#stranger things noir au

[wildsupernova]

Smoke and Whiskey

summary: Steve hadn’t let himself get attached to anyone since he became detective. In his line of work, being cold was just an expectation. But when a beautiful jazz singer finds herself in danger, he begins to rethink that.

pairings: detective!steve x singer!reader film noir au

warnings: strong language, violence, mentions of death

Word count: 4k

a/n: hey there! this is mostly just a post i wanted to put up while i’m working on some other stuff. i’m also testing this sort of world out to see if you guys like it, and if you do, i’ll do some more little stories with these two characters! sorry if it’s a bit clunky, noir is surprisingly difficult to write, but i really enjoyed trying to break out into this world. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy! <3

masterlist | prompts list

Steve hated jazz clubs. Maybe it was his cynical nature, or his constant pessimistic attitude, but something about them got on his nerves. Maybe it was the cloud of smoke that turned the room hazy, or the cheap alcohol served in crystal glasses that doubled as ashtrays, or maybe it was the side-eyed glances he got from the patrons the second they laid eyes on his badge. Whatever it was always made him irritable, and he wouldn’t spend more time in one that he had to. 

Tonight was no different. The club was one of the higher end establishments in town, crystal chandeliers casting a dim light over the room that was only made darker by the cigarette smoke that curled up from almost every table in the room. Steve held a cigarette of his own between his lips, fingers running along the edge of the shimmering crystal whiskey glass the bartender had handed to him a few moments ago. His eyes scanned the room with the precision of a practiced investigator, taking note of every familiar face he saw in the crowd. Gangsters, mobsters, career criminals. Almost everyone in here had some sort of record that they claimed to have put in the past. 

He wouldn't be here if it wasn’t for Callahan. Steve didn’t know what the officer had against him, but everytime he got the chance, he was sliding Steve another hefty case file. He was probably still bitter over being passed over for the promotion; Detective Callahan just didn’t have the ring to it that Detective Harrington did. 

He desperately wanted to get back to his office and drown himself in a good bottle of whiskey and stare at case files until his eyes hurt, but he had to do this first. She was the only link between the victims that anyone could find. 

Steve didn’t know why nobody talked to her before. Maybe it was shitty investigative work, or nobody could get a hold of her, maybe a mix of both. He was willing to put money on the former though; the department was going to shit ever since the Chief left, and nothing he could do would save it. Money was being thrown down the drain, the new chief taking in any new recruit that wanted a place on the force, leaving them with nothing but washed up middle aged fathers looking for a little bit of glory. Steve had been the best one to come through in the past 5 years, and now he had a shiny new detective badge and a corner office to show for it. 

He winced as the cheap whiskey touched his tongue, burning his throat as he swallowed. It wasn’t smooth like the expensive aged whiskey he kept locked up in his desk drawer; this was cheap, too many flavors mixing together to form a mixture of alcohol and spices that merely looked like whiskey. The other men in the bar seemed to be enjoying it. He had a feeling they just had bad taste.

He moved his arm to adjust the revolver that rested in the holster pressed against his ribs, showing it off to the man that gave him a sideways glance as he passed. His glass clinked against the polished wood of the bartop as he placed it back down, and the bartender was already replacing the empty glass with a full one. 

His eyes latched themselves to the stage as the crowd around him began to quiet their murmuring, lights above his head dimming until the room was painted a hazy pale yellow. He adjusted the way he sat on the barstool and leaned to his side as the stage’s curtains parted slowly. 

The sound of heels against wood echoed through the now silent bar, pulling his attention away from his glass and towards the stage. Long legs draped in a shroud of red silk came through the curtains first, a slit in the skirt parting it just enough for one leg to peek through as she walked. His eyes traveled up her legs to where her dress cinched at the waist, shaped and tied with a delicate precision that drew his eyes up and towards the face of the woman who wore it. Her lashes fluttered as she waved at the men in the bar with manicured nails, blowing kisses to the men who threw wolf whistles her way. The diamonds she wore on her neck and ears shimmered in the stage lights, and as her eyes passed over him, her red-painted smile grew wider, a color only comparable to the glass of cabernet the woman sitting next to him sipped from. 

She was far more beautiful than the flyers made her out to be. He found himself entranced by her as she stepped up to the microphone, and the moment she spoke in a sultry, smooth tone he couldn’t focus on anything else in the room. 

“It is such a delight to see so many familiar faces sitting in those seats tonight.” Her voice echoed off the walls around him, interrupted by the soft hollers and cheers from the men around the bar. She flashed each of them a smile and a wave before turning her attention to him, almost as if she had sought him out amongst the crowd. “And it is even more delightful to see some new faces out in the crowd tonight. Tonight’s performance is real special, so grab another glass and enjoy.”

A round of applause filled the room when she released her grip on the mic, head turning to look over her shoulder at the man behind the piano. With nothing more than a nod, he began to play, and seconds later, her voice came in to accompany.

He wasn’t really one to believe in Heaven and angels, but the way she sounded just might convert him. It was almost supernatural the way her voice swirled around his head, painting pictures behind his eyes that disappeared each time he blinked. In the silence that lingered after one song ended and the next began, his hand tightened around his whiskey glass, as if his body yearned to hear her voice again. 

He joined the audience in their round of applause as she made her final bow, flashing him one last smile and bat of her eyes as she turned to walk back through the curtain. He let out a breath as she disappeared behind the velvet, sliding a folded up bill to the bartender next to his third empty glass of the night. His hands adjusted his vest before he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up from his barstool and crossing the distance to the mahogany door labeled ‘Employees Only’. The bouncer tried to stop him, but one flash of his badge and he was let through. 

As the door closed behind him, the conversation in the bar behind him became muffled, replaced instead by the soft melody of jazz floating from a nearby radio. His footsteps were softened by the checkered carpet lining the hallway, and when he reached the end, he found himself in front of a tall, red wooden door cracked open no more than an inch. A knock of his fist against the door two times elicited a soft response from the woman on the other side, so he pushed his palm against the door to swing it open on its hinges. 

The smell of rosewater perfume wafted towards him as he opened the door, the soft tones of smooth jazz echoing from a small radio perched on a table in the corner of the room. Practically every surface in the dressing room was occupied by a bouquet of flowers; some roses, a few tulips, half dead daisies that were shoved off into one corner. Makeup and half empty bottles of perfume were lined up meticulously at the base of the mirror attached to the vanity, as if she had a new perfume for every outfit. The woman sitting at the vanity popped her lips as she finished reapplying her lipstick, wiping away a smudge that had escaped the line of her lips. She blotted her lips on an already stained handkerchief, placing the tube back down on the vanity and turning towards the door. 

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” She leaned her head against her hand, the sleeve of her robe falling down her arm just a bit. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

Steve had to take a moment to compose himself before he spoke. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, trying not to stare down the front of her dress as she leaned forwards. 

“Are you,” Another cough as his words got caught in his throat. “Are you aware of a murder that occurred at 12:47 am this morning?”

“There’s plenty of murders in this town, sir. You’ll have to be specific.” He fumbled for the notepad in his pocket, flipping it open. 

“Did you happen to know a ‘Robert Edwin’?” The woman’s face fell, lips no longer flashing him a sultry smile and eyes suddenly dim. She sat up a little straighter. “He was murdered last night.”

“Robbie?” She held a hand over her mouth, a small bit of maroon coming off on her palm. “Yeah, course I know Robbie. He’s my…was my manager. Known him since I was 7.” She stood from her seat and tugged her robe shut tighter. “He’s…He’s dead? You’re sure it was him?”

Steve felt something twist in his chest. Most of the time, it wasn’t hard to make death notifications like this, but the way she was shaking, trying not to break down in tears had him wishing he never had come here. He supposed it was better him than one of the other detectives known to be callous and cruel. 

“His family made the notification, we’re sure.” She wiped away a tear that made its way out, standing up straighter and morphing her face into a neutral expression. 

“What do you need from me, Detective?”

“Do any of these other names sound familiar to you? Laura Mareau, Eli William, James Carmen?” Her face paled as he read out the list. 

“Eli and James were old boyfriends of mine, but those ships sailed years ago. Laura…Laura beat me out for top spot at the Silver Angel last month. Why?”

“They were all found murdered earlier this week.”

“Oh my…” She was finding it hard to speak, beginning to pace back and forth. “Why? Who would do this?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out.” He took a step closer to her, lowering his voice in an attempt to be soft and soothing. He felt that it didn’t really work much, but the stuttered breath of relief she let out told him he did something right. “Do you know of anyone who would want people close to you dead? Anything strange that’s been happening recently?”

Her face paled as her eyes snapped to the pile of dying daisies in the corner. 

“Everyday, there’s a new bouquet of daisies in my dressing room, always with the same note. Never a name, just the words ‘for you’. It can't possibly be anyone I know, because they all know I hate daisies.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if suddenly feeling too vulnerable in the small room. “I just…throw them in the corner until they die and it's time to throw them out, I never thought much of it.”

“Anything else happens, anything at all, you call me, alright?” Steve quickly scribbled his office number down on an empty page from his notebook, handing it over to her. She took it with shaky hands, making her way over to a small decanter of clear alcohol sitting on a table next to a pair of chairs. She poured herself a drink and downed it in one go, leaving a deep red lipstick stain on the rim. Steve turned to leave, but her voice calling out stopped him.

“Detective? Be honest with me.” She paused, as if she was trying to stop the words from coming out. “Am I in danger?”

Normally his response would be callous and brutal, but he took a moment to find the right answer. “It’s…possible, yes.”

She didn’t respond verbally, only pouring herself another drink and drank it just as quickly as the first. He came back to her side, laying a hand on her shoulder. 

“Look, I will do whatever I can to make sure nothing happens to you. You have my word.” He flashed her the best smile he could muster and she laughed. 

“You know, when I saw you sitting at that bar, you looked like someone who’d never spoken with kindness a day in their life.” Her eyes softened. “I guess I was wrong. Maybe cynicism is just a hard habit to unlearn.”

He dropped his arm from her shoulder and took a few steps back to the door. 

“I suppose it might be.” The door latch clicked as he turned the handle, pushing it open just a bit. “You need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Detective…?”

“Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

___________________________

The commotion outside of his office made him raise his head from his hands, a stray strand of hair falling into his eyes. He swiped it back into place and stood from his desk, closing the open manilla folder that had held his attention for the past hour.

“You don’t understand, I need to see him.” A feminine voice echoed from the other side of the door, tone irritated and bordering on frantic. Steve would have thought the male voice that responded was condescending if he didn’t already know that’s just how Officer Callahan sounded all the time. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the corner of his desk and opened the door.

“Ma’am, you can’t just walk in here and demand to see someone.”

“The hell I can’t! Not when someone is trying to kill me!”

“How do you know someone is trying to kill you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you, you slimy, arrogant bas-”

“Y/N.” As amused as Steve was at the way Callahan’s face had turned red from the singer’s insults, he stepped in before it escalated any further. Her face immediately softened and her shoulders relaxed when she saw him. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Detective, thank god you’re here. I kept calling and nobody was answering so I-” Her mouth was moving at a mile a minute, words spilling out so fast he could barely understand them. 

“Slow down, slow down. And call me Steve, please.”

She sucked in a breath before speaking again. 

“When I got to my dressing room this morning, the entire place was trashed, like someone had just…ran in and destroyed everything I owned. The only thing untouched was a vase of half dead daisies and a note. I didn’t know where else to go, and you said that if anything strange happened, I should call you.”

Steve placed a hand on the small of her back as he led her towards the door to his office, her shoulders loosening as she melted into his touch. 

“You did the right thing by coming here. Don’t worry, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Thank you, Dete-Steve.” Steve shot Callahan a scolding look before shutting the door to his office, nodding for her to sit down in the chair across from his own. She straightened her skirt before she did, lifting her hat off of her head and placing it in her lap. 

“You gave Callahan quite the lashing out there.” She sat a bit straighter. 

“I deal with men like him all the time. Brutish, arrogant, think a title and a gun makes them better than everyone else.”

“Most women would have just apologized and kept begging.”

“Well, I pride myself on not being like most women.”

“That much I can see.” He tried to make conversation to keep her calm, and it seemed to work well enough judging by the small smile on her face. Steve poured himself a glass of whiskey before offering one to the woman sitting across from him-which she politely declined-and sat down in the chair across from her. “What’s in that letter that’s got you coming in here and yelling at a police officer at 9 am?”

She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk and towards Steve.

“I found this in my dressing room this morning. First thing I did was try to call, but when you didn’t answer, I had to come down here and show you in person.”

Steve picked up the note and looked at it. It was something out of a bad movie cliche, words glued onto the paper with magazine and newspaper clippings. On their own, he likely would have chalked them up as an empty threat, but the recent murders had him believing that whoever put the letter together was likely serious. 

“Do you have any idea who might have wrote this?”

“I have plenty of weird fans, Detective. My regulars write me angry letters all the time because they’re upset I give my attention to someone else. If so many people hadn’t been…murdered, I would have thought this was just another angry fan.”

Steve could see the worry on her face and in her tone, even through the brave front she was putting up. He placed a hand atop her own, trying his best to offer comfort. 

“You don’t have to worry, okay? I’ll be at that club every night until this stops if I have to.”

“Thank you.” She sniffled a bit, trying to wipe away her tears before he could see them. Her hands shook, and it wasn’t hard to tell that she was terrified. “You’re quite the detective, you know.”

Steve found himself blushing. 

“Just doing my job.” She stood from the chair and straightened her clothes, hand gripping the door handle and twisting. 

“Well, it’s been a long time since this town has had a competent man wearing the badge.” She pulled the door open and took a step through, turning to him with a smile. “And one who isn’t too bad to look at.” She shut the door behind her, and once he heard the door click shut, he laughed to himself and took another drink from his glass. 

“Some woman.”

_______________

Never did he think he’d be back in the same jazz club twice in one week, but here he was, cigarette in hand, smoke swirling around his head until it melted in with the haze already covering the room. The soft chatter of patrons bounced from wall to wall until it reached his ears, ice in his whiskey long melted since the waiter had brought it to his table. 

He was only here because of her. Because if something happened to her he wasn’t sure he could live with himself. It didn’t make sense; in his line of work, you weren’t supposed to get attached. You desensitize yourself and break everything down to victims and offenders to make it easier on you. You aren’t supposed to feel what he was feeling. 

He wanted to protect her, but not in the same way he wanted to protect the city. He wanted to wrap her up and keep her in a glass case if it meant nothing bad would ever happen to her. 

He’d told himself he wouldn’t let this happen. No love, no lust, not anymore. Not since he took that badge from the chief and swore his oath. Things get too complicated when he lets himself fall in love. 

He wasn’t even sure that's what this was, he’d barely known her for more than a few days. Sure, he’d been in love before but it didn’t feel like this. It hadn’t made him worry like this.

The cheers of the audience brought his attention away from the swirling amber in his glass. His booth in the corner gave him a good view of the rest of the bar, but it gave him a perfect view of the stage, a fact he pretended hadn’t been a factor when he was picking his seat. 

The dim lights above his head were overshadowed by the spotlight shining on the stage, his eyes watching as a hand parted the curtains and a body stepped through. She shimmered under the spotlight, each crystal on her dress spreading light to the others around it. She walked slowly, back straight and head held high, but he noticed the way her hands shook as she walked. 

She made her introductions with the sultry voice she saved only for the stage, eyes scanning over the crowd. When her eyes locked with Steve’s, her shoulders relaxed.

The melody she sang felt like something akin to a siren song, keeping his eyes transfixed on her the whole way through. He watched the way she closed her eyes to hold a long note, the way she used her hands to emphasize the shift in notes, how she tapped her foot against the stage to keep the beat. Song after song he did nothing but watch, and as she took a bow and left the stage, he joined the others in their round of applause. 

He stood, hoping to grab another drink at the bar before he left, but a man harshly bumping his shoulder stopped him in his path. The man didn’t raise his head, only glancing at Steve’s badge before mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ and rushing past. He would have assumed the guy was just another drunk if he hadn’t rushed through the ‘Employees Only’ door, scampering past the bouncer that tried to stop him. 

Steve was quick to follow, pulling the gun from his holster once he was out of sight of the other guests. The sounds of shouting from down the hall had him moving faster, and one quick gunshot had him breaking out into a full sprint. 

He rounded the corner to the dressing room expecting the worst, but when he took a step through the doorway, he let out a breath and lowered his gun. 

There she was, cowering in the corner, small pistol outstretched in her shaking hand. The gems on her dress sparkled as they moved in time with the heaving of her chest, and her eyes darted around the room until they fell on him. 

She didn’t move as Steve bent down to check the man’s pulse, letting out a sigh of relief as he felt the steady rhythm of a heartbeat underneath his fingers. He turned the man over and put him in cuffs, handing him over to the officers who had rushed down the hall at the sound of the gunshot. 

“He’s not…dead?” Steve turned towards where she stood, tears glossing her eyes as she lowered her hand. He took a few steps closer, kicking the gun away from her when she dropped it to the floor. 

“No, he’s not dead.” The second the words left his lips, she let out a heavy breath and a sob, Steve’s arms catching her when her knees gave out. She wrapped her arms around him to catch her balance and he did the same (albeit rather awkwardly). She hid her face in his chest until her tears finally stopped, pulling from him and taking a step back as she wiped away the last of her tears. 

“Sorry, I got lipstick all over your shirt.” He looked down at his chest and, sure enough, there was a bright red smudge across the white of his button up. He let out a laugh. 

“‘S okay.” He took a hesitant step towards her, grabbing one of her hands to try and help her shaking. “Where did you get a gun?”

“I bought it the day I came by the station.” She straightened her posture when his hand touched her, taking in one last deep breath. “I didn’t know when he would come after me and wanted to be safe.”

“It was smart.”

“But I could have killed him.” There was a fear in her eyes when she met his gaze. “I almost killed him.”

“You protected yourself.” He placed his other hand over the one he was already holding, doing his best to comfort her. “No shame in that.”

“I just…” She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. “I just want to get out of here.”

Steve gave her a soft smile. 

“Let's get out of here then. I’ll buy you a drink.” She gave him a small laugh and a sly smile. 

“Should you really be drinking on the clock?”

“Nobody has to know.” He let go of her hand and held out his arm. She took it quickly, fingers wrapping around his bicep in a way that had him blushing. 

“Well, let's find a good spot at the bar then.”

[momotonescreaming]

40s au anyone?

Steve Harrington is always immaculately dressed in the finest suits, hair carefully styled, drove the nicest car. Hawkins most eligible bachelor. Women dream of him taking them out to dance and then bringing them back home.

But the only person he brings home is Eddie. With his hair too long to be socially acceptable, with his wrinkled shirts, and fondness for music. A voice like honey and a real way with words.

He'd make himself comfortable at Steve's place, rain battering the windows, light down low, cigarette smoke curling up into the air, settling into a light haze. His wrinkled shirt hanging over the back of a chair, Eddie clad only in his undershirt, second hand suspenders, and worn socks peeking out from underneath his pants.

Steve comes home to the sound of one of his jazz records, the sound curling up with the smoke. He barely has time to shut the door and take off his jacket before Eddie is grabbing his hand and spinning him around.

They dance, Steve slowly rolling up his sleeves and coming undone as they take turns leading. He kicks off his shoes and Eddie spins him round. They follow the motions of the music, kissing as the record finishes.

[tosteur-gluteal]

OMORI MLB AU SKETCHBOOK SPREAD: shenanigans 💥💥💥

🐞: I thought [you said that] "the ladybug Miraculous was of no use to you"?

🐈‍⬛: ...Anyways, we got a villain to catch right now...

🌟: Kiyomu? Is everything okay in there? ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ²⁰ ᵐᶦⁿᵘᵗᵉˢ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ...

Whole spread here:

Ink only version

[soniclion92]

Miraculous Jancy but I swapped the Kwamis

[emily-mooon]

Cause Everybody Knows, He’s A Femme Fatale.

[maithefluffychicken]

I'm having a hard time trying to decide which fic should I continue writing, so here's a poll for you all to help me!

[otteranha]

40s noir AU where Steve and Robin are partners in a run down private detective agency, scratching out a living with divorce cases and lost pets. They got their start after stumbling into an espionage ring fronted by the local ice cream parlor, only to lose credit for breaking the case to federal agents and law enforcement taking credit for their hard work.

Cut off by their families for pursuing this disreputable career path, they’re just getting by until the day wealthy playboy Jason Carver walks into their firm and hires them to find the man who killed his fiancée Chrissy- dope pusher and corrupter of the innocent Eddie Munson.

But as they investigate the two find that the web of death and deception around Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson is more tangled than it seems, leading them down a rabbit hole of political corruption, kidnapping, serial murder and worse!

[writerrobinarnett]

The most important chapter of The Strange and Miraculous Tales of Zombie Boy and Chat Noir is finally up! (and I'm really excited about it lol)

Chapter 16: Zombie Boy and Chat Noir fight a time warping villain and learn that their days are numbered...

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

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

part one word count: 15.6k

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

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

note: another reupload!! hope this hopeless romantic college boyfriend jake hits just as good the second time around. 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｡⋆

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

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

Scratch that – thirty minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were?”

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

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

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

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

And that clicks things into place.  

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

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms. 

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not–” 

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

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

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

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

“Yes, okay?”

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

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you set out for the university library. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer. 

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you get closer, their words become more audible. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

James Sim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Girlfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO IS UP AND LINKED ON MY MASTERLIST!

note: thank you for reading!! this is the version I had saved in my docs and it should be identical to what was posted before but in case there are any slight differences, that's why. I also sometimes make the fatal mistake of doing small grammatical edits in tumblr itself, so please excuse any minor errors as I didn't do a read through this time around. as always, I love to hear any thoughts you may have!

[noimnotmae]

L O S T | Max Verstappen

pt3

summary: after getting lost in the city of Las Vegas a kind stranger offers to help her get back to her hotel.

max verstappen x female! CEO! reader

pt2 — masterlist — pt4

[twitter]

[Instagram]

yn_suárez ✔

liked by urbff_user, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 306,765 others

yn_suárez 😂🤣 . . . more

view all 1,309 comments

urbff_user Max 🤨🙄

maxverstappen1 what did I do??

urbff_user win

yn_suárez I'm so sorry about her, max

maxverstappen1 It's all good

chsrleschicken I stan [urbff]

mamasuárez ❤️

yn_suárez miss you, mama

liked by yn_suárez

f1fan max what're you doin here? 🤨

ashkey67 max, liking and commenting on yn's posts won't get you your Noir leather jacket.

livelylope he's trying so hard

kiaanna I'm liking the max yn interactions

forzaferrsri55 YN, stop fraternising with the enemy in the comments!

urbff_user ☝️

[Instagram msg]

[texts]

[Instagram]

yn_suárez ✔

liked by urbff_user, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 609,267 others

yn_suárez Goodluck Ferrari team. Forza Ferrari, sèmpre 🏎 💨 . . . more

view all 2,038 comments

urbff_user ❤️❤️🏁

yn_suárez 😫

scuderiaferrari looking good in red

liked by yn_suárez

carlossainz55 thank you ❤️

urbff_user please don't let max win 🙏

carlossainz55 we'll see

charles_leclerc Forza Ferrari

liked by yn_suárez

yuukiyuukiyaya here comes the F1 drivers

livelaughlovealways yn confirmed Ferrari fan

landonorizzz08 Ferrari commented

maxverstappen1 😒

urbff_user 🙄

mywifeyyn [urbff] having beef with max is my favourite thing in the world

[story]

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

the layouts for the chats and other social media sort of changed since I'm still figuring out what's the best looking ones. this social media au is sort of an experiment at the same time is just for funzies. hope you are all enjoying so far.

taglist: @stinkyjax @spookystitchery @marshmummy

if you want to be tagged in the next part, just comment.

[kaileedraws]

Introduction: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Here are some of my changes to Marinette in my Miraculous AU! Below I'm going to go into a little bit further detail about what I'm changing about her character and why. I'll list the problems that I have with her character in the show and explain how I plan to fix it.

1. Marinette is the only character that must be there in order for a fight to be won

I've noticed in the story, other characters have little to no opportunity to save the day if Marinette is not present, and this seems a little unrealistic. She is the protagonist, but I feel like her biggest lesson is that she doesn't need to do everything herself - but unfortunately, the story's plot only reinforces the fact that she DOES need to do everything herself, or else things will backfire on her. I will be balancing the Miraculous powers to reflect the unique aspects of everyone's personality and show that Marinette can rely on others - especially Chat Noir - to win without her.

2. The show's narrative punishes characters when they trust others - making Marinette a hypocrite

An example of this is pushing the narrative that Ladybug and Chat Noir cannot know each other's identities or else the world will end (except in their alternate universe). Marinette also punishes Alya for trusting Nino with her identity - yet is not so reluctant to share her own identity with her own best friend.

More people know Ladybug's identity than Chat Noir's identity (and not even because he told him he was Chat Noir), yet Ladybug consistantly shows Chat Noir that she trusts others more than him. She has a hypocritical nature of warning him about secrets, yet does the very things he warns him against.

Fixing this, Marinette, as a character, lacks trust due to her past with Chloe - an ex-best-friend - and Kim - an ex-crush. She has a nature of becoming suspicious of strangers, and she is overly cautious and judgemental of those she meets (which would also explain her canon reactions to Lila and Kagami when she first meets them). Because of this, she stereotypes Adrien when she first meets him and thinks he is just trying to manipulate her like all of the other popular kids she has met. He is constantly trying to prove to her that she is a good person and she doesn't buy it for a while. For Alya, she is also suspicious with her at first, but because she is so brutally honest to everyone - she has an easier time with learning to trust her than anyone else she meets.

With the Ladynoir dynamic, Ladybug starts the series pushing Chat Noir away - desperately trying to keep their relationship professional. But as things blow up in her face the more she pushes him away and tries to do everything herself, she finds herself apologizing for her mistakes and trying to become closer to him so they can function better as a team (power of love always so strong~). As the story goes on, she finds that she can be more herself as Ladybug to Chat Noir than as Marinette because Marinette becomes a chronic liar to keep her identity.

In the future, when Alya comes clean to Marinette that she told Nino about her own miraculous, Marinette reacts the way she did in the show and feels betrayed, but later forgives Alya and trusts her to make her own decisions in her life (character development here).

3. Marinette doesn't have a clear character arc

the show is set up - as cooberated by many others - as a "lesson of the day"-type show, but Marinette doesn't have any character development other than becoming a little more confident and standing up to her bully (which also gets her into trouble more and happens early on in the show). I think that her character development should revolve around learning to trust others and learning that she can't do everything by herself, and learning how to cope with her anxiety.

4. Marinette's creepy obsession (Stalker) with Adrien

No one tells Marinette that she takes things a little too far with Adrien except for the school bully (Chloe). She doesn't even recongize herself until later that what she's doing is wrong. I feel like - especially aged up - that Marinette has a duality with this. She knows morally that it's not OK to stalk people or be as obsessive as she is, but she continues to make excuses that she is either protecting Adrien or herself from harm. She feels guilty about it, but her inherent curiosity and lack of trust gets the better of her sometimes.

5. Marinette is mostly bubbly and awake

Either this girl takes adderall every morning or eats coffee beans - she is always shown to be alert despite being a full-time student, overachiever, and superhero. It would be good to see her struggling with sleep more often and developing an energy drink/coffee addiction just to stay awake. Perhaps it gets so bad that she has to be hospitalized for severe sleep deprivation.

6. The plot prohibits Marinette from ever being akumatized fully

Because of her huge emotions, Marinette would definitely be akumatized at some point. She would fight it - perhaps Tikki would take her Miraculous and find a temporary holder - or not - but being a main character and a miraculous holder should not exclude her from becoming a victim of hawkmoth. This would also push the narrative that Marinette is not perfect and she is not inherently needed to save the day every time.

Conclusion

These are just a few of my changes for Marinette - once I nail down a design, I'll probably make a character sheet for her general personality. I like the idea that she is one of the weird, awkward art kids in school that is incredibly dark, tired, and weirdly bubbly around her friends, but depressed at home (my middle school experience tbh). I'm really excited to make Marinette a lot more relatable and a product of the things she experinces in the show - not just a protagonist with layers of plot armor and villian-like hypocracy!

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (2/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

You don’t think your eyes are even able to leave, don’t think that they’re capable of ripping away from the sway of smooth silk-like noir. You notice the sharp up-curve of the nose, the flair of poise in his gaze. His features are tender, yet so sharp… It was like looking at some sort of doll.

You can see his lips part, mouthing words that you can’t seem to make out as he picks up a much smaller box, smile on his face soft with excitement, slowly curling into a laugh that you can’t hear…

And you just can’t help but think how pretty he looks.

There’s curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the uncertainty in the neutral, almost blank look on your face as you’re practically mesmerized by the sight. What sort of feeling is this? Is it normal? Are you meant to feel—

“Pah, it’s just some kid and his parents.” He practically has poison on his tongue, spitting them out with restrained irritation as he sticks his tongue out at the boy. “Bleghhhh, who even needs to look at ‘em, right?” He’s huffing a bit once he sees him disappear into the home, glad that was over and done with, hopping off the stool and chubby hand reaching for your curtain tie to draw them close.

Your eyes don’t need to see him. You have him, right? He looks to you for affirmation, for your compliance—

Only to be met with your silence, body still and eyes stuck onto the drawn curtains— The baby blue of the fabric starting to swirl your mind with perplexing images as your stare turns blank and your eyes go out of focus.

You’re not paying attention to him anymore… And that doesn’t sit quite right with your one and only friend.

He slaps a hand over your eyes, turning your sight dark and obscured and distracted. “Don’t look at him.” You can feel a slight sting from the impact, can feel how warm his hand is against your skin as you reach up to pat at him— To let you see again, please.

“Strangers are dangerous!” You know that. “Has your Mama never taught you that you shouldn’t approach kids you don’t know?!” You can hear the pouting grumbles, can hear how mad he is at the appearance of this supposedly ‘new kid’.

“Satoru…” You’re kind of confused about his behaviour, your words starting to trail off into a tone of uncertainty and slight fear. Does he not realize it?

“I’m a new kid too—“

“Y’er different!” He lets out a huff as he grabs onto your hand, tugging you towards him lightly, telling you to get off. “Don’t ask me to explain, okay!”

And you just blink at him, unintentionally hitting a nerve.

“What, ya wanna be friends with him or something?” He looks offended, a curve of his eyebrows downwards and crossed arms, feet planted themselves firmly into the tatami mats of your floor as you catch what looks suspiciously like the bristling of his hair. “Y’er not allowed to be friends with anyone from this neighbou—“

Your eyebrows furrow. “But he’s not from this neighbourhood— He just moved in, remember?”

“That’s not my point! The idea is that—“

“He’s pretty, though.” An interruption to his little spiel, eyes glancing back at the drawn curtains of your window. Does Satoru not think so too? You didn’t know people could look like that.

“Wha— Well, so am I!” Oh, so Satoru does agree. That’s enough to have you humming slightly, eyes turning into an up-curve and smiling at your friend. You’re glad he agrees. Now you both have one more similarity added to the list.

What was, unbeknownst to you, not similar right now, was his seething irritation as he watches you think about his claim.

“Mm…” Your face grows oddly serious as you slowly step off the stool, your small feet shuffling forwards to better stare at your blue-eyed friend. Your face is close, your toes on the edge as you really lean in to get a closer look, to really look him in the eye now that it’s too dark without the sunlight shining in.

You’ve never given much thought to Satoru’s looks beyond the surface level of ‘cute’.

Your scrutinization of his face leaves him quiet, leaves him to glare and pout back at you despite the close proximity. Like he was imploring you to look all you want, didn’t mind that you were coming this close to inspect the features of his face.

So you take your time to think, to ponder… To really have time to learn about his every characteristic.

You like the way his cheeks always looked full and red, always soft looking and squishy under your touch, liked the way his nose curved upwards at just that certain point and the cute scrunches he always does.

You liked his eyes, the sparkling blue akin to the shimmering ponds reflected by a sunny day, always glittering and shiny when they smiled at you. You liked how his hair, despite the sharp tips and messy styling— Looked purposeful and proper in a cute, rugged way. It suits him.

Every trait, suits him perfectly. You don’t know anybody else who would be able to pull off his looks the way he does, pull off that funny, stuck-up attitude he has… Because it wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t him.

Maybe you just have an odd sense for beauty, or have an eye set on looking for something else. You think that maybe some people might find him to be, while some not at all. But— That’s not the point now, is it? What’s important now is what you think. You could compare him to many pretty things in the world, the skies for his eyes, the clouds for his hair— It’s not as simple as you think it is.

(And… Which word is better anyway? You can’t exactly ask Mama right now.)

So you close your eyes. What would he be to you if you can’t see him anymore? If you one day lose your sight, lose your only way of seeing the world, how would you remember him?

You think you would remember the way he smells like fabric cleaner, his soft clothing always having the same scent of refreshing chill, of vibrant sun and summer breezes.

You think you would remember how much you like him, how much you love him for being your first friend. A memory that you vow to hold clear in your head no matter how much time passes. You want to keep being his friend, until you’re clapping at his wedding, until you grow old and wrinkly and ugly, until you’re sleeping away in one of those boxes—

You have your answer.

You smile, leaning back so that the balls of your feet are back on solid ground, away from the airiness and lightheaded feel. The best compliment you can give him, the one you think suits him best.

“No.” Your eyes reflect too much light, happy joy and too much satisfaction for him to truly believe you, anticipation drying his lips as he awaits your continuation.

“You’re cute, Satoru. Not pretty.” And he believes you now, as much of the moment you had ruined for him as his pout and staunch attitude grow ever bigger.

“What?!”

Oh. You blink at him, expression taking on another look of blank neutrality and confusion. You thought you had said it pretty loudly. “I said,” You need to take another breath in, trying to project your voice ever louder than before. “You’re cute, Satoru. Not pretty—“

“I heard you the first time!” He’s still in disbelief, pushing up against your face with his own pouting one, getting all up in your face to glare at you.

Was he not satisfied with that answer? You say he’s cute, because he is. The cutest in the— You should apologise if he’s this upset.

“Sorr—“

“Don’t apologise!” He’s grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth as you just… Let him do it.

“Sorry—“ A glare. You’ll be quiet now… Or do you?

“I would still like you best no matter what, Satoru.”

(“Is that a promise?”)

——

“That sign,” A chubby, almost dainty looking finger points at it. “Ya see? It says it’s Gojo property. Means it’s mine.” His feet are kicking up sand, the creaks of the metal filling your ears as you let yourself tune into his words.

You’d have to remember how to recognize them later.

“Some letters and stuff were also sent out to the neighbourhood to let ‘em know their snotty kids aren’t allowed here.” He looks proud, smug. Bragging away at the fact that this was his playground as he continues to swing himself back and forth, with you sat right next to him on the other seat.

You stare off into the sky, noticing that the clouds looked fluffier, whiter today. More reminiscent of Satoru’s hair, more alike the puff up of his head when he wakes up from a nap beside you.

“And ‘cause ya can’t read yet, you ended up trespassing.”

Signs can’t exactly stop anyone if they can’t read, can they? Or is it your fault you didn’t learn more words?

“Sor— I’ll ask Mama to make more cookies.” You’re trying to apologize less. It’s tough, but you’re making an effort.

“Ya better!” And it goes silent after. It’s not uncomfortable, not one bit. You’ve never really been the type to enjoy talking too much, anyway. You like the silence, like it when it’s just you both, the swings, and the setting sun in the sky. You notice how you can see how the orange starts to glow against your skin, how the pinks in the sky look much lovelier than usual.

You like days like these.

“Oh right.” The creaks still all too suddenly. “I got something for you.” You can see him jump off the swing, letting out a hoot as he kicks sand up and around where he landed, running over to his Digimon backpack to pull out something.

(You think you remember the name of the animal on his bag that he taught you. Agu…Mon? Or something like that.)

You blink maybe 3 times before you’re unceremoniously fed something.

“Now eat!” A plastic spoon is shoved into your mouth before you can even say anything in response— Sweet, creamy and all too soft— Refreshingly cold and melt in your mouth. You can feel your heart turn fuzzy and melty on immediate contact, feel the sugary caramel swoon you into quiet bliss.

“Fufu,” You can practically smell the smirk in his words. “You only ever eat those cheap 3-pack puddings, right?” His smile… Looks too tight. Too forced, even. You’ve never seen him smile like this before.

“Nobody else in this place would ever be able to buy stuff like this regularly.” And he’s harrumphing, stuffing a scoop of the pudding into his own mouth in triumph and pride, a testament to the riches he can access.

You think he’s right. These cream-filled pudding cups are definitely the first you’ve seen of them—

“So you should only be my friend.” He stops chewing, stops shovelling pudding into both of yours and his mouths the moment he says that, eyes determinedly flicking from the ground up to meet yours. “You don’t need anyone else, okay?”

You think you can feel something bitter in his tone, something clinging on hyperventilating anxiousness and all-too practiced poise. It feels like he’s trying to say something he’s too embarrassed to admit, too scared to say.

If I keep buying you delicious things you’ll stay, right?

You have to remember to blink to bring yourself back into reality, your cheeks still stuffed to its capacity with caramel pudding, have to pinch your skin to really realize what he just said to you. What? Just what kinda relationship depends only on giving things to keep people as friends?

You think that’s dumb.

“But, Swatoru… Iw’m not being your friwend jwust cause—“ You’re hurrying to swallow your food, covering your mouth just to be polite like Mama taught you as your eyes catch the way his hands were starting to stiffen. “Just because you give me stuff.”

He waits for you to finish for once, all narrowed eyes, furrowed eyebrows and inquiring gaze.

“I’m your friend ‘cause I like you.” And you’re smiling, tapping at your mouth to feel the sweet stickiness left behind, humming slightly as your head tilts downwards when you feel up your pockets— To realize it’s not there.

(You forgot to bring the handkerchief Mama always makes you tout around. You now realize… How right she really is about its usefulness. You won’t doubt her ever again.)

“Satoru? Do ya have a hanky I can have?”

What you haven’t noticed was that your words have him freezing up, his face turning into an absolute mess of embarrassed cherry red, his body reeling away from you.

“Y-you’re stupid.” It’s all he can muster as his lips start to tremble, his words sounding like he was shivering. “And dumb!”

And all you remember is how hurriedly he had poured every last bit of remaining pudding into his mouth in retaliation.

(“Ah… I wanted more, Satoru.” You have a frown on your face, eyes showing a blank, slightly disappointed show. He uses your hanky to wipe his mouth, rubbing the cloth against his lips as he listens to you. “It was really good…”

He does feel kind of bad now.

“…sorry.” And it’s cute, the way his eyes have shifted to the side and the tips of his ears burning red, whispered apology under his breath that the wind whistled into your ears.

He won’t admit it.)

——

“Young Master Gojo, you will have the opportunity to talk to (name)-sama again soon. Master expects you to be home for the gathering as soon as possible.”

“You can’t approach him! Remember that!” The door of the sleek, black limousine shuts; fully obscuring your view of your friend as the servant lady— Kimiko-san, as you’ve learned her name to be, bows before you in a curt goodbye.

“Thank you for keeping the young master company today as well, (name)-sama.”

They dropped you off home.

The vroom of the engine picks up as you keep waving at the vehicle, your goodbye not being unseen as a certain milk-haired individual rushed towards the window.

You see his face pressed up against the glass, squishing his full cheeks to the surface as he points at you— And waves his pinky about.

A reminder, if you will. And you do the same in response.

“Sweetie,” Mama pats your head from behind, a sign to usher you inside now that the sun was on the verge of disappearing, the sky blanketed in dark blues and the street lamps flickering to life.

“The new neighbours moved in today.” There’s the clatter of some of the groceries she had just bought onto the table, a carton of milk, half a head of lettuce, carrots, potatoes— Tonight’s dinner is curry.

“I saw them.” You’re crawling up onto the wooden dining chair, unloading the reusable grocery bag as you hear her bring out the pot. “They have a pretty kid.”

“Do they?” You can hear the smile, the chuckle in her tone as she acknowledges you, the shuffle and crinkle of plastic in her hands as she starts to prepare dinner. “Then I hope they’re nice people.”

“Me too.” Even if you’re not allowed to approach them, you carefully descend from the chair that was just too tall for you to easily get off of, the considerably lighter items; a chocolate bar and a sponge huddled in your hands, your feet on the way to the fridge before—

You notice a sweet tartness in the air— Wafting to your nose as you take an inhale in. Oh, Mama smells nice today. Not— Artificial nice, but normal, nice. She smells like honey and vanilla, light and easy on your nose.

“You smell nice, Mama.” You’ve never been one to voice this out but… It seems that you’re just in a talkative mood today. In a mood to share your happiness. Just because.

The decisive chopping of potatoes and carrots stiffen, yet the boiling of water continues. “…is that so, sweetheart?” Her hands tensing just that little bit more as she continues on. The clacks against the wooden chopping board grow less erratic… Slow, uncertain.

Worried.

“Mhm. Didya stop by the bakery just now?” She really, really smells good. And you can see her visibly relax at that, her shoulders slumping as she lets out… A quiet sigh of relief?

(Did you say something bad?)

“I figured you would like some bread for tomorrow.” She’s back to normal. “Eating cereal all the time is bad for you, so I bought you some bread and cheese.”

“Yay! Thank you, Mama!”

Dinner passed by too quickly, too much so that you find yourself laying upon the tatami mats of your bedroom in a blink of an eye, futon yet to be rolled out, the sound of Mama preparing the bath downstairs and your tummy full of warm curry as you sigh— Life is good.

Too good, in fact. You’re starting to get suspicious— Starting with those new neighbours you just got today. You’re curious, you really are.

The window opposite to yours— That would be the rooms of one of them right? You remember a gait of confidence from his Mama, his own Papa not lagging in that aspect either. So… Which one would have that room? Does he sleep by himself? That would be so brave of him.

(Even you struggle to sleep alone… By yourself… In a dark room… You feel a shiver down your spine just thinking about it.)

Your curtains are still drawn, the room that you shared with Mama lit only by your dim ceiling light. She says she’s gonna replace the bulb soon, if you remember correctly.

So… It— Would be fine, right? You’re not approaching or interacting with him. If they were to spot you they won’t have a clear view due to the light. So technically, this counts as safe, no? Innocuous, even. You just want to see who occupies that vey room— That was directly opposite of your own.

Curiosity kills cats, or something like that. But you aren’t a cat, so it obviously doesn’t apply to you. You won’t die.

So you take the chance, grabbing hold of the fabric… Should you really be doing this? You’re unsure, uncertain. And it makes you really, really nervous. It feels like the scratchy material of your curtains were pricking into your skin as you ball up the fabric, taking a gulp… Just one peek. One is enough.

So you steel yourself, swallowing your fear and powering through your nerves. It’s just a quick peek, one glance— Get it over and done with already!

Your eyes catch bright light, the colour temperature warm and inviting. Cozy. You see curtains that were drawn open, but not just any fabric— The fancy type, with pretty lace and a neat ribbon. Pretty…

But that wasn’t the main focus.

What was, was the little boy that had already been staring at your curious little self, purple eyes widened in surprise and mouth already turning into a smile when he catches sight of you.

“Ah! You really did peek out!”

You’ve been noticed.

You squeak, ducking down and away from the window immediately. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This was not the plan at all. Not how you thought this would go! You’re panicking, using the curtains to hide your face away. Just pretend you’re not here, that you were just a figment of his imaginati—

“Oh—“ You can hear him slap a hand over his mouth. “Sorry for yelling.” His words come out hushed, quietened now.

“Did I scare you?”

You have a promise to keep. You’re not about to break it to have a conversation with a window stranger, no matter how pretty he is. At least now, you know your windows are close enough to be able to communicate. If that were any useful information at all.

“That was rude of me, wasn’t it? My Mama would scold me for that.” You think he just attempted to make a joke. A lighthearted attempt.

But… No, he’s not rude at all. You’re the one who should be apologizing for hiding away from him like this, basically ignoring him on purpose. You’re not a rude kid, you swear you’re not. Mama raised you to be better than this— But a promise is a promise.

“My name is Geto Suguru, I just moved in today!” Something about that cheery tone in his voice, the mirth in his words has you feeling guilty, sad.

Yet you don’t reply. You can’t hear him anymore— Why’s it so quiet? Is he waiting for a reply, a sign that you were still listening?

You can’t exactly tell him you made a promise against him—!

So you choose to continue the silence, letting it stretch over the growing awkwardness as you huddle in on yourself.

“It would be nice to meet you.”

Would be. Is he trying to bait you out?

“Suguru! The bath is free!” A distant call from within his home, the feel of a night breeze starting to flutter your curtains as you grip onto them for dear life.

“Oh, coming! Well… I hope we get to talk properly soon. Sorry for scaring you, by the way.” Taps of feet against the carpets of his floors as he patters away— He should be gone now, right?

But… You learned something about the neighbour today. That he was… Unexpectedly really nice. Too nice, even. You feel your conscience gnawing at you, feel guilt grip at your heart.

Mama would not be proud of you for this. Not that you’re gonna tell her, anyway.

(Geto… Suguru, huh?)

——

You don’t meet them again— Until the next afternoon, that is.

You usually check the area for anyone outside the door before you go up open it, you swear that you really do. To go pick up mail from the mailbox, receiving Mama’s delivery items… The area has to be clear before you even dare to step a foot outside.

But not today. You weren’t careful enough to cover your tracks at all.

“Well, hello there!” A lady with black hair tied into a bun and the prettiest purple eyes you’ve ever seen. She’s bright, energetic… And really tall. Taller than Mama. “I’ve only met your mother just this morning, you know? She told me about you!”

She’s really chatty.

“I’m Geto Akari, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you!”

Introduce yourself introduce yourself introduce yourself—

“…(last name) (name)…” You hope you’re loud enough. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the mail that you were holding to be more in line with each other— Less messy. You don’t want to leave the impression of being so, after all.

She spots the white of the papers that you were clutching to your chest, hugging the envelopes near as you blink up at her. “Running some errands for your mother, sweetheart?”

“Mm.” It’s all you can do, really. Just nod and agree as you stare up at her with a stiff expression.

Smile, you should smile. You need to remember to smile.

“Well, aren’t you quite responsible for someone so young! How old are you, darling?” It’s in a coo, a sweetened tone to her voice when she’s bending down slightly to look— Less imposing to you.

“I’m 4.”

“Why, that’s the same age as my son, haha!” She sounds excited— Sounds like she was happy to know about this information as she claps her hands together. “How coincidental!”

She’s so nice.

“Morning, (last name)-san!” You see a face pop out from directly behind her, nearly jumping out of your skin as you feel your heart miss a beat, finding his eyes that were glittering with excitement.

Geto Suguru.

He must’ve heard you just now—

“Suguru, that was rude! You have to introduce yourself before calling for others!” Her hand goes down to ruffle his shoulder-length hair as he laughs.

It makes you almost want to reply—

You slap a hand over your mouth before you even begin to say anything back. Eyes darting back and forth between your home, the front door, them— You think you remember Mama mumbling about gifts last night. You should give them something— Anything. Mama would want you to be polite.

An idea.

Your gaze flickers to her eyes as she tilts her head to the side in confusion, to her son that was still awaiting… So you just nod.

Before turning on your heel to run into the kitchen, climbing onto the stool to grab the last few cookies Mama had made yesterday— Which you were saving for both yourself and Satoru, by the way.

It’s for the best, you decide. TV people did always say that sacrifices are to be made for the grater good. Whatever a grater is, anyway.

(And while you may not have the best penmanship of… Anything yet— Considering you’re only 4. But you’re gonna try, at the very least.

WeL-chum n i hoPe we get aLonG! (Welcome and I hope we get along!) )

“Oh. Welcome back, sweetie!” She smiles at you once more. “I thought you got scared of us and ran away, haha.”

You don’t reply— Only holding up the note and individually wrapped cookies up towards her, doing your best not to look at the excited little boy next to her.

“Woah! Cookies!”

“Well… Aren’t you just so precious!” She’s practically swooning at this point, patting your head gently as you blink. “Looking at you already made me contemplate wanting a daughter, now you’re really pushing me to try for one!”

Please don’t. It would be harder to avoid 2 kids instead of 1.

“Thank you so much— Ah, don’t leave yet!” She’s already making you stop as she herself starts to rush back in her home, ushering her son along with her as you hear the commotion from inside.

“Mom, let’s give her this one!”

“I think those aren’t fresh, Suguru— Oh, how about these?”

“Wouldn’t it just be better to just—“

You tune them out, standing at the front of your house and swaying back and forth on the balls of your feet as you twiddle your fingers and look up towards the afternoon sun.

It would’ve been a good day to air out the futons, Mama would say.

“Ah—! Sorry for the wait, darling! Here you go!” It’s a plastic bag— A size that would be comfortable for your toddler self to drag in without much trouble… If it didn’t look like the items inside were gonna burst out of it.

“It’s for the both of you! I hope you’ll enjoy it!”

You only nod in thanks, smiling up at her slightly as you see her practically bite back a squeal, rubbing your head with held-back enthusiasm as her son… Smiles back at you.

And when you finally close the door behind you and take your shoes off at the genkan—

You think you feel some variation of guilt course through you as you look down at the strawberries you just received— Big, fresh… And really tasty looking.

They are too kind to someone like you. You drag it in, placing the plastic packaging carefully upon the lowest tier of the fridge that you can reach— Before bolting towards the phone.

Climbing up the stool to reach the phone, you grab hold of it as you start to dial the numbers you had memorized— Only just recently.

You hear the telltale ringing, awaiting his voice. It’s urgent, it really is. Your heart is starting to beat too fast, tummy feeling like it was churning the bread and milk from this morning too quickly… You’ve never even called anyone that wasn’t your Mama before.

Were you being too hasty with this?

“You have reached the Gojo estate. How may I assist with your enquiries?” You practically freeze where you stood, a socked foot nearly making you slip against the plastic stool as your breath hitches. You don’t recognise this voice. You don’t know who the man answering this phone was. He’s too old, much too fancy sounding compared to your Satoru.

He said Gojo estate… So you didn’t call the wrong number, right?

You think you’re starting to breathe heavily into the phone to calm your nerves— Making them the only sound before you even make a move to greet the person on the other end.

“…sorry, but the colour of my—“

“Can I… Talk to Satoru please?” You practically blurt it out with unpracticed anxiety, twirling the phone cord tight between your fingers as you try to calm yourself.

“Ah.” It seems that they understood. Thank goodness. “Please excuse my rudeness, but is that you, (name)-sama?”

“Yes…” No matter how pretentious that title sounds to you.

“Please wait just a moment.”

“(name)! Do ya wanna play today?! I bought a new puddi—“

“Satoru,” You practically sound breathless with relief when you hear his voice, but you have to tell him, you just have to. “I met the new kid just now.”

And that silences him in an instant.

“I didn’t say anything to him.” As rude as you may be. “His Mama saw me outside and talked to me first, though.”

Silence that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

(“Haha!” You hear him laugh, it’s bellowing, taunting and all too amused. “Why would I be mad? Ya ignored the kid right?!”

“Good job!”

And you feel satisfied.)

——

“(last name)-san.” His smile is ever courteous, ever polite and soft. It makes your heart melt, if you were to be honest. “Wanna play together?”

“I brought my crayons and some paper, since I thought you would like it.” Was it because of your note? Regardless, this was— A really bad time. A really, really bad time.

“(nameeeeee)! Why’d ya ignore me for the door—!” Oh no.

You didn’t predict that today would be the very day that they met— Swear you didn’t plan or foresee this. It was only this morning that you had heard your zodiac sign might be unlucky today, how troubles and tribulations may come swimming your way to stir the path of your future, only just this morning that you decided that that kind of thing was just another folly…!

You didn’t know it was going to be right?!

“Your hair’s ugly.”

“I don’t like your eyes.”

“Yea?! Ya wanna go, Weird Bangs?!”

“Not with the likes of you, Bug Eyes.”

“Haah?!”

With you cramped in between them, no less. You call it sheer, dumb luck that you were able to invite your neighbour inside without too much of a fuss. Get them to sit around you in your living room as you all… Draw.

Geto’s crayons are scattered about, the drawing block papers starting to fill with a myriad of colourful shapes as you hum and try to keep the peace between the two of them.

“Mama says that fighting is bad.” You think so too, honestly. What’s the point to them? It’s easier to keep the peace and be friends with each other.

“Sorry, (last name)-san.”

“Hmph!”

At least they’re settled down now.

“What are you drawing?” It’s Geto that was sitting cross-legged next to you as you’re lying on your front, legs kicked up and elbows propped against the ground to support your head as he watches your hands move.

And that has Satoru peeking over as well, much to his dismay.

“Don’t draw him—“ And he’s already huffing, puffing his cheeks and pouting when he sees you colour in black and dot in purple. He notices the telltale signs of the kimono he wore when he first met you, able to make out the figures you’re drawing in record time. Good. It’s good that you’re drawing him and you together, but he doesn’t want that thing with you both.

And that has him picking up a red crayon, catching your attention when you see him readying himself to scribble all over your hard work.

“W-wait, Satoru—“ You try to push him back, hold him away from the colourful drawing of yours. You don’t want it ruined, don’t want him to do something to it yet. I-it’s important to you, something you spent your time on, he can’t—

“She said she didn’t want you drawing on the paper.” Suguru’s grip on his wrist is tight, squeezing with a strength that was unprecedented for someone his size.

And you think you can feel something change in the air, the tension building, it’s bitter, unpleasant— Has you feeling like you want to curl into a ball and cry. A churn in your gut that you’re all too familiar with when you were living together with your Papa.

A warning. One that even children like them, like you; can interpret loud and clear even without having known the existence of pheromones and warning growls.

They say natures are inherent, after all.

“She’s my friend. I don’t get why you’re interfering, dummy.” He snarls back with just as much underlying aggression, stirring something in you to want to lie low— Disappear, even.

And you think that maybe you should listen to those zodiac sign forecasts a lot more.

previous masterlist next

[sci-fi-disney-prince]

Garrett Hedlund Mini March Fic Madness

In honor of March Madness, I created this master list of Garrett Hedlund character fanfics and may update it even after March. This may not be mobile/tablet-friendly.

Note: This may not have all of the stories posted on Tumblr and/or elsewhere since I am only one person and could only find as much as I can and unfortunately get distracted by Garrett along the way.

Also, these do not belong to me. These stories belong to these lovely fanfic writers credited below and to the people behind the original source material. Do keep in mind that many of these fanfics are targeted for 18 years of age and older, so reader discretion is advised.

Tagged: @the-blind-assassin-12 (the person behind March Fic Madness 2024)

Key: ❤️‍🔥 = Smut(ty)/Explicit 🍬 = Fluff ❤️‍🩹 = Angst

Updated as of May 5, 2024

Sci-fi-Disney-prince’s G.H. Corner coming soon

Special Events

@/triplefrontier-anniversary (A fanfic and art event to celebrate Triple Frontier's 5th anniversary which is run by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime that goes from March 1st-March 14th. Take out the slash to go to their page)

Masterlists

Mitch Keller x F!OC Waitress Oneshot Masterlist by @marmie-noir [Content warning: violence, sex, and 18+ content] ❤️‍🔥

TriFRambles’ Masterlist by @triframbles

Delta Landscaping Mainlist by @rhoorl ❤️‍🔥

Benny Miller Masterlist by @dameronscopilot [some 🍬, some ❤️‍🔥]

Garrett Hedlund Masterlist by @dameronscopilot 🍬❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹

Benjamin "Benny" Miller Masterlist by @musings-of-a-rose [Some Fluff, Some Angst, Some Smut, some all of the above]

FishBen Rec List by @thirstworldproblemss [Some fluff, some angst, some smut, some all of the above]

phoenixhalliwell Masterlist by @phoenixhalliwell [includes Triple Frontier guys x Gender Neutral!reader]

Individual Stories

Triple Frontier

"Every Kiss Begins With A Mistletoe" by @kittyofalltrades [Santi and Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"Not So Silent Night" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Office Party Love" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader] 🍬

Sleepy Benny by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] 🍬

"I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"An Unexpected Discovery" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Benny's Favorite Librarian" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Before I Go" by @cowboystokes (deactivated) [Benny x Black!Reader (Co-Parents)]

"Drunk Poetry" by @violentdelightsandviolentends [Benny x female reader - Content warning: cursing and alcohol mention] 🍬

"I see my shot" by @writefightandflightclub [Benny x female reader - Content warnings: alcohol, mildly steamy making-out, swearing, “unrequited” feelings and implied possible public sex acts (fade to black).] ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🔥

"I've loved you three summers now, honey, I want them all." by @bullet-prooflove [Benny x Reader]

"Disinhibition" by @busycryin [Benny x Reader - Content warning: Injury, bad words, mentions of sex] 🍬

"Slow Motion" by @miss-beep-beep [Benny x Viet!OFC - Content Warning - some cursing and kisses] 🍬❤️‍🩹

Four Brothers

"Hopper saves a boy’s pieces, Joyce puts him back together" by @imeanwhynotbruv (Jack Mercer Stranger Things AU/crossover - TW: abuse)

"Number" by @jackmercerenthuiast (Jack Mercer x Reader - Content warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, suggestive language, and gang violence)

Tron: Legacy

"Masks" by @ivorydragoness44 [Sam Flynn x Reader] ❤️‍🩹

"iii. morning kisses. waking up next to your significant other and pulling them up and capturing their lips to yours." by @solar-siren [Sam Flynn x Tron] 🍬

Tulsa King

More from other movies/shows/projects in the new masterlist

[flightfoot]

Marinette Completed Angst Fic Reclist

I know some people really like this genre, so I figured I'd make a list for it! These will obviously all be completed, and none of them will be bashing fics, and PLEASE don't rec any fics on this post that are bashing fics, I don't want to see them.

Some of these will have my own commentary about the fic attached to it, for if I've put them on a previous reclist where I had that commentary written out. But a lot of the older fics won't.

For a fic to count for this, the angst Marinette goes through can't just be her being upset about what someone else is going through, though the angst of the fic doesn't only need to be hers, so long as she has her own angst which is a decently prominent part of the fic.

---

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

This is a simply phenomenal fic. You get to explore a lot of different perspectives, like Felix, Kagami, Marinette, and Adrien’s, just to name a few, and see their different thought processes and plans and priorities, and how it can cause their plans to collide with each other, even when they all ultimately are aiming for a good outcome for everyone. The characters are pretty complex and can mess up at times, even when they’re doing things (or not doing things, looking at you Luka) with the best of intentions. It was a joy to read and a real nail-biter the whole time, I actually wrote a fic for it halfway through just to resolve some of the tension for myself, One Does Not Love Shadows.

It also features the version of Luka I’ve connected best with to date, as he feels like Luka, but also is a lot more fleshed out, and can make some major errors while simply trying to avoid missteps. It’s helped me get a better handle on a character who I’ve generally had a lot of problems with really understanding.

It is an M-rated fic, though I think Wackus is being overly cautious on that front. There’s no sexual content and I wouldn’t put the violence or gore above a T-rating, so I wouldn’t let the rating scare you off.

---

you don’t even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there’s only one bed.

Yep, it’s the “there was only one bed” trope XD! I especially love how it was used here, how Adrien and Marinette are strangers now but they had a whole life together, and they pine for each other even without remembering, and how Marinette just can’t believe how in love with her Adrien is even though he doesn’t remember her. I loved the emotional turmoil the two of them went through together in the fic, and the resolution, it’s great!

---

fine line by @bbutterflies

“Catwalker?” Loveybug asks. “Hmm?” “Do you remember… what happened before us?” “What do you mean?” “Before we were heroes. Was there someone else?” Catwalker goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

This is a surprisingly angsty take on the Loveybug AU. Here, since the Loveybug and Cat Walker transformations are so unnatural, they’re having negative side effects on Marinette and Adrien, causing them to be constantly exhausted and even to get amnesia the longer they continue using them.

---

do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

---

Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.

How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***

This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.

---

Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon

Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.

Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.

This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years. 

As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.

I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.

---

in case you don’t know me tomorrow by @thelibraryloser:

“We live in a crazy world where pieces of our lives can be erased like they never even happened. I just wanted to memorize this moment so… so I could keep it, if that makes sense.”

Adrien’s heart gave a little flutter. She wanted to keep this moment, meeting him. She wanted to keep… him.

“I understand exactly what you mean.“

In a world that has created a way to selectively delete memories, no moment is truly safe. So how do you hold on to something when the memory of it is gone? And how do you keep fighting for someone when you’re the only one who remembers?

This is a SEVERELY underrated fic. It’s got some shades of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in the world, though the plot is very different - the memory erasure ain’t willing. 

Basically, the first few chapters are establishing Adrien’s and Marinette’s romance, and then the rest of the fic is dealing with Gabriel being an absolute DICK and using any means at his disposal to break them apart. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend reading it!

---

hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette’s father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

Even though it’s a one-shot this one is pretty long, clocking in at over 30k words. Absolutely worth a shot, though. The first third is basically Marinette dealing with being pushed around because of her “blessing”, and the other two-thirds is just some adorable fluff of her and Adrien touring the country together. 

---

Echoes of You by kittinoir

In the day time, she's Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with... Not Season 4 Compliant; please, no spoilers

---

balancing act by fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.” Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette. - the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

---

Some Days by @merrygreenie

Some days are worse, and others are a little better, little by little and day by day. Marinette Dupain-Chen is learning how to live her new normal after living in confinement and being tortured by Hawkmoth. She is thankful to have her friends and family to support her. And a very special Chat who loves her very much. *This story contains scenes of violence and torture this is a whump fic*

This fic has some great angst, but be warned, it's not kidding about the violence and torture. Honestly, it should probably be rated M instead of Teen, given that while the fic mostly takes place after Marinette escapes and while she's recovering, we do get a detailed flashback to her torture.

[captainkirkk]

I'm cleaning out my old writing notebooks and found a bunch of fic prompts that never went anywhere:

AU where the Avatar always has four soul-mates (one from each element) and there are as many legends/folk tales about them as there are about the Avatar

AU where soulmates don't get their marks until they "come into their own" so Zuko doesn't get the gaang's marks until he confronts Ozai and decides to teach Aang

Aang stuck in a time loop during Sozin's Comet

Din Djarin's ongoing attempt to baby-proof the Razor Crest

5 times Ladybug called Chat Noir's dad a motherfucker (without knowing he was Hawkmouth) + 1 time Paris did it for her

Gotham's POV of Superboy hanging out in Gotham more often now that he's dating Red Robin. He's not one of their Bats but there is a grudging tolerance there. He's their superhero-in-law.

Tim is THIS CLOSE to turning into a villain and Kon... doesn't hate it as much as he should

Midoriya is a popular kid at UA and has no idea. He can't even imagine being popular after years of being bullied. Him? Well liked? Surely you're mistaking him for someone else...

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua became gods when they transmigrated and they have no idea

Prince Shen Qingqiu with manservant Binghe (who ends up being the lost heir to another kingdom)

Stranger things AU where Steve + the kids get caught in the upside down. Cue platonic cuddling for warmth.

[emily-mooon]

While Jancy is having their film noir confrontation, Byler is singing songs about pining and angst in their 1930s movie musical romance.