.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the soldiers replied.
The soldier signaled a few others to follow him and headed to where you were being kept. You were still upright, chained to the table. The soldiers entered and one of them was quick to insert you with another dose of liquid. Then they unchained you, helping you to the ground.
“Weapon XII,” the soldier called. “You are ordered to protect Colonel Stryker. He needs more time.”
With a simple nod, you headed out with one objective: protect Stryker.
~~~
Logan was growing more frantic as he searched the base for you or Stryker. He kept coming up empty, going from room to room, hallway to hallway. The whole base was a maze. Suddenly he stopped, hearing something from down another hallway that sounded familiar. Logan headed over and down a flight of stairs into a dimly lit room. In the center of it, there was a tank of water, with his x-ray’s behind it.
Logan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as memories of his skeleton being grafted with adamantium filled his head. Snapping his eyes opened, Logan continued to explore the room, with each piece he remembered more and more of that day. The revenge. The anger. The fight to get out of there before they erased his memories.
“The tricky thing about adamantium is,” Stryker spoke up from behind Logan, “that if you ever manage to process its raw, liquid form, you gotta keep it that way.” He walked around, moving into Logan’s line of sight. “Keep it hot. Because once the metal cools, it’s indestructible. But you already know that. I used to think you were one of a kind, Wolverine. I was wrong.”
Logan clenched his jaw, but before he could take a move towards Stryker, your scent filled his nostrils. You stepped out of the dark, moving to stand between Logan and Stryker.
“Y/N,” Logan breathed out. There was no recognition in your eyes as you stared Logan down.
“Y/N has always been one of my favorite soldiers,” Stryker taunted. “She just needed a little reminder.”
“What did you do?”
“Enough.” Stryker walked away, leaving the two of you at a stand still.
“I won’t hurt you.” You didn’t give Logan a verbal response. You simply stepped forward, fire forming around your fists. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Logan.”
If this was just a little bit about how you felt towards him not knowing you, Logan would forever be sorry for the pain he caused. Looking at you without you knowing who he was, was torture.
“Y/N—“
You cut him off with a large fire ball, throwing Logan back into one of the concrete posts. With a groan, Logan stood up and spun around you face you.
“I’m not going to fight you, sweetheart. I can’t do it.”
You began to rapid fire, fireballs in his direction. He did his best to dodge them while trying to get you to remember him. Logan wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he harmed you. He had to find a way to wake you up from whatever Stryker had done to you.
Blasting him back again, Logan slid against the ground. You marched towards him, hands warming up again. He muttered an apology as one of his legs swung out and brought you to the ground. He quickly straddled you, pinning your arms over your head. You thrashed around, trying to brake out of his tight grip. Your skin started to heat up and Logan clenched his jaw, groaning at the pain.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he tried to get you to come to. “It’s me. It’s James.”
You snarled at him, trying to break lose as your skin burned his skin.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he told you. “I promise I wanted this scenario to be very different.”
In a blink of an eye, Logan was leaning down and kissing your lips. Slowly, you began to lose your fight against him. He broke the kiss and looked down at you, hoping that his idea had worked. You were blinking up at him.
“J—James?” You rasped.
Logan felt almost instant relief. “It’s me, sweetheart.” His voice was calm, yet full of concern. You burst into tears as you remembered the torture and the mind control. Logan quickly got off of you and pulled you into him. “I’m right here, darlin’. I’ve got you.” He held a kiss to your head as your arms tightened around him.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You had no control… I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have been there with you when they raided the mansion. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah… We really need to have a talk.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I meant it. About everything. Including how you got me out of that trance.”
“I couldn’t hurt you.”
“I appreciate it. Now— ah!”
Both you and Logan cried out in pain as a high-pitched vibrating noise echoed through your minds. Your hands grabbed your head and Logan held you closer to his chest. The two of you stayed together as you groaned in pain. When the sound suddenly stopped, Logan quickly had your face in his hands, cradling it.
“Are you all right?” He asked.
“I’m fine,” you panted. “You?”
“Fine. Come on.” Logan pulled you up. “We’ve got to get Stryker and help the others.”
Logan pulled you along, sniffing out the trail that Stryker had left. He led you outside, where Stryker was readying a helicopter. Logan let go of your hand, decking Stryker in the face and causing him to fall into the snow. He pulled Stryker up and shoved him into the helicopter before punching his claws into Stryker’s side. Stryker screamed out in pain.
“How does it feel, bub?” Logan snarled.
Stryker smiled through the pain. “Why did you come back?”
“You cut me open! You took my life!”
“You make it sound as if I stole something from you. As I recall, it was you who volunteered for the procedure. To get revenge for her death.” Stryker motioned to where you were standing over to the side.
Logan pressed his claws into Stryker further. “Who am I?”
“You… are just a failed experiment.” Logan’s other set of claws inserted into Stryker, causing the man to cry out. “If you really knew about your past… what kind of person you were… the work we did together… People don’t change, Wolverine. You were animal then. You’re an animal now.”
“He’s not an animal!” You retorted, stepping closer. “And he did change! We both had until you showed up and ruined our lives—our future!”
Stryker laughed. “And I don’t regret it one bit.”
Before you could burn Stryker alive, a loud alarm began blaring throughout the area.
“What the hell is that?” Logan asked. “What is it?!”
“The dam’s ruptured,” Stryker answered. “It’s gonna flood water onto the spillway. It’s trying to relieve the pressure. It’s too late. In a few minutes, we’ll all be underwater. Come with me, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Bullshit!” You exclaimed.
“She doesn’t know everything that happened. She can’t answer all your questions.”
“She knows enough,” Logan responded.
“You can’t help your friends. They’re as good as dead, Wolverine. You’re a survivor, always shave been.”
“Oh, I thought I was just an animal.” Logan threw Stryker down and chained him to the wheel of the helicopter. “If we die, you die.” He turned around and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go!”
The two of you ran back into the base, searching for your friends. As you ran through the base, the human soldiers began falling to the ground in pain.
“What’s happening?” You asked.
“Cerebro,” Logan muttered. “We’ve got to move faster.”
The two of you stumbled as the dam began to further broke, rumbling around you. Making it to the spillway, you saw your friends on the other side. Logan quickly used his claws to close the door that they were about to go through and that water was about to rush through from the other side.
“You don’t want to go that way,” said Logan. “Trust me.”
Water began to spilled through the doors.
“Come on!” You yelled. “There’s another way out of here!”
Grabbing one of the injured students, Logan led the way out to where you two had just left Stryker and the helicopter. Only neither of them were anywhere to be found.
“The helicopter was right here!” Logan exclaimed. The two of you shared a worried glance.
Low rumbling could be heard before the jet suddenly flew over the group and landed harshly into the snow. The group began to rush over when you heard a groan nearby. By yourself, you walked into the trees, following the sound. Not too far, Stryker was changed to a large cement block, dangling there.
“You can’t change him,” Stryker taunted upon seeing you. “You don’t have enough of the story.”
“I don’t care,” you murmured, twirling strands of fire in your hands. “I don’t need the whole story. I just need him, whatever that looks like.”
“I saved you… all those years ago, I pulled you out of homelessness. Gave you purpose, taught you about your abilities. I gave you what you have. Made you what you are.”
“Yes… but you also destroyed me. Destroyed my happiness… So, I’ll return the favor.” With a flick of your wrist, the metal chains against Stryker heated up. He cried out in pain as you stalked closer. “Goodbye, old friend.” Stryker screamed as he was engulfed in flames.
Back at the jet, Logan could hear the screams and smell your smoke.
“Y/N!” He shouted, looking around for you. “Y/N!” He rushed away from the jet only to find you walking out of the trees. He hurried over to you, hands coming to your arms as he looked you over. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“I needed to end it,” you looked up at Logan, almost like you were void of any emotion. “He caused all our pain… all our problems.” Logan quickly put together who you were talking about. “I had to stop him.”
Logan nodded, understanding where you were coming from. He pulled you into his side and led you onto the jet. There was panic on the jet, trying to get it up into the air. Logan helped you into a seat before rushing up to the front.
“What’s wrong?” He wondered.
“Vertical thrusters are off-line,” Scott told him.
“So fix ‘em.”
“I’m trying.”
“Hey, has anyone seen Pyro?” Rogue asked.
“He’s with Magneto,” Jean responded calmly.
Ororo and Scott kept working to get the controls back online. You watched as Jean’s eyes grew wider. You could tell something was going on. She spun around and headed down the stairs of the jet.
“Jean!” You called after her. “Jean!”
You ran over to the stairs to follow after her, only for her to use her powers to slam you into the ceiling of the jet.
“Y/N!” Logan shouted, rushing forward to catch you.
“She’s outside,” the Professor stated.
Scott jumped from his seat and ran for the stairs, only for Jean to close the staircase before Scott could get there. The jet suddenly came online as Jean walked in front of the jet.
“No! We’re not leaving!” Scott yelled. “Lower the ramp! Storm, lower it!”
The controls began working on their own. “I can’t!” Ororo responded, trying to control the jet herself. “She’s controlling the jet.”
Through the cockpit window, you could see the large wave heading towards you. Using her powers, Jean forced it to go around her and the jet.
“You, get her, now!” Logan ordered Kurt.
Kurt tried, only to not be able to move. “She’s not letting me.”
“Damn it!” Scott muttered.
“I know what I’m doing,” the Professor whispered, his eyes closed. Jean was talking through him. “This is the only way.”
Scott knelt in front of the Professor. “Jean, listen to me. Don’t do this.”
“Good-bye.”
“No, no, no, no!” You screamed.
The jet lifted higher until it was clear of the water. Then the water came crashing down where Jean stood.
“NO!” You shrieked.
Logan held onto you as you tried to free from his grasp. The way you were moving around could hurt you or someone else, and he couldn’t have that. He could feel your body temp rising and knew that he was the only one who could handle you.
“She’s gone…” Logan told you. “She’s gone.”
“Don’t you say that!” Scott shouted, whipping around to face you and Logan. “We gotta go back.”
“She’s gone.”
“No!” Scott cried, falling to his knees.
The jet quickly grew into sounds of cries and mourning. Logan was still wrestling with you, smoke beginning to come off of you.
“Rogue,” the Professor called, motioning to you.
“No,” Logan growled, pulling you into him further and backing up. “Don’t touch her.”
“She’ll just calm her powers enough so that she doesn’t set the jet on fire.”
“Let go of me,” you grumbled, seemingly unaware of the conversation around you. How could you be? Jean, your sister, your best friend, was gone. Tears sizzled down your face due to the heat of your skin.
A fire suddenly appeared in the corner of the jet. Bobby rushed over, putting it out with his ice. Logan gripped you tighter, ignoring the way you were searing into his skin.
“Come on, Y/N,” he begged. “You’ve got to calm down.”
“Rogue,” the Professor called again.
This time, Logan didn’t fight it. He held you tightly as Rogue took her glove off and placed her hand against your open skin. You gasped, immediately feeling the affections of Rogue’s power. The tension in your body melted away, making you limp, and your skin cooled down. Logan quickly moved to sweep you off your feet before you could completely give out. He walked back to one of the seats and sat down with you.
The Professor sighed, looking to Ororo. “We need to go to Washington DC.”
next chapter >
#james logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#logan x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlet x reader#logan howlett x y/n#logan howlett x female!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x mutant reader#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#wolverine fanfiction#the wolverine#wolverine#wolverine x reader#x men x reader#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel x reader
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My Little Love
Chapter 38
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced!Reader
Word Count: 6.4K
Warnings: I don't want to add to many warnings and give away the plot so read with caution, Henry and Charlotte being the sweet little duo they are, crying
A/N: the time has finally come to see what's going to happen next with our favorite family.... Idk how to feel about this chapter but it needed to happen so we can keep moving forward.
Series Masterlist:
Henry laid awake after you left. He worried about you. Even at his young age he could tell something was not quite right with the way you had been behaving. He also didn’t like the fact that his dad didn’t know you’d be going on a mission.
There was only one thing he could do and he only hoped you wouldn’t be mad at him. But Henry would rather have an angry mama than none at all. So he slipped out of his bed and Lottie’s grip on his shirt so that he could put shoes on.
“Bubba?” Lottie’s sleepy voice called from behind him. “Whe-uh you going?”
“I have to do something for mama.”
“You call daddy?”
Henry sighed and turned to look at Lottie, she was now sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yes. I think mama is going to need help.”
“I go with you?” Lottie asks, getting out of bed.
“You should stay here with grandpa.”
Lottie shakes her head. “I go with you.”
“Fine, go get your shoes and be as quiet as you can.”
“Kay.”
Henry meets Lottie in the hallway. He takes her hand and turns them both invisible before quietly going down the stairs. In the living room Eddie has the tv on even though it’s still dark out. His head is tilted backwards resting against the back of the couch while he snored peacefully. Henry places a finger of his lips to make sure Lottie knows she needs to be quiet. They leave out of the front door.
“Ok baby, I’ll give you a piggyback ride because we have to be fast.” Henry tells his sister before turning and lowering himself.
Lottie climbs on Henry’s back and locks her legs around her brother’s midsection. Her arms wrap over his shoulders.
“You ready?”
“Am weady.” Lottie says with a nod.
“Ok, hold on tight.” Henry says and he starts running towards the compound.
****
They knock furiously on the door to the communications room. It’s only after a few minutes that it swings open.
“Hi Ms. Maria.” Henry looks up at Maria Hill who’s in charge of running the operation from the comms room.
“Henry, what are you two doing here? Where’s Y/N? Is Lottie having another vision?”
“No but I need to talk to daddy. It’s important.” Henry’s eyes are pleading and Lottie is matching him.
“Ok, come in but you’ll have to wait, they’re still on the mission. I’ll let you talk to him as soon as I can.” Maria says, opening the door wider and ushering the kids in.
It takes a few minutes but eventually they hear Steve’s voice crackle through.
“Mission was a success. Everyone’s back on the jet and we’re on our way home.”
The small group in the room cheered. Maria heads to one of the stations and speaks to the person manning it before picking up the mic and headphones.
“Sergeant Barnes, please switch to channel 3.” She says.
“Everything ok Hill?”
“I’m not sure, Henry needs to speak to you and it couldn’t wait.” Maria says before handing the mic and headphones over.
“Daddy?”
“Hey bubs, what’s going on? Where’s mama?” Bucky tried not to let his panic be heard in his voice.
“Mama went on a mission. She told me not to tell you but baby had a vision about it and I’m worried. Baby said there was a mean lady.”
Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. It couldn’t be who he thought it was but he also had to trust your judgment.
“Daddy?”
“Hi doll. Can you tell me who you saw?”
“Daddy it was mama’s mama. I membuh fwom my biwthday.”
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to take some calming breaths but that was only getting attention from the team.
“Do you know where she went?” He asked anyone who was listening.
“She took a jet Barnes. We are sending you the location now.” Hill jumped in.
“Thank you, Hill. Kids, is grandpa watching you?”
“Yeah.” Henry said quietly after taking the mic back.
“I’m assuming he doesn’t know where you are. Please go back home. I’m gonna go help mama and I’ll see you later. And don’t tell grandpa anything about this, it’s a secret for now.”
Both kids say their goodbye and the line drops. Hill tries her best to give them a reassuring smile. The kids leave and sneak back into the house and Henry’s room without their grandpa ever noticing they were gone.
“Well it took you long enough to come find me.” Your mother says. She has a pleased look on her face as she takes a seat. “Did you finally come to your senses? Or are you going to kill me?”
You stare at her for a moment, really taking her in. It’s alarming to realize that this is who she always was. She had never hid herself behind the role of a sweet and loving homemaker, at least not in front of you.
“I’m not going to kill you.” You say calmly.
“Still weak I see. No matter, we can work that right out of your system this time.”
“Yeah, how will you manage to do that?”
Your mother’s smile is sinister. It sends a shiver down your spine.
“Do you really think I didn’t know you were here before I walked in? You tripped an alarm. At any moment my backup will be here.” She laughs as if she’s won, as if she has the upper hand. “I have so many plans for you. Things I didn’t get to finish the first time round.”
You smile back. From one of the pockets of your utility belt you pull up four different dog tags, all of them covered in blood.
“You mean the idiots that live down the hill? I mean, lived down the hill. I paid them a visit first and I cut the alarm in the cabin just in case there was anyone else wandering around.”
Lorraine’s face morphed from smug to absolute rage. She was fuming and you were satisfied that you’d managed to catch her off guard.
“What were you planning to do with Luke and the twins? Were you going to kidnap them? What about Olivia?” You ask, you motioned to the files on the coffee table.
“I’ve had to come up with backup plans. Since you’ve been nothing but a disappointment.” She spat with all the fury she had. She stands and tries to loom over you but the tactic doesn’t scare you anymore. “You would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for me. I gave you the only thing that makes you special.”
“You’ve done nothing but abuse me. You are a sick and twisted person.”
“And you’re an ungrateful brat.”
Her right hand came up to strike you across the face but you blocked and batted it away before pushing her back. It was hard enough that she tripped and fell over the coffee table taking some of the files with her. Metal ropes slithered across the area rug from you to her. They wrapped around her arms, neck down her back and around her waist, lifting her back onto the couch. The now solid metal kept her in place.
“For as much as you loved to call me pathetic, look at you now. You’re nothing. Hydra is nothing.” You growled, standing up from your seat.
“Hydra will rise again. It always does and they’ll come for you and your stupid little family. We will have what is rightfully ours again.”
“No! Hydra ends with you. It ended a long time ago you and the rest of those maniacs were just grasping at straws. You are nothing, no one will ever remember you because you didn’t do anything great.”
“I am the greatest mind Hydra has.” Lorraine screamed, writhing as she tried to break free. With each movement the restraints got tighter.
“Then why did they send you to have babies for them? You were useless to them. You had no purpose your own father thought that.”
She stopped moving. Lorraine was panting as she stayed still, eyes closed.
“Your father didn’t think you were anything special. You were ordinary, just one of the bunch. He thought the world of Henry though, didn’t he? Same thing with Lottie. They were his pride and joy. He saw them as the true future of hydra. They were everything he wanted in a child. Before he died he even treated them very well. But you? You were the disappointment of the family. He had no use for you, at least not until you got pregnant. I read all about what he thought of you. How he was glad to finally get rid of you so he could focus on what he had created.” You say. Your voice is eerily calm, it sounds strange to your own ears. There’s a sense of satisfaction in watching the woman who tormented you for years breakdown. You lean down into her space and look her in the eye. “How does it feel that even your own husband and children would prefer them over you?”
She lets out a blood curdling screech. “I did what I had to do in order to prove my loyalty. You would be nothing if it weren’t for me and this is how you repay me? You wouldn’t have your precious family and your precious Bucky if it weren’t for me.” She grits out. “The things we did to him. The way he cried and screamed and begged. He was such a great little play thing. Almost as fun as you were. But it doesn’t matter, once I’m done with you I’ll get my hands on him and those snot nosed brats and then I’ll really make them suffer. I’ll make you watch so you learn what I’m capable of.”
That had you seeing red. It was bad enough to understand what they went through but to hear it from your own mother’s mouth made you sick. Instinctively the metal you were holding her back with tightened even more. She gasped for air before she began laughing. It was bone chilling and sinister.
“I-I knew you h-had...” She begins but cuts herself off by coughing. “Had it in you.” Blood pools in the corners of her mouth as she finally looks at you. Her eyes are bewildered, as if she finally had gotten what she wanted.
“What?”
“You we-re always me-meant to be the p-p-perfect killing machine.” She stutters before she laughs again. “We are the same, we-we are both killers now. The p-p-pride of Hydra.” She cries what you assume are happy tears. “O-our lega-legacy w-will live th-through you.”
As you realize what she meant you gasp. The metal that had been restraining her falls to the ground in small round pellets. She lay motionless on the couch. Some blood drips from her nose and mouth.
You fell to the ground. Your eyes stuck to your mother’s motionless body. How could you have done that? Sure you had killed before but it had been in self defense. This time you let her get under your skin like she always had. You thought you had the upper hand but she played you. How would you tell your family?
****
You spent a few hours in a daze. Unsure of what to do. You didn’t even realize there was movement in front of you until two hands wrapped around your neck.
“Weak and pathetic. You couldn’t even finish the job. I didn’t suffer through childbirth and family holidays and school and those stupid recitals and sport games just for you to quit on me now.” Lorraine, your mother was choking you. Part of you didn’t know if you should fight back. It was so surreal. “Do it. Turn into what I made you.”
You scrambled to your feet in an effort to have the upper hand. Her grip was tight, nails digging into your flesh. You slipped your fingers in between her hands and your neck. The look on her face was terrifying. She sneered, her eyes almost black from rage. You weren’t sure where she got the strength to hold you down.
“Stop.” You hissed.
“Make me.” Lorraine leans in, her face inches away from yours. “We could rule the world. There is so much you’re capable of and I can teach you. You are meant to be the new fist of hydra. You’ll bring us into a new age but only if you give in.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to do this. I can get you help, you can see our family again. Do you really not care about them? Hydra doesn't care about you but we do.”
Lorraine scoffs. “No one has ever cared about me. You don’t have to be a lost cause. You just can’t see what I do. The world could lay at our feet, we could rule everything. We could be the most powerful people in the world. Why must you settle if you were made for such a great purpose? You could influence the ways of the world, hydra could continue to live through you.” She states. It’s all she cares about, the power and influence. She was a lost cause long before you were ever even born.
You stare her down for a moment and shake your head. “Hydra dies tonight. If it has to die with me, then so be it.”
Lorraine lets out a mixture of a groan and a screech of frustration. One of her hands lets go and she reaches behind her. You put your focus on the metal that is lying around and pull it towards you in order to use it to defend yourself. Lorraine holds a blade and brings it down toward your chest.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Three quick gunshots. Two to the heart and one to the head. Lorraine’s eyes widen for a second and then she drops at your feet. From the darkness of the hallway Bucky steps out, gun still in hand.
“Are you ok?” He asks hesitantly.
You nod. “It’s over.” You murmur in disbelief.
Bucky rushes over when he sees the tears in your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you in for a comforting hug as you start to sob.
“It’s ok, Sugar. I got you.” He murmurs.
It took you some time to compose yourself. But in your defense you had gone from thinking you killed your own mother to her trying to kill you to your fiancé killing her instead. You didn’t even want to hurt her, that hadn’t been your intention at all.
“Let’s get out of here.” Bucky didn’t give you a chance to protest. He manhandled you and took you outside.
Taking gulps of fresh air, you began to cry again when you saw Steve standing a few feet away. Bucky pushed you in his direction before going back to the cabin.
“Are you hurt?” Steve’s words are dripping with concern as he makes his way to you. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
You didn’t answer. No one you knew had ever been in this position so they wouldn’t understand. You watched as Bucky walked out with your mother’s body wrapped in a blanket. He was gentle with her as he set her down and headed back inside. It made you want to throw up and you did. Steve held you up, offered you a bottle of water from a bag he had been carrying. It didn’t stop the sick feeling in your gut. Bucky walks back out with all of the files in hand.
“Let’s go.” Bucky says, handing Steve the files and trusting he’d help you back to the jet while taking the responsibility of carrying your mother.
You sat quietly in the jet. Every few minutes you’d look to the side and see your dead mother laying there. The more you looked at her the angrier you got. Everything she’d put you through was just for power.
“Hey,” Bucky called softly as he sat next to you, blocking your view. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know. Sad? Angry? Relieved?”
Bucky’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb moving back and forth. You can see the sadness reflected in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that but when I saw that knife I had to act fast.”
“It’s not your fault, you were only protecting me and I’ll always love you for that.” You say quietly before turning your head and kissing the palm of his hand. “How did you know I was here anyways?”
“Henry went to Hill and asked to talk to me, he told me everything. He was worried about you. Lottie had a vision of your mom. Hill tracked the jet.” Bucky responds. “We had the team redirect here. Steve over there just had to join me to try and steal my thunder.”
“Hey, she was my friend before she was the love of your life.”
You give him a small smile. Steve gets up from the pilot’s seat and sits across from you. He pats your knee reassuringly.
“Bucky told me about your mom. I’m sorry you went through all of that. Especially when it was someone that was supposed to protect you.”
You give him a small nod. There wasn’t much you could say. Your thoughts were on how and exactly what you were going to tell your family. The relationship you had with them could change forever in the next few hours.
“Everything will be ok. I’m staying right by your side.” Bucky murmured as he pulled you in.
Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a moment, a silent understanding that they’d need to be there for you. While Bucky held you Steve went back to the pilot’s chair. It would be a few more hours until you got home and then you’d have to face your family.
You turned the corner into the long hallway that led to many conference rooms with determination. Towards the end of the flight you’d decided that what’s done is done. Lorraine had made her choices and you’d made yours. The only thing you could do was tell your family the truth and give them the evidence you had and let them decide what they wanted to do. You couldn’t control their reactions but you could control yours.
Halfway down the hallway Henry and Lottie sat outside one of the rooms. Their feet kicked back and forth as they waited. Lottie was mumbling something and patting Henry on the arm in a comforting manner. It made you genuinely smile to see them like this.
Lottie saw you first and jumped off her seat in order to get to you. Her arms open wide, her pink teddy bear in one hand. Lottie launched herself into your waiting arms. You pulled her close and even gave her a little squeeze. She rewarded you by peppering kisses over your cheek.
“You is kay mama?” Lottie asked once she pulled back. Her finger traced your cheek, up and over your brow and down your nose before ending the delicate touch with a small ‘boop’.
“I am more than ok now my sweet Angel.”
She smiles when you lean down and kiss her forehead. Your attention then turns to Henry who is standing not too far from you. The telltale signs of his nervousness present as he fluctuates in his invisibility. You reach out for him and he slowly makes his way to you. As you hold him, his form stays visible and he relaxes into your hug.
“Mama, I’m sorry I know you di-“
“Never apologize for doing the right thing.” You cut him off while pulling away to look at him. “You followed your instincts and it was the right call, ok?”
Henry nods before giving you one more hug.
“Can you stay out here with your sister while I talk to our family?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you, sweet boy.”
You stand and take a deep breath. It was now or never. You had asked Bucky to make sure your family was at the compound by the time you got there. Steve was still with you when you walked in the room but he stayed in a corner, he was there more for moral support than anything else.
With Bucky’s help you managed to get the blood off of you but you didn’t look great. Eddie was the first one out of his chair to hug you. Luke, Sofia and Josh followed soon after before settling back down in their chairs. You sit across the four of them and you feel sick to your stomach knowing what you have to do.
“So before I start you have to know that what I’m going to say is very serious. I’m not joking about this situation. It’s going to be difficult to understand and even accept but I have proof to back up what I’m going to tell you.” You take a deep breath. “I also need you all to listen to everything I have to say.”
“Kitten, what is going on?”
“I need to tell you about what happened to me when hydra captured me last year. Specifically I need to tell you about who was responsible for everything.” You say as you grab the laptop in the middle of the table and connect the usb with all the evidence.
You look over at Steve and then Bucky. Both of them giving you a nod to reassure you that they had your back. With one more calming breath you turn back to your family and begin to explain everything.
****
“So our mom and her family were involved with hydra?” Sofia asked after everything was said. By the tone in her voice you knew she had trouble believing you.
“Yes. They were involved for generations. They were responsible for Henry, Lottie and the other kids. They were trying to create a new generation of soldiers.”
“And she had us with the intention of using us to create more soldiers?” It was Joshua’s turn to question you.
You can only nod in response. Meanwhile Luke sits silently as he looks through the files you had given him. One for him, Molly, Olivia and their unborn baby. In the margins were the plans Lorraine had for them.
Next to Luke sat your father. It looked like he was going to be sick. It was one thing to learn that your wife had treated one of your kids differently but it was another to realize you didn’t know the monster you had married. As he read his own file and even glanced over at Luke’s, Eddie wished he didn’t know any of this.
“Dad?” You called him softly, worried that he might actually be sick. Maybe his heart couldn’t handle this.
“Y/N,” he said quietly. It hurt to hear him call you by your name and not the affectionate nickname he had given you. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“I was scared. I didn’t have enough evidence and I needed for you to believe me. Especially after I was taken. She was power hungry and she was willing to do anything to gain control of hydra.”
“But you could have said something to me.”
“Would you have believed me?” You ask. “Would any of you have believed what I said after I was rescued? I had been mentally and physically tortured. My autonomy had been taken from me. Anything I said at that time would have been questionable.”
Your family didn’t say anything. The tension was slowly rising in the room and then the one question you didn’t want to answer was asked.
“Where is she now?” Sofia asks.
You take a deep breath and close your eyes. The pain you felt from her death would surely be different than theirs but part of you still felt the loss in some weird way.
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean? Did she escape or something?” Joshua speaks up.
Joshua and Sofia had been treated the best by her. Maybe she had found a little bit of maternal love for them in the cold and twisted heart she had.
“No, I mean she’s gone, she died.” You deliver the news as gently as possible.
The truth hangs in the air and for the first time since reuniting it feels like your family is broken again. Your eyes stay glued to the table as you wait for their reactions. The only comfort you have is Bucky’s hand in yours.
“You killed her.” It wasn’t a question or an accusation. Eddie just came to the realization much more quickly than your siblings had.
“How could you kill her? She was still your mother.”
“I-It’s complicated. I only wanted to bring her in. I gave her a choice.“
“But you killed her.” Sofia accuses.
“I killed her.” Bucky speaks up and everyone’s attention turns to him. “It was a life or death situation and I had to choose between Lorraine and Y/N. I did what I had to do to protect Y/N.”
“You couldn’t have knocked her unconscious or something?”
“She was choking Y/N. If I didn’t act fast this would be a completely different conversation.” Bucky defends himself. “Y/N’s safety was my priority. I’m sorry I really am but I did what I had to do.”
Sofia gets up first, followed by Joshua and Luke. They take the files you gave them and leave, not saying another word to you. It crushed you to see how Lorraine had broken your family. Finally Eddie gets up and starts to walk out.
“Dad?”
“Let me handle this, I’ll talk to you soon.” Your father says and follows your siblings.
Bucky pulls you into his chest. He comforts you while you cry. He whispers sweet reassurances as he guides you out of the conference room. The kids follow as Bucky takes you home.
Bucky had ushered the kids into the playroom before pulling you along to your shared room. He didn’t say much as he helped you undress and sent you in to take a shower. Once you walked out Bucky got you into bed. He’d offered to stay with you but you wanted to be alone so he gave you space.
It had been a difficult few days. Bucky could see the worry and anxiety grow with every moment that you didn’t hear from your father. You paced, you zoned out and you slept, nothing else. Not only was Bucky worried but so were the kids and the team. He’d even taken over making the final decisions on some things for the wedding. Not that he minded but he missed the excitement in your eyes as you talked about how great the day was going to be. All Bucky could do was be there for you, hold you while you cried and reassure you that you did nothing wrong. He shouldered the burden of having killed your mother so that you wouldn’t feel guilty about it for the rest of your life. But if you asked him, he’d do it again as long as it meant that you were safe by his side.
The kids also saw how down you were. They missed their mama. It was actually Henry’s idea to do something to cheer you up. So while you’d been sitting outside at Bucky’s insistence, he and the kids prepared a surprise for you. When you walked into your room you were surprised to find Henry and Lottie running out of your bathroom giggling.
“What are you up to?” You asked with a small smile for the first time in days.
“You’re just in time mama. Come look.”
Henry takes your hand and pulls you into your bathroom. You find Bucky putting some finishing touches to a bubble bath.
“What is going on?” You ask while looking around at the lit candles and bathtub.
“We wanted to do something special for you.” Henry says before holding his hand up for you to see what he’s holding. “You can even use my boat so you don’t get bored.”
“An my duckies mama.”
You turn around to see Lottie holding up her little basket of rubber duckies. Most of them are dressed as the Avengers, your own duckie included. You wanted to cry again. For as much as you worried that your siblings hated you again, your family was right there showing you all the love you could ever need.
“The-uh you go mama.” Lottie says after dumping the duckies into the bath.
Bucky ushered the kids out before telling you to relax and giving you a quick kiss.
****
Downstairs Bucky, Henry and Lottie rushed around trying to get another surprise ready for you. This had been Lottie’s idea. She had seen what happened and had been distraught but having you home eased her worries. Now all she wanted was to see her mama happy.
“Hold this here.” Bucky held up a string of lights for Henry.
“Like this?”
“Just like that bubs. Doll, grab that pillow and put it over there.” Lottie rushed around doing as she was told.
The three of them freeze when they hear the door to your room open and close.
“It’s not weady.” Lottie looked at Bucky, panicked.
“I need like a minute. Go distract mama.” Bucky tells Lottie and she rushes out of the living room.
She finds you at the bottom of the stairs.
“Mama wook ovuh the-uh.” She points to a random spot behind you.
You turn to look at the wall and try not to laugh. Then you turn back to look at her with furrowed brows.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Uh,” Lottie looks distraught as she tries to think of something. “It’s just so pwetty?”
“The wall is pretty?” You say teasingly while looking back at the blank wall.
You hear whispering but you can’t see where it’s coming from so you assume Henry is just invisible. Lottie looks up at you and smiles.
“Kay mama come on.” She takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of the living room.
You stop in your tracks when you see the lights and pillow fort. Bucky and Henry stand in the middle of the room smiling at you. The tv was on and an episode of the Golden Girls was ready to go.
“Is this for me?”
“Yeah.” Lottie nods as she looks up at you. “It’s a suwpwise. I don’t wike it when mama is sad.”
That alone made you want to cry again. Instead you scoop Lottie up and hug her while walking towards Bucky and Henry. They join in on the hug and then you all find a comfortable place to sit.
Lottie stays on your lap, Bucky sits next to you on the floor while Henry lounges on the couch behind you. He has his arm hanging over your shoulder. Even Alpine joins in for cuddles. The show plays but you can’t focus on it. All you can do is think about your sweet family and the fact that they’d do anything to make you happy the same way you'd do it for them. So you sit back and enjoy the moment pushing all the bad memories from the last few days out of your mind.
The sun was starting to set as you were all still sitting together in the living room. You’d changed the show for a movie while the kids did some coloring. Your head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder as you yawned. Bucky was just about to suggest calling it a night when the doorbell rang.
“Who the hell could it be at this hour?” Bucky mutters as he stands and makes his way to the door.
There’s a hushed conversation before Bucky walks back. Behind him is Eddie. You tense and immediately you turn your gaze away from him. The kids, who usually ran towards their grandfather, stayed put. Everyone could feel the heaviness in the air.
“Can we talk?” Is all your father asks so you get up and lead him outside to the back porch.
Both of you sit in silence side by side, not knowing what to say. His expression was unreadable. It was one of the few times he ever concealed his feelings from you.
“How are they?”
“How are you?”
You asked at the same time. Eddie looked over at you, taking in your profile. He could see the tension in your shoulders and the way you clenched your jaw. He could see how exhausted you were.
“Kitten.” Eddie said softly and you finally looked at him. You had never seen him look this tired or defeated.
“How are they?”
“Upset, confused, angry.”
You nod and look away. “I’m sorry for not saying anything but you have to understand why I did what I did.”
Eddie pats your shoulder before pulling you in for a hug. This time you don’t cry though. You’re done crying over this.
“Kitten, I’m not blaming you.”
“They are. And I get it, I do. I’d also understand if you did too. She was your wife and you were together for so long.”
“That woman was not my wife.” Eddie says. His tone is sad but resigned. “I was married to a stranger my whole life. She was a great actress though, I’ll tell you that much.”
You didn’t reply. What could you possibly say to him to ease the pain he was surely feeling?
“Lorraine brought this on herself. As long as you tried to bring her in, alive, you have nothing to feel guilty about. She wasn’t a good person, kitten. I can see that now. You did what you had to do as an Avenger trying to protect innocent people and then as a mother trying to protect your family. You gave her a choice and she chose wrong. That doesn’t fall on you.”
“Thanks dad.” You say between quiet sniffles. He hugs you tighter. “As long as you don’t hate me.”
“I could never hate you, you’re my girl.”
You close your eyes and smile. He’s told you that all your life. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, holding each other and watching the sunset.
“The funeral is tomorrow.” He said quietly, long after the last rays of sun had disappeared.
“Oh.”
“You should come, be there for your siblings. I think it could be good for the four of you.”
“It wouldn’t.” You pull away from him. “She was their mother, not mine. I think I would just make it worse by showing up.”
Eddie nods. “I understand, Kitten. I thought I would offer just in case. But don’t worry, your siblings will come around soon. They love you all.” He pats your thigh before getting up.
You have one question. But you aren’t sure if you should ask. If it’s even appropriate. But seeing as your father knew you well, he stops before opening the door and turns to you again.
“I hope this doesn’t change anything for the wedding. I’d still love to walk you down the aisle.”
You look up at him, tears in your eyes and a smile on your lips. You give him a small nod. Eddie gets closer again and places a kiss on your forehead and leaves.
Inside, Bucky meets Eddie at the bottom of the stairs after putting the kids to bed. Eddie stretches his hand to Bucky who seems surprised at the gesture.
“Thank you for bringing her back.”
“Of course. I know it must be hard on Luke, Joshua and Sofia to just accept the death of their mother and not be able to bury her.”
Eddie looks at Bucky confused before shaking his head. “No, I meant Y/N. I knew you’d keep her safe.”
“With my life Ed. Listen about Lorraine- I really didn’t-“
Eddie raises a hand to stop Bucky. “You don’t have to explain yourself, you were protecting our girl, that’s all that matters. From what I’ve read in those files, she had it coming. If you hadn’t done it Lorraine would have kept coming after her. You not only kept Y/N safe but the rest of my family.” Eddie places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. “You protected our family. Never apologize or feel guilty about it.”
Bucky only nods understanding that Eddie was including him as part of his family.
“To be honest, and I mean this in the best way possible, I’m glad it was you that did it and not her. She would have carried that guilt for the rest of her life.”
“I’d do it again, if I had to.” Bucky reassures the man in front of him.
“Good. Well I’ll get going now. See you at the wedding.”
Bucky smiles and nods, following Eddie to the door and closing it behind the older man. When he turns he sees you walking around and turning off lights before making your way towards him. He smiles as you throw yourself into his arms.
“Let’s go to bed.” He says softly, feeling as you take a deep breath and exhale.
You practically melt against Bucky as you nod. Bucky kisses the top of your head as his hold on you tightens. He doesn’t let you go, instead Bucky leans down and hooks his hands around the back of your knees. You wrap your legs around his waist as he makes his way up the stairs while carrying you to your shared room.
Bucky lays you down and you laugh while he tucks you in. “Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?”
“Shut up and get in bed.”
“I keep telling you this is where Charlotte gets her attitude from.” Bucky mutters as he takes off his shirt and settles beside you.
You laugh as Bucky pulls you closer. With a sigh you lay your head on Bucky’s chest.
“Is everything ok?” He asks.
“I guess. The funeral is tomorrow.”
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I’m done with everything that has to do with Lorraine. I have more important things to focus on.”
“Yeah?” Bucky looks down at you and smiles. “Like what?”
“Like marrying the love of my life.”
“Well that does sound like it’s super important.”
“It is.” You snuggle closer to Bucky. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I can’t wait either, Sugar.”
Ch. 39
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List of Lolita Resources
Someone in my comm encouraged me to make this list of resources for new lolitas. We were talking about how hard it can be to find information from Google search and there's just so much misinformation out there. I have a list of links that I've bookmarked and read over the past decade for when I finally become a lolita. I organized the list by sections in a specific order. It goes from information about the fashion and then to where to buy it.
To any new lolitas, there is so much information out there about lolita fashion that is still available. Part of the fun for me was researching the fashion, looking at coords, and learning what makes lolita lolita. There's so much information out there for you to immerse yourself in and even more stuff that's not listed in this resource list.
What is Lolita Fashion
Fyeah Lolita - This is my favorite blog and I still go back and read it. The last post was made in 2016 and the fashion has changed a lot since then, but it's pretty comprehensive and provides a good base knowledge. Imo, I think these articles (1 2 3 4) are required reading for anyone entering the fashion Lolita Fashion 101 - Bay Area Kei did several videos on lolita fashion during lockdowns. I recommend them for anyone that prefers video format. Raine Dragon's Lolita 101 series - Raine is a lolita that still updates her blog and has a lot of information on the history of lolita fashion. And she has a really great article on Chinese indie brands that should also be required reading for anyone new to using Taobao.
Costs of Lolita Manufacturing - One of the first things you'll notice is that lolita can be expensive. This resource breaks down the costs associated with manufacturing and why brands charge what they charge.
Substyles of Lolita Fashion
The below links are for the three basic styles of lolita fashion. If you research more, you'll find that there are different directions that you can take your wardrobe, but I recommend starting with one of the three above to make it easier for to build your wardrobe. Classic Lolita Sweet Lolita Gothic Lolita
Where to get Lolita Fashion
Before even buying anything, you will need a tape measure to take your measurements. You'll need to measure your bust, waist, hips, and shoulder width in centimeters. That's how you will find out which clothes will fit you. Sizing can be different from brand to brand and country to country. I know many are used to buying using letter sizes, but it's best to go by actual measurements. Aim to buy clothes that are 4 - 6cm larger than your actual measurements to allow room for breathing/eating/etc. If you're brand new to the fashion, I highly recommend sticking to the sources listed in the videos below. It's very easy to get scammed if you don't know what to look for and I'd hate for anyone to lose their money on barely wearable clothes from Amazon/Ebay/Aliexpress. Where to Buy Lolita FashionHow to shop for Lolita Fashion online - secondhand is life for lolita fashion and there are so many options. PinkFakeFlowers goes in depth into the many ways to get it. I personally recommend 42lolita for anyone looking to buy from Chinese brands on Taobao.
Plus Size Lolita
Unfortunately, many of the Japanese brands and even some Chinese indie brands are not size inclusive. If you can't fit into the mainstream brands, don't worry there are still options. I always recommend Meta since they have a Plus Size and occasionally a Plus Plus size of their dresses and blouses that goes up to 160cm or even 200cm in some releases. Plus Size Lolita Crash Course Where to Start as a Plus Sized Lolita - This is a wonderful resource listing brands that are size inclusive.
Online Spaces for Lolita Fashion
Lolita fashion is pretty spread out now compared to the EGL (still recommend reading livejournal because its a cool time capsule of the lolita comm) days, but there are still groups on Facebook. BSoLF - Great for beginners to ask questions and be helped by others. It's hard to search here but I recommend looking through the group for info. Your Local Comm (if applicable) - most are still on Facebook even if they still have a Discord. You can search for your local one on this list.
More Resources for New Lolitas
Lolita Tips for New Lolitas Three helpful tips for coordinating an outfit Lolita Tips Tumblr - I don't recommend Fanplusfriend anymore, but 42lolita is a good replacement. This tumblr is a great resource for inspo and there are many answered asks to reference. Unfortunately, polyvore is no longer a thing and many pictures are missing as a result.
Bonus
These are just a mishmash of links to resources/lists/blog that I like. Lolita Collective
Lolita youtubers ask
Lolita tumblrs ask 20dollarlolita and her post on replicas
More plus size lolita brands ask Japanese Wikipedia entry for Lolita fashion and list of brands
Azuki Mikan
Buttcape
Old School Lolita
#lolita fashion#sweet lolita#classic lolita#gothic lolita#lilac talks#i'll try to update regularly and may even make a more stable version on my website#tbh a lot of these are the ones i like and enjoy and continue to go back and read all the time#i'll also update this page if i find anything else interesting or if i find more videos that i like#edited to change taobao to chinese indie#they are not the same thing
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