#unfortunately need loser boy :(

[likedovesinthewindd]

What if Art donaldson wouldn't let reader break up with him and he just started to overly affectionate begging them to stay.

pls he's such a loser. need him like yesterday.

"Art, please."

Your plea fell on deaf ears as Art's lips continued trailing kisses up the expanse of your arm. The feeling of his lips so softly meeting your skin nearly made you sob. His mouth was on the inside of your elbow when you placed your right hand on the side of his face, trying to get him to atleast look at you.

Instead, he kissed your open palm, taking your wrist in his hand before detouring, now trailing kisses up your right arm. You sighed, defeated and growing frustrated. His arms wrapped around your body as his mouth moved up your arm, placing a kiss to your shoulder before his head dipped down to the dip between your neck and your shoulder.

"Please, Art," you half whined, placing your hands on his shoulders to try and pull him away, but your arms just couldn't find the strength to do so. He pulled away from your neck abruptly, making you jump a little. "You're crazy If you think I'll just throw everything away," he said, voice so soft you almost missed the anger laced in his words.

Your hands moved up from his shoulders to the sides of his face, keening at the look on his face. He looked like a kicked puppy, and you felt like the worse person on earth.

"We're drifting apart," you reasoned, your thumbs softly rubbing over the apples of his cheeks. His hands gripped both your wrists, preventing you from moving away as his face nuzzled into your left palm, kissing the skin. "We can find each other again," he countered, words muffled in your palm. You sighed at his stubbornness, pulling your hands from his face. You didn't get far, the grip he still had on your wrists tightening slightly as he brought your hands to his mouth, kissing over the knuckles of your balled fists.

"It's a dead end," you whispered, the words physically hurting your chest as you tried, and failed to keep your tears at bay. They now sat shallow in your eyes, waiting for your next cruel statement to break the dam. "You can't say that," he said, "please don't say that."

"Art—"

"I'm begging you," he interrupted you. His hands dropping yours in favor of holding your face the same way you had held his not too long ago. "I need you," he said with a kiss to your forehead. "I can't do any of this without you," he spoke against your forehead, voice breaking as he felt the hot tears roll down his cheeks. The thought of you leaving alone made his heart and chest clench painfully.

"I know we can find each other again," he said, pulling away to look you in the eyes. "Can we try," he asked, "please?"

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hashira reader smacking Zenitsu and sending him to her crush Iguro to teach him a lesson

original idea and inspiration by none other than queen @sitarawrites and this post right here

Pairing: Obanai x fem!hashira! reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Warnings: Zenitsu being a creep and getting payback for it

„Please, you have to give me a chance!“

„Zenitsu, I think that’s enough-„

„You have to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen! Let’s marry as long as we’re still alive!”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, you creep?”

“I’m so so sorry for his behavior-“

“What’s going on here?”, you interrupt the little chit chat in front of you sharply.

You sign to yourself. Just like you expected, another wave of losers that just arrived. 2 girls, a few of those basic guys and…

You furrow your eyebrows, a wave of nauseous disgust getting a hold of you the second you see him. That blonde haired guy who looks at you as if you’re a piece of meat.

“Oh, who are-“

Without even allowing him so finish his sentence, you grab his blonde hair with one hand while smacking him flat-palmed with the other.

“Just let me make a few things clear before we’re even starting”, you hiss, mindlessly dropping his crying figure to the ground.

“If you didn’t catch it already, I’m a hashira and you are here to train under me. But I’m not like Mitsuri or my former master Himejima-sama. We won’t pray around here, we won’t laugh. But most important of all, don’t you dare to piss me off by disregarding me in some sort of way. Got it, Blondie?”

“I think he understood, (y/n)-san!”, the red-haired boy next to him shouts immediately while throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder.

“I know you’re still listening. If I catch you hitting on a corps member like that one more time, I’ll burry you under rocks before sending you over to Igoro-san”, you bark at the boy who again, screams out in sheer fright.

Apparently, his horrible behavior towards females isn’t the only annoying thing about that guy named Zenitsu. If it wasn’t for Kamado, he’d hide inside his room the whole day while crying his eyes out.

“I promise he acts different when he’s unconscious!”

“Do I have to slap him again, then?”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

Urgh. If it wasn’t for that crow sent by Ubayishiki-sama himself, you would have drowned that boy in the river nearby immediately. And that nice little interactions with a certain someone.

“If he doesn’t treat you right, send him my way. I’ll make sure he’ll never cry again.”

“Nice try Iguro-san. But Ubayishiki-sama forbid me to hurt him and I’m sure the same goes for you, unfortunately.”

“Is he still looking at you all the time? Then it might be worth it.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t. But if I catch him crying around like a baby one last time, I’ll send him to you personally.”

“I’ll take that as a promise, then.”

You smile to yourself while reading those well-written lines. Igoru-san…truth is, you definitely kept an eye open for him these past months. Out of all the hashira, he’s the only one you’re really keen to talk to.

“Ahhh, it’s so cold!”

“Zentisu, calm down. Don’t you remember what (y/n)-san told you about-“

“I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS LIVING HELL! THAT WOMAN IS THE DEVIL HERSELF! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE TANJIRO!”

“Please calm down-“

“I’M SURE THE GIRLS AT THE BUTTERFLY ESTATE MISS ME, I’LL JUST RETURN TO AOI AND THE GIRLS-“

“You’re not going anywhere, you fool. I’m having enough of your bullshit”, you interrupt his pity party along with a harsh bow into his stomach that surely makes him see stars.

“I’m sending you to Iguro myself.”

Another well-placed hit, a passed out Zenitsu before you even get the chance to hit him.

“Please, allow me to go with you, (y/n)-san. I don’t think Zenitsu will survive the training of the serpent hashira on his own”, a gently voice speaks out next to you.

Urgh. You hate to even consider Tanjiro’s words. But there’s nothing you’re able to teach him anyway. No matter how much you hate to admit it, but that Kamado boy definitely is something special.

“Fine”, you grumble.

“But only because I want to get rid of you.”

“That’s totally fine! Thank you for teaching me hand to hand combat anyway!”

“Yeah, whatever. Just carry that prick and follow me.”

Your heart beats a little faster with every step you come nearer to the serpent hashira’s estate. How is he doing? Is he excited to see you, what will he say? You haven’t seen each other since the last hashira meeting, didn’t have the chance to speak properly since forever as it seems.

But now is your chance. When it means seeing Iguro-san, that douchebag did have a purpose after all.

“Did you take out the trash, (y/n)?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. You didn’t even sense him until he stands in front of you, both eyes set on you with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I can’t take that whining baby anymore. Make sure to treat him right”, you explain briefly.

“Oh, and I took Kamado with me.”

“Tanjiro Kamado”, Iguro-san hisses, his eyes shooting pure venom Tanjiro’s way.

“Bring that useless boy inside and get some rest yourself, Kamado”, you instruct the boy next to you who springs into action immediately.

“He’s doing pretty well”, you mumble more to yourself than actually talking to Iguro-san.

“Doing pretty well?”

Faster than you’re able to react, you find yourself breathlessly pinned against a nearby tree with his eyes almost piercing trough you.

“I mean…yeah”, you breathe out.

“But I actually came here because I missed you”, you add with unusual low voice.

Is that blush creeping up your cheeks? The serpent hashira almost doesn’t believe his ears. You, missing him? He never thought you’d actually like him, that feelings like missing someone like him could actually exist. But you hold his gaze with reddened cheeks. And you’re here, between his arms.

“I…”

He kind find the words. In fact, it seems like his mind and body aren’t able to function normally anymore.

“I need to go”, he presses out.

“But Iguro-san, I-“

He’s gone as fast as he came, leaving yourself leaning against the tree like an idiot.

What was that?

-bonus-

“I’ll let you suffer for making (y/n) uncomfortable. Did you flirt with her?”

“W-what? Me? I’d never d-do that!”

“I’ll kill you-“

“Please don’t kill him Iguro-san!”

“I’ll kill you as well. You made eyes at (y/n)-san.”

“We’re so screwed”, Zenitsu hisses through gritted teeth.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, oral (f receiving), mentions of blowjob, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

wc: 1709

a/n: the comeback of loser!jk<3

masterlist

"we should- mhph!," he gasped when you interrupted him with yet another kiss, attempting to speak again when your lips barely disconnected, "we should stu-" unfortunately for him, your lips did not stray too far.

you had no interest in holding any type of conversation right now. not when the pretty nerd was alone in your room for the third time this week.

surprisingly, despite your lack of ability to pay attention while jungkook was over at your place, your grades had still gone up. on the down side, this small improvement proved to be enough for your horny brain to make the executive decision that it'd be a waste to spend any more time studying when you could be playing with your pretty boy toy instead.

jungkook never had any complaints. even on the days you did study, you'd bid him goodbye by sitting on his cock and kissing up and down the length of his neck. he always left quite satisfied, though also dizzy with desire.

the sudden addiction you had with the boy couldn't have been helped. it was impossible for you to understand how he didnt have all the girls on campus trailing after him. he was clearly handsome, just incredibly shy. his shyness was so severe, he had trouble holding eye contact with anyone who spoke to him, only ever responding in incomprehensible stammers of nonsensical sentences.

you were more than fine to work with this. you knew it'd only take a while for him to warm up to you, and you were happy to patiently wait. the two of you sometimes conversed, getting to know each other past the math and the sex. he had already warmed up to you quite a bit, able to push his shyness aside for you. you'd break all that down any time you removed your shirt and propositioned yourself to him, but that was just to be expected.

as of now, your midterms were over and you felt no need to study for regular assignments despite jungkook's insistence. this meant you had all the time in the world to rearrange your tutoring sessions to fuck him instead. even as he attempted to form a single sentence, your tongue would find its way to his mouth, interrupting any thought that might break you away from his touch.

"i ... we're supposed to study at least a bit," he reminded you with a breathless tone as your lips went to his neck.

"don't wanna, baby. wanna fuck you instead. don't you want that too?", you whispered when you made your way to his ear, nibbling at it suggestively.

nodding feverishly, his eyes began fluttering shut, hands lamely digging into your hips like they usually did, "if- if you're sure."

you chuckled at his statement. you never had any second thoughts about fucking jungkook. he was a pretty nerd and former virgin whom you had the power to mold into the perfect boy for you. how could you ever pass out such an opportunity?

"i'm sure, pretty," you reassured as your hands went to pull up his shirt, yours joining soon after.

now sitting on his lap, top halves nude, you got up before his eyes could zero in on your breasts, throwing off your pants and helping him out of his own. unlike other times, you did not sit back down on his lap, instead opting to sit on the bed next to him, letting yourself fall back as your legs hung off the side of the bed.

looking up at him, you gestured at him to get off the bed with a quick flick of your eyes. the way he quickly understood and went to kneel between your legs made you chuckle. he was such a smart boy.

to this day, the pretty boy had never eaten you out. the extent of your sexual relationship only went as far as penetrative sex thus far. no oral had been involved for some reason – likely due to your need to jump him every time you saw him.

what you wanted most today was to claim your high on his tongue. you needed the pretty boy between your legs, struggling to lick into your cunt and fumbling to find your clit. you knew that with some guidance you'd easily get his skills at oral perfectly tailored to your tastes. that was the nicest part of having a pretty and untouched boy such as jungkook – you could teach him everything just the way you liked it.

staring up at you with his gigantic doe eyes, his brows furrowed in worry, likely unsure of what to do next whilst simultaneously intimidated by such a suggestive position. your fingers went to his chin, lifting up his face whilst yours lowered to almost meet in a kiss. a pretty whine was felt against your lips when you moved away just before your lips could connect.

"pretty?"

"yes?", a gulp accompanied his inquiry.

"will you be good and lick me?"

a groan left his lips before he began nodding dumbly, practically whining as he confirmed his enthusiasm.

"please ...", he whimpered when you created a larger gap between you, grabbing onto his hair and pushing his face into your bare cunt.

opening your legs wider, you led the pretty boy almost all the way to your pussy, stopping right before letting his lips touch your own.

"tongue out, baby," you instructed.

wordlessly, he followed your instructions as his hands went up to your thighs for support. he gave you a decided nod before leaning in and shyly licking into your cunt. groaning against you, he licked experimentally once, twice, thrice – enough times for his resolve to break and for his shyness to be replaced by want.

your hands continued to guide him by his hair, grinding into his mouth in sync with the movement of his lips. it was easy to fall into a trance while the desperate boy ate at you. it was as if he'd had prior practice, except you knew that wasn't the case. jungkook was clearly just letting his hunger take over, leading to an ethereal feeling you knew only jungkook could give you.

"kookie ... oh, fuck," you cried out, fingers digging harshly into his hair.

he reacted accordingly, groaning at both your voice and the feeling of his hair getting pulled at. his hips were also uncontrollable as they ground into the side of the bed, pathetically humping in hopes of some stimulation.

as he ate at you with an unprecedented desperation, he let out the prettiest whimpers and pleas against your cunt, leaving you lightheaded at how needy he was for you.

"it's so good ... fuck, so good. thank you- thank you, oh, fuck ...."

"tastes so fucking good, oh god ...."

"it's for me? fuck, tell me it's mine. t-tell me it's all for me, please ..."

"oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you ..."

encouraging him, you claimed him as yours, telling him how good he was and how you'd give him anything he wanted. he cried even more at this, continuing to thank you for granting him access to your cunt. you knew he meant this in both a sexual and emotional way, which only made you feel even dizzier.

a few minutes into jungkook sloppily making out with your cunt, you pulled him away a bit (despite his resistance), making him look up at you.

under you, you found foggy glasses, messy hair, and half his face covered in your wetness. and even with all that, he looked like the prettiest thing you'd ever had between your legs. he whined the moment you separated him, attempting to reconnect his lips with your cunt, but you remained stubborn.

"baby, you're doing so good for me," you wiped a bit at his lips, though he misinterpreted your intentions, instead taking your fingers into his mouth and suckling.

he was a natural at being a needy mess.

"need you to play with my clit, though, pretty. c'mere, like this. let me show you ..."

with your fingers, you showed him where he'd find your clit, instructing him to stick out his tongue for you again and kitten-lick at it. he went the extra mile and began suckling at it after just a few moments, making your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

going back and forth between licking at you and suckling at your clit, his intensity only increased the more you cried out for him, beginning to hump against his face with zero finesse. the squeaks of the bed could be heard as he himself bumped his cock against it, whimpering into your cunt out of neediness.

"g-gonna make me cum, kookie ... oh, fuck, i- i'm gonna cum, pretty. eat it f-for me? p-please?"

you hadn't planned on becoming so needy for him, but you also hadn't planned for him to be such a quick learner. he simply nodded into your cunt, speeding up his movements as he grumbled against your lips, clearly growing desperate to make you reach your high.

this was easily one of the most intense, neediest orgasms you'd ever had. your voice reached a pitch it never had before as you shamelessly used jungkook's face to get off. at some point his nose began nudging against your clit, almost causing you to black out in pleasure. by the end of it you had been singlehandedly doing all the work whilst jungkook let you guide his face however you wanted.

"fuck ... kookie," you breathed once your high subsided, "c'mere, baby."

climbing up the bed, he hovered over you, shy in initiating a kiss but putting his all into it the moment he realized how into it you were, suckling your juices out of his tongue and moaning into his mouth.

"was ... was it good?", he murmured into your neck once your lips had disconnected.

"it was so good, baby. you're such a quick learner," you caressed his back reassuringly, ignoring the hardness poking against you for a moment.

"want me to try it on you?" you asked, chuckling when he suddenly stilled.

"o-oh ... you want to?"

"lay on the bed, kookie. let me show how good it feels," you grinned at him, knowing you were about to blow his mind yet again.

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

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

part two word count: 33.2k

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

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

part one can be found on my masterlist!

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

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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

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

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

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god.”

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

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

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

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

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

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

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

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this a prank?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Jungwon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nicely done. My major is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

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

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

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Usually white.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat passes. Two. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

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

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

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

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he is so fucked.

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

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

Wait. 

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

82.

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

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

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

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

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

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

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

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

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

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

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

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

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

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

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

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

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

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

You don't bother to knock. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

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

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

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

“Why do you even care–”

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

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

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

“Wh–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How many times do I h–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“You look terrible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

“Please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.

[catslvrr]

hiding in plain sight

kim minji x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Being stuck in an elevator is bad. Being stuck in an elevator with Minji, however, is very good.

Contains: mentions of drinking, cursing

Song: Glue Song — Beabadoobee, Clairo

You should’ve known that your laziness would come back to bite you in the ass one day.

“Alright,” Hanni huffs, readjusting her tote bag strap. “This is where we part ways.”

You shift weight onto your right foot to bump shoulders with her. “Are you sure? The offer still stands.”

“Very sure,” she laughs as she glances at the daunting stairs on the right. “Need these bad boys muscled up.”

Hanni attempts a bodybuilder pose to flaunt her calf muscles, but barely anything shows. It’s a sad display. Maybe she really does need it.

“Shame,” you sigh dejectedly. “I’ll convince you one day.”

Every day for two months. That’s how long Hanni has devoted herself to taking the stairs rather than the elevator. You’ve tried almost everything to convince her, from horror stories to bribery to threats.

“Hanni, just get in the fucking elevator,” you hiss, violently slamming on the ‘open doors’ button. It’s ten in the evening, both of you just got back from a grueling study session in the library, and you’re about to drop dead.

It’s just your luck that she’s your roommate. You forgot your keys to the apartment, and there is no way in hell that you’re waiting fifteen minutes for her to climb however many flights of stairs it takes to get to the room.

“Nuh-uh,” she sing-songs, performing a pirouette for absolutely no reason other than to rub salt in the wound. “It’s fun seeing you mad.”

You grit your teeth. “I will tell everyone that you were the one who killed Lucy.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t!”

(It was a tragedy. Lucy was a dearly loved succulent who sat on a window sill at the end of the hallway. Every resident would visit Lucy from time to time, and there was even a Facebook page to upload pictures of Lucy and its growth.

On the fateful day, you and Hanni had just returned from a rowdy night out, and of course, both of you were a tad bit too drunk. You dared her to do a cartwheel and Lucy was unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

Somebody had posted a picture of Lucy, sprawled out on the carpet, pieces of the broken pot surrounding it. Word spread throughout the apartment and there was a solemn funeral held for Lucy. Justice was demanded but the true culprit was never found… because you were her alibi.)

“But I would,” you say with a smirk. At this point, you’re surprised the button isn’t broken yet. You’re also sorry for anyone else who’s waiting for the elevator on other floors.

“It was your fault in the first place!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got video evidence.”

Hanni sags her shoulders in defeat. After a few seconds of thinking, she seems to perk up again.

“Tell them,” she declares defiantly. “It’s been months anyway. People deserve closure.”

She then marches toward the stairs. You hear the echoes of her stomping.

You see your confounded face in the reflection as the elevator doors close.

“Aren’t you the basketball player?” Hanni muses. “You should be jumping at the chance to get some cardio in.”

“I already went to the gym today,” you flex your bicep smugly and attempt a smoulder. “And I got practice later.”

“You look like a jackass,” she scoffs. “Don’t talk to me.”

She curtly turns and speedwalks to the stairs, the telltale sounds of heavy steps following soon after.

You reach for your headphones around your neck and belatedly realize that they’re missing. “Fuck!”

The steps stop. Hanni’s voice is booming down the stairwell. “What?”

“I think I left my headphones in class.”

Hanni spares you no sympathy and cackles as she continues up the stairs. “Loser!”

You groan and decide you’ll go and find it before practice later. You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for the elevator to arrive. It’s taking a bit longer than usual today. You take a few minutes to scroll on your phone for a bit before you hear a familiar ding.

The elevator doors open and you walk in, but as you turn around to press the button to your floor, you see a face you weren’t expecting to see.

“Minji?” You tilt your head as she steps inside.

Minji offers a small smile and an awkward wave.

If you remember correctly, she’s friends with Haerin, who’s your team’s mascot. It’s such a shame she didn’t try out for the team because her height is ideal for the sport. You already have Hyein as a center, but she could probably pass as a power forward if she trained for it.

You notice that Minji is wearing the bottom half of the bear mascot. “Is Haerin okay?”

“Yeah,” she scratches her cheek. “She’s feeling a bit under the weather so I’m taking over for tomorrow’s game. Figured I’d get some practice before then.”

You’re about to ask about how the practice went, but the way she slumps in exhaustion against the railing tells you everything. You take note of the glistening sweat on her neck and the strands of hair sticking to her skin. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, but it gives her a faint glow that gets you bothered.

“Aren’t you hot?” You raise an eyebrow. “I tried that on once and I almost passed out after doing a backflip.”

Minji looks down at the bear costume and shakes her head hurriedly. “I’m almost home.”

“You’re fifth floor, right?”

A nod. You take her nonverbal response as a sign of discomfort, and so you stop your attempts at conversation.

There’s a few minutes of tense silence before a metallic screech pierces your ears. You both stumble as the elevator comes to an unexpected halt.

“What the fuck,” you say, squinting at the buttons and displays. You poke around for a bit before realizing that the elevator isn’t moving.

You turn around to check on Minji, but it doesn’t seem like she’s faring well. Her face is pale white and she’s tightly gripping onto the rails.

“Hey,” you take a small step toward her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she snaps her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Fine. Just a bit claustrophobic.”

You hesitantly place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently. “Just take your time and breathe, okay? I’ll contact emergency services.”

Minji nods again and sits down in the corner. You watch her worriedly before checking your phone. Of course, there’s no service. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You click on the bright red emergency services button, expecting static or a voice to sound out, but there’s nothing. You press again. And again. You push and hold it for five seconds.

“Don’t panic,” you flash Minji with an awkward grin. “But it’s not working.”

“Oh God,” she blanches, and understandably begins to panic. “We’re gonna die.”

She stands up, still in the mascot costume, and paces around the elevator. “We’re going to run out of oxygen. We’ll suffocate to death. We’ll run out of food and die of starvation. No, we’ll die of dehydration before that. What if I need to pee?”

The costume makes the passionate rant all the more comical. Her rambling continues as she wrings her hands together. “I think I need to pee. The anxiety’s getting to me.”

You grimace. “Please don’t talk about pissing. It’ll make me wanna piss too.”

Minji’s still aggressively muttering to herself in blind terror, so you stop her by grabbing her arm. “Hey, relax.”

That only seems to worsen her agitation as she yanks her body away from you, her face burning red as she almost elbows you in the face. She squeaks, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay,” you wave it off with a laugh and squeeze her hand. It’s soft. “You’re lucky you didn’t damage this pretty face.”

In this brief flustered state, Minji temporarily forgets about the panic and slides down to the floor like Jello. You squat down to meet her eye level. 

“Seriously though, it’ll be fine. The elevator has air vents so we’ll get enough circulation in here. And we’ll only be in here half an hour max. And about the pissing…” you trail off and take a quick peek at your duffle bag. “I have a bottle?”

Minji doesn’t reply, head in her hands. You make yourself comfortable and sit cross-legged opposite her.

“Will anyone notice you’re missing?”

“No,” she mumbles dejectedly.

Well, shit. Hanni probably thinks you’ve gone to find your headphones. “We might be here for more than an hour then.”

You clear your throat to break the awkward silence that ensues after. “How come I’ve never seen you around? We’re in the same year, right?”

“Our courses are in different buildings,” Minji says weakly. “My psych classes are far from the engineering buildings.”

“You already know what course I do?” You grin cheekily. “You must be a big fan.”

Minji hastily lifts her face, showcasing a burning blush. “No! I just… heard it from Haerin, that’s all.”

Your grin only widens. Like Haerin would ever talk about the team. She’s only there for the free post-game feeds. You choose to feign ignorance for her sake.

“You should take that off,” you suggest, noticing how Minji is uncomfortably squirming in the costume. “I’ll help with the zipper.”

“Okay,” Minji stammers, scrambling to get up on her feet.

You brush away some of her hair that’s covering the zipper and move it over her shoulder. Your fingers briefly brush over her neck, and all you can feel is how she’s burning hot. Minji almost imperceptibly shivers and jolts forward, choking on air. You pull the zipper down and watch with mirth as she clumsily wrestles out of the costume.

Minji stuffs it in her backpack and flops back down, hugging her backpack in her lap. You follow suit and sit a few inches away from her.

“Much better?”

She nods, still avoiding your gaze. You bite your cheek as you stare at her, trying to figure out a way to make conversation. You decide to fish your phone out of your pocket and pull up a recording of your last game, flashing her your screen as you pat the empty space next to you. “You wanna watch?”

Minji hesitates for a few seconds before shuffling closer. Her voice is small as she admits, “I was watching this game on the sidelines.”

You’re filled with a sense of pride at the news. But you also make a mental note to ponder on why you haven’t noticed her around before. “Really?”

“It’s not because of you or anything,” she adamantly denies, rubbing her nape, though you feel like her red cheeks contradict that.

“Anyone catch your eye?”

Her denial is half-hearted.

You pout teasingly. “Shame. I’ll play better next game.”

You save Minji from further embarrassment and press play. “You know how basketball works, right?”

“Each team has five players on the court… and the ball goes in the hoop?” Minji frowns.

“And?”

“And… you can’t run with the ball.”

“Basically,” you chuckle. “But there’s more to it.”

You rewind the video back to the beginning. “I hope you don’t mind me commentating.”

She shakes her head, and so you continue. “So this is one of the simplest plays in basketball: a pick and roll…”

You eventually finish the video and end up versing each other on the table hockey app on your phone. She’s surprisingly competitive and it’s endearing. You then somehow end up talking about card games, and you introduce her to the world of Inscryption through a gameplay video.

Halfway through the video, you feel a sudden weight on your shoulder. You crane your neck slightly and see Minji’s sleeping face. You smile and continue watching until you slowly drift off to sleep as well.

You’re both awoken with a sudden thud. Minji practically springs off of you and profusely apologizes, much to your amusement. You look up to see a firefighter opening the emergency escape hatch.

“You ladies alright?”

“Yes sir,” you drawl, checking your phone. “It’s just been two hours, no biggie.”

A ladder is dropped from the hatch and you both climb up, stretching your limbs as you stand on top of the elevator.

“This is so sick,” you pose as you take selfies. “I feel like I’m in some action movie.”

You tilt your phone to include Minji in the photos, and you laugh because she looks like she’s being held hostage.

The two of you are harnessed on some rope and pulled up by firefighters to safety. You’re shocked to see Haerin and Hanni there waiting. Hanni practically storms toward you and latches herself onto you like a koala, crying dramatically about your disappearance. You thank the firefighters as they pack up their equipment and begin to disperse.

“Hey Haerin,” you greet her with a strained voice, trying to peel Hanni off you. “You feeling better?”

“No,” she replies nasally. There’s a tissue stuffed in her right nostril. “But I’ll be there next game.”

You gift her with a slap on the back which earns you one in return, and you curse under your breath because she definitely hit you harder than you hit her. You ignore the stinging pain and swivel to meet Minji’s gaze that is already on you.

“Keep an eye on me next game?” You ask nonchalantly, but you must admit there’s a small part of you that twinges with hope. “I’ll play super duper good for you.”

Minji’s eyes widen in surprise before timidly answering with a stutter, “I will.”

“I’ll see you then!” You leave her with a side hug (where she awkwardly pats your back) before approaching Hanni. She gives you an eyebrow wiggle that you roll your eyes to in response. She is a hundred percent going to interrogate you at home. Both of you start the long climb to the apartment.

“Karma’s a bitch,” Hanni says obnoxiously. “That’s what you get for not taking the stairs.”

“Shut up JoJo Siwa,” you glower at her, but a lame grin graces your face when you remember your time spent with Minji. “I’d say it was a good thing.”

“Ew,” she gags. “Wipe that dopey smile off your face.”

You abruptly stop and grab Hanni’s arm. She turns around in confusion and sees your aghast expression. “What?”

“I missed practice. Yujin is gonna kill me.”

Tomorrow comes quicker than you expected, and you’re buzzing with nerves as you warm up on the sidelines. It’s not an important game, but your hands tremble a bit more today. You scan the court for a certain someone.

Danielle throws you a Gatorade. “Who are you looking for?”

“No one,” you blurt out a bit too quickly. You take a swig from the bottle to wash away your anxiety as you seat yourself on a bench.

“You sure?” Danielle quips with a knowing smile. “You’re shaking.”

You slam the bottle on the bench to shut down her jest. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Hyein?” You scowl as you shoo her away. “Go be a supportive friend and give her some encouraging words or something.”

Any lingering embarrassment flies out the window when you spot a big bear entering the building. You wave her over and laugh as she trips over someone’s stranded bag.

“Hi,” you smile.

You can barely hear Minji’s muffled voice through the head. “Hi.”

Your smile twitches as Hyein and Danielle appear behind Minji and start pulling childish faces. Your glare and subtle middle finger sends them away. “Wish me luck?”

The referee whistles as a signal for players to get on the court. Minji gives an awkward thumbs up, so you accept the fact that you have to initiate contact. You lean forward and kiss the stupid bear head. It’s a bit weird, but it’s worth it because you hear Minji’s breath hitch. 

She runs away promptly after. The game starts and you’ve never felt so motivated in your life.

The other team is irritatingly good at three-pointers, but your team’s size provides you with a solid advantage; you’re able to fight back through rebounding and shots inside the paint.

Your teammates are a bit puzzled at first when you keep hogging the ball and taking contested shots, but they’re not mad because you’re making them. The bewilderment quickly turns to disbelief when they realize you keep looking at the mascot after every shot.

“You’re so annoying,” Yujin grumbles during the half-time break. “This is not High School Musical.”

“Stop complaining, grandma.” You can feel your muscles ache from the overexertion, but the goal of impressing Minji takes priority. “We’re up by 20.”

“I think it’s cute!” Hyein interjects with an encouraging pinch of your cheek. “I can’t see Minji’s face but I bet she’s in love.”

Everyone turns as they hear a loud smack that resonates throughout the building. Minji’s sprawled on the floor after a failed backflip.

“She’s so cute,” you giggle, disregarding your teammate’s exasperated groans and mock punches.

The rest of the game is a breeze, but there are a few frustrating turnovers here and there that shorten the lead to nine when the final whistle blows.

You slither away from the team huddle and plop yourself down next to Minji. She’s gulping down water at a scarily excessive pace. You wait for her as she squeezes every last drop from the bottle and lets out a big wheeze afterwards.

“Tired?”

Minji nods and gratefully accepts the towel. You admire her as she wipes sweat off her neck and face.

“So,” you chirp. “How was the game?”

“You did really well,” she admits meekly.

Your chest puffs up at the praise. “So you’ll be watching from the front row for all my games from now on? I wanna see you.”

Minji’s taken aback by your forwardness, but nods shyly.

You’re still bouncing with adrenaline. “Did you see that and-one layup I made? And the no-look pass? And the—”

You stop rambling as you realize Minji’s not responding and spacing out. More specifically, spacing out and staring at your lips.

“Kiss me,” you say.

Minji literally jumps on the spot and almost screams, “What?”

“Kiss me,” you say again simply. “You want to and I want to. What’s stopping you?”

She audibly gulps and averts her gaze to hide her dilated pupils. “No, I was just distracted by something else, really…”

You roll your eyes and tug on the collar of the mascot costume to pull her in for a kiss. You feel her whole body stiffen and she makes a strangled noise, but then she melts and kisses you back for a few seconds before you pull away.

“Your lips are soft,” you smile casually, but you can feel the hammering of your heart.

“Thanks,” Minji’s voice wavers. “You too.”

“I like you,” you continue. “We should go on a date.”

“Really?” She stumbles over her words, still slightly dazed. “Are you sure?”

You hum in affirmation.

“Okay,” she squeaks.

“Okay,” you repeat with a smile. You stand up and take her hand to pull her up as well. “Let’s go eat. The team is probably waiting for us outside.”

“Wait!” She yanks you back. “Let me get out of this costume first…”

“Do you need help with the zipper again?”

“…Yes please.”

Dedicated to user rosiehrs... hope this minji was 'loser' enough for you

[theemporium]

violet fluff, luke and his grumpy gf who isn’t always the best at saying or showing her affection,

"I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it."

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

29. “I do love you, you know. Even if I’m shit at showing it.” 

.

Usually, you were never one to let comments get to you. 

It was something you were well aware came with territory of dating someone in the spotlight, but it didn’t turn you away. You weren’t one to let the opinions of people you knew bother you, let alone strangers on the internet hiding behind a screen. It was something you could easily disconnect from, knowing full well most comments were made through a veil of jealousy and envy. 

You were secure in your relationship with Luke, why bother with people desperate to poke holes in something they didn’t know the details of?

It had been family skate day with the Devils and you had been told by Luke that the two of you were featured in the video the team posted on Instagram. You went to look for pure curiosity reasons, maybe drop a like before moving on with the day. You weren’t even sure why you looked at the comments. You weren’t sure why a few of them stuck out. 

user: she literally looks like she wants to be anywhere else, idk why luke is with her

And maybe in the long run, it wouldn’t have bothered you. But then you found yourself with the team a week or so later, at some random bar in Jersey celebrating another win to the streak. You were settled in the seat beside Luke, his arm over the back of your chair and a beer in his other hand whilst you nursed a vodka coke he had gotten you. 

“Oh, cover your eyes, people!” Curtis had laughed from the other side of the table, a teasing smile on his face. “They are within five inches of each other. Don’t get too excited, Luke!”

And—

You get it. You two didn’t show much PDA around the team or anyone in general. It wasn’t your kind of style. Luke sometimes held your hand or pulled you close, maybe a kiss to the top of your head. But overall, neither one of you was overly affectionate, especially in public. 

And it never bothered you before. It still didn’t. But maybe it did peeve you off just a little that people just assumed it meant something more, that the lack of affection was telling of something else, that you didn’t—

“Luke?” 

“Hm?” The boy hummed, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he aimlessly scrolled through what he missed in the old UMICH chat. His head was on your lap, his body sprawled over the couch whilst you were flicking through random channels. It had been a fairly normal evening for you both, minus the thoughts plaguing you. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Luke paused, drawing his gaze away from his phone to look up at you with a frown. “What?” He questioned, an almost disbelieving laugh leaving his lips. “I mean, yeah. But where is this coming from?” 

“Nothing, I—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you reached down to push some hair away from his face. He leaned into the touch. “I do love you, you know. Even if I’m shit at showing it.” 

“I think you show it just fine, babe,” he assured you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist so he could tug your hand closer and press a soft kiss to your palm. It made your lips twitch upwards. “I know you’re obsessed with me, no need to go screaming it from the rooftops.” 

You scoffed, tugging your hand away. “Loser.” 

“Your loser that you love,” Luke retorted, a boyish grin on his face that you were endlessly fond of. 

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

.

[nozunhinged]

Okay okay okaaaayyyyy I swear I also have smart thoughts that are NOT related to boys artistically smashing on screen BUT korntonkla in 4 minutes is such a prime example of plot driven intimacy if not THE prime example in all of the BL I've watched so far. We all know mystery and timejumps and how they are done well and visuals we need to look for but when it comes to physical intimacy as a plot device everything suddenly goes to shit so here I am.

I'm going to explain why korntonklas scene was the perfect way to establish their relationship and how this is so, so, much more than just a "NC scene" (btw I HATE this acronym with a passion), it's an essential part of the story that cannot be left out.

But I do understand it's not everyone's cup of tea so I am going to seize screenshots or GIFs but plssssss keep reading the scene deserves it! Even more if you've skipped it!

Ok now with the disclaimers out of the way, let's talk about Korn and tonkla.

The flow of their scene was absolutely perfect from start to finish and not a single second was wasted. Their sugar relationship is established immediately with the topic of work as the center. Thanks to that we learn what their relationship is in the first place, which purpose it serves korn and what that says about him. His sweet words are the turning point to shift the focus on tonkla. They are too sweet, almost cheesy, they're empty and meaningless but we watch tonkla eating them up like candy and the stage is set for the exploration of their dynamic.

Tonklas way of rewarding these words, which brings us the iconic bareback moment.

Tonkla turns from cute and confident to incredibly needy the moment the heat turns up and we understand in a split second that he wants more from his daddy than just his dick. He wants his trust, a true connection, the level a relationship could potentially reach and his only chance in their current setting to articulate that is by yeah, asking if Korn could go in raw.

And how he doesn't even say no, he just rips the condom open.

Oh boy no dialogue in the world could replace THAT, I'm telling you. Now we know he uses his power in this moment to cover up his cowardice and acts like the one whos in control. I have a feeling this way of dealing with things will bite him in the ass later.

Meanwhile tonkla just takes everything he could get. And if that wasn't enough to let us know what's going on here, we double down with a round of helping tonkla cum.

That makes him look generous and loving and of course it would make tonklan even happier because that's (unfortunately) not the norm. Another way of covering up his uuh...let's call it mediocre performance.

But in tonklas eyes, he's so lucky to have him. Korns knows he has to take good care of his puppy if he wants to keep him. How do we learn that? Well in their afterglow all tonkla does is cling to Korn to bask in every moment he gets with him while Korn is completely out of it, visibly enjoying his stress relief.

And let's be real here, he may have jerked his boy off but dude held it for like 10 seconds before he busted whimpering like a damn loser no amount of money makes you this happy in the way tonkla is clinging to him. Puppy is down bad.

The conclusion of it all—the make out scene before they get interrupted—is the cherry on top, now we know how their dymanic works and how it functions in the overall story. Chefs kiss, I'm telling you.

I could go on how many plot points we've established in this one intimate scene but this is already too long uuuugh.

Korn and his relationship with tonkla painted a perfect picture of his character and the issues he has and will have to deal with and I'm telling you there was NO BETTER WAY to establish than with this scene.

And I haven't even touched on the natural movements of the actors, the realistic flow of things that make everything so palpable, tiny details like Korn holding his dick after he lubed it up. It's not relevant to the plot but makes the intented plot points SHINE because you don't stumble over clunky or unrealistic execution and can concentrate on what's happening with the characters UGHHHHHH SO GOOD!!!

Man that's A+ direction and I'm in absolute awe.

[horrorsboyfrie]

Loser!Zandik being crushed on by Popular!Reader

(masc terms on reader+ it's the typical corny social butterfly × weirdo shit, queer edition, honestly + Zandik displays traits of autism + a little murderous♡)

Zandik, as per usual, was spending the night's time in the library. It was quiet, for the most part. While a lot of his fellow peers were focused on finding answers for their own satisfaction, even those who viewed their values and research to be above everyone else's had someone to keep them company; for that reason, they often chose to borrow the necessary books and study in their respective dorms, or the dorms of their friends. Some did indeed prefer the setup of the library's sections and desks, but even so, the peaceful atmosphere was not interrupted by them.

Zandik sat on a table at the very ends of the room. He had a pile of books to his right; some half opened, and others neatly stack on top of each other. He had his notebook and pens nearby, taking notes of anything he deemed crucial knowledge for his personal projects.

Not long had he been entangled in his theories when a specific group of students decided to make an appearance. They could be heard from miles away— and it just so happened that they chose to sit on a table to his right. Malicious intent, no doubt. These people tended to act as if Zandik was some foreign species to be studied; as if he was a sort of a subject that needed constant supervision.

Of any day to endure the constant speculations and disgusted or concerned expressions towards him, today was not the right one. Nothing too horrific had happened to him, not something that would matter to an average person, at least. It's just that he slept wrong, causing him to wake up with slight neck pain, which played a role in worsening his already short temper, which in turn made his sensory issues towards his clothes, especially his socks, far more insufferable than they had to be. He was one unexpected move away from having a meltdown.

Yet again, he managed to ignore the obnoxiously loud 《whispers》 that sprouted out of those filthy rat-filled mouths of theirs, as Zandik's already-overwhelmed mind decided to call them.

Unfortunately for him, the multiple different voices started chanting even more nonsense as you walked towards the table— he could see that you were dreading it. Was everyone so damn bothered by his existence? You were known to be such a sweetheart— contrast to majority of boys there— by those who've interacted with you, but to be fair, none had a reputation quite like Zandik's, so it's no wonder you resented him, as everyone else did.

"Why'd we have to sit here?" he heard you emphasize. He looked your way; he could see the grins on the faces of your friends, the way they seemed to be picking on someone, hushed whispers, mentioning his name time after time, as if he wasn't barely three chairs away. Gods, his patience was running thin.

"Can we just switch seats?" He listened as you practically begged your friend, who was sitting on the complete opposite end of the table. As much as he may have claimed (to himself, seeing as he had none to actually confide in) not be a man driven by emotion, his worse sensory days were tempt to be a catastrophe in every way possible. He left soon after he heard those mumbles; he was too sensitive for his own good, even if he dismissed that fragile soul of his with walls of anger and apathy.

Your friends seemed to notice before you, the fact that he was no longer in the room. All you got was endless teasing about how you've missed your chance or about the fact that you probably 《intimidated》 him. Bullshit, no? You sighed as the group split up again, each going ahead to do their own thing. The only true reason they decided to meet up here was to force you into talking to him. That did not quite work out, it seems.

You hurried to leave as well, when you noticed a small pen on the ground. That must be his; you always see him writing with that specific shade of blue. It's not like nobody else in the whole Akademiya owned the same one, but he was sitting on the table you found it under. You decided to hold on to it. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to finally have a conversation with the guy!

On your way back to the dorms, you noticed him nearing his own room. Maybe now's the time to return him his belongings— especially considering how he seemed to be searching his pockets. His face was indifferent when he realized he didn't have the pen on him, but his hands were trermbling; a hint of anxiety perhaps? One could only speculate. You decided to leave him on his own. He probably wasn't up for company or conversation anyway.

The following few days weren't quite like you expected. Usually, you'd manage to get at least a glance your way by him; laughing at stupid jokes, bumping into people or objects that you could have easily avoided, accidentally saying things a bit too loud. Nothing worked this time. It's as if he purposefully was avoiding you; a fact that got confirmed after you tried walking towards him. He saw you—he made sure you saw his look, he held it for a couple of seconds— and then he walked away. Fuck, there's no way this guy wants anything to do with you.

Weeks later, you had grown to forget ever owning that pen of his; actually, you started using it for yourself. If you can't give it back, then why not use it for yourself?

Zandik, despite trying his hardest to keep his stares away from you and your friends (and pretty much everyone else in that damned building), couldn't help but notice that his long-gone favorite pen is under your possession.

After the very last class of the day, he decided to give you a visit; your fate had been decided by him already. He's done what he's done in the Eleazar hospital and got away with it. It wouldn't be hard to add another body into the endless pile of disappearances; he knew how to keep suspicion off his shoulders.

Perhaps it was a bit too far. He was letting his rage get the better of him; but gods, he really hadn't felt at ease writing with anything else. "His death would make no logical sense to my goals," he sighed as he reminded himself. "What sort of researcher puts his emotions above his values?" He groaned— frustrated both at himself for considering such a solution to his problems, and at the situation itself.

Times like these, he'd go to his special place to sit and think; it was a big tree, near a lake. Children would often talk about their encounters with the Aranara there. At first, he only ever visited that place so he could find one creature and take it for himself, but he grew quite comfortable being there.

He grabbed the opportunity by its hand once he spotted you all alone; sitting with your back against that very same tree that he favored. As if you had a seventh sense, you turned around to see him. He wasn't quite prepared to be greeted with a smile. It caught him off guard; why were you, of all people, showing any form of sympathy for him?

"I was hoping you'd be here" you said, handing him the pen that he has been desperately trying to get a hold of again.

[wlntrsldler]

heartless | luke castellan

MDNI!!!!!!

fuckboy! luke (kinda) but also kind of loser!luke a little bit. enemies to lovers (more of sexual tension really); not canon, no betrayal, and pokes fun of aphrodite girls but yk i love them, this is just for the plot. ares!reader x luke castellan.

i. never need a bitch, i'm what a bitch need, tryna find the one that can fix me; i've been dodging death in the six-speed.

there were many things about being a half-blood that luke hated. having a deadbeat father ranks highly on the list, obviously, and the lack of exposure to the real world was up there, too. he ran away from camp once during the year when there weren’t many kids around. it was right after his eighteenth birthday when he thought that his life would magically change for the better now that he beat the odds (sue him for being hopeful), but when the clock hit midnight and he was still stuck on his cramped, cot in the corner of the hermes cabin, he decided enough was enough. 

he did his final cabin checks and left camp after, wandering aimlessly until he found the train station to take him straight to the city. he hopped over the turnstile and squeezed himself into the crowded subway car. the first thing that struck luke was how different each group of people was from each other. in one corner, there were businessmen in itchy suits, trying to check out the group of girls across from them, clearly dressed for a night out. luke scoffed at them, smirking to himself when one of the men flushed in embarrassment at the fact that luke caught him. 

what a fucking loser, luke thought. 

there was a girl around luke’s age, sneaking glances at him. she was pretty; blonde, pouty-lipped, and definitely interested. at this point, luke hadn’t been experienced. other than the aphrodite girls flirting with him and the occasional hazed and rushed makeout sessions during the campfires, luke hadn’t done anything with anyone. but if he can make the daughters of the goddess of love blush, surely it couldn’t be that difficult to make a mortal fall under his charm too. 

he was right. 

he shot her one of his signature smirks, feeling a sense of pride bloom in his chest when she had to grab onto the pole in front of her to keep steady. luke adjusted the navy sweater he had on, tugging on the collar a bit to show off a little skin. his silver necklace sat nicely on his neck and he watched subway girl’s eyes rake over his body. luke bit his bottom lip, motioning for the girl to take the empty seat beside him. her eyes widened, but she did what she was told. 

unfortunately, reality caught up with him quickly when a hellhound found him as he was exiting the subway car with the pretty girl (jessie? jane? janet? he doesn’t remember.) around his arm. luke castellan was a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them, so he made some stupid excuse to the girl about why he had to leave just so he could keep her safe. (it killed him to do it. he’s a teenage boy. he has needs.) the girl walked away, upset, huffing to her friends about how he wasted her time and got her hopes up. luke just rolled his eyes and dislodged his small knife from his pocket sitting beside his half-smoked cigarette box, ready to take on the hellhound. 

“you couldn’t wait ‘til i at least got to second base?” luke cringed, partly at himself for talking to the hellhound like it could talk back to him. “had to show up right now, huh, buddy?” 

he received a growl in return. 

the fight wasn’t too terrible, but after the hellhound whimpered, walking away in defeat, luke was too tired to continue his exploration of the real world. he hopped on the train back to camp, clutching the scratch the hellhound left on him. his (only nice piece of clothing) navy sweater was ruined. the thread was falling apart where the hellhound dug its claws in and it was stained with his blood. he would’ve fought better and avoided the injury if his balls weren’t fucking blue. 

luke closed his eyes, breathing heavily. even though it was only for a few minutes, the idea of being a regular teenager, flirting with girls, going to clubs, drinking cheap tequila from a plastic bottle, was something luke yearned for. he only got to experience a fraction of it. he wanted to experience it more, preferably without testing death each time. 

the older kids heard of luke’s adventure when they saw the counselor walking into the apollo cabin the following morning to get his wounds treated. he made a note to never tell chris anything again because the boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried. by lunch, the entire camp, including chiron and mr. d, heard about luke’s unplanned visit to the city and his interaction with one of hades’ guards. 

“luke.” 

he turned around, eyebrows furrowed, then raised in surprise. in front of him were three aphrodite girls, pouting at him. he crossed his arms across his chest, smirking, “what’s up, gorgeous?” 

“heard you went looking for some fun last night.” 

“are we not good enough for you, luke?” 

“why would you go looking for better when you have the best right here in camp?” 

luke wanted to laugh. the aphrodite girls were always so bold with their words, but when it came down to the wire, they would never want to disappoint their mom by being with the golden boy-turned-teenage dirtbag. he respected it, though. their allegiance to their mom was admirable. if aphrodite was his godly parent and she gave him the power to always be attractive, he didn’t think he’d do anything to piss her off either. 

“why do you think i came back?” luke flirted, running a hand through his curls, “realized there was nobody like you.” 

the three girls blushed and giggled, even if none of them knew who his comment was actually directed toward. they waved goodbye to him, and he watched them walk away, admiring the view. 

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

luke couldn’t stop his lips from quirking upwards at the sound of your voice, “what now, y/n?” 

you and luke had been at each other’s throats since you first got to camp half-blood. you, as the daughter of ares, one of his favorites coming only second to clarisse, pushed luke’s buttons like no other. you walked into camp and immediately saw through his boy-next-door facade and saw him for who he truly was. usually, luke would hate you for it, but now, it was hard for him not to think about shutting you up in other ways. less friendly ways, but if he had his ways, just as harsh. 

the rivalry began when you were fourteen. the title of best swordsman bounced between the two of you over the years. luke currently has the title, but it was only because he cheated; he swears he’s just better, but there’s no universe where you’d actually admit luke castellan was better than you at something. the five seconds between you being chosen to be head counselor for the ares cabin and him being chosen as the head counselor for the hermes cabin were the best five seconds of your life. it was the only time you held a higher position than him. 

luke quite enjoyed your little banter (when you weren’t around to ruin his game). it only got better when he had his huge growth spurt and you could no longer reach things when he held it up over his head. when you didn’t talk and run your mouth (usually cursing at him or cursing him), luke thought you might even be cute. he loved making you turn red, even if it was out of pure anger over his antics, but his favorite is when he gets you tongue-tied because his dirty, teenage brain makes him say something before he thinks.

“there’s no way that actually worked on them.” 

“take a look for yourself,” luke motioned to the group of girls who were now whispering and shooting heart eyes at him. “it always works.” 

“oh, get your head out your ass, castellan,” you spat. 

“spitting is not going to get you the reaction you might think,” luke smirked, eyeing you up and down. your eyes widened and you looked away from him to hide the redness of your cheeks. like that. luke licked his lips, “might actually have the opposite effect on me.” 

“you’re disgusting.” 

luke let out a full belly laugh as you walked away from him. sure, there were some pretty shitty things about camp half-blood, but there were some pretty great things there too, and messing with you is on the top of his list. 

ii. hundred models gettin' faded in the compound, tryna love me but they never get a pulse down.

“do you guys always fight like this?” 

you and luke peeled your eyes away from each other at the sound of percy’s voice. the poor boy was looking between his two mentors, torn because he had no idea who to listen to. you sighed, walking over to him. 

you placed a hand on his shoulder, “sorry, percy. luke is just… forget it, let’s just try it one more time, yeah?” 

“luke is just what?” luke asked, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “finish your sentence, y/n. c’mon.” 

“the words i’d like to use wouldn’t be appropriate for a twelve-year-old to hear.” 

“‘m from new york, i probably heard it already,” percy shrugged, pausing. “come to think of it, i probably used it before.” 

luke let out a chuckle, patting percy on the back. “my man.” 

“can you not encourage cussing, head counselor?” 

“fine, i guess you’re just gonna have to tell me what you were going to say later. in private.” 

“castellan,” you smacked his chest. hard. you were furious with luke, but you couldn’t help but flush at his suggestive words, “don’t start.” 

percy frowned, “i don’t get it.” 

luke took mercy on you and wrapped an arm around the boy. he led percy away, promising to continue working on his sword skills later after capture the flag. before they disappeared from your view, luke made sure to turn around to shoot you a wink. you flipped him off in return. 

it wasn’t always like this between you and luke. once upon a time, your banters were innocent, like kids fighting over the last piece of candy in the jar. luke literally used to pull your hair when he was behind you in the line for food and you used to stick your foot out to trip him when he was playing tag with his siblings. 

but then, he returned from his quest. at first, you felt bad for him. he came back unable to complete it, and he was permanently scarred from it. it must’ve been difficult to have that constant reminder. after a few months, though, when his scar was almost fully healed, the whispers about how attractive luke castellan was started. luke closed himself off after his quest and spent his time doing extra training. you could lie and say that all the extra workouts didn’t do wonders for him, but nobody would believe you anyway. 

in short, luke castellan got hot. he was no longer the pesky little boy you bantered with. he got taller, broader, and dirtier. you weren’t dumb, you knew the innuendos that he would throw at you. you were in the same sex ed class as he was in. (side note: mr. d teaching teenagers about sex ed was your own personal version of hell. tartarus be damned.) somehow, luke turned into a teenage heartthrob at camp and all of a sudden, all the girls were throwing themselves at him. it made you sick, but what made you more sick, was that you understood why. 

ever since luke’s confidence skyrocketed and he leaned into his bad boy persona, there was a different charge in your banter; as if instead of trying to push your buttons, now, he was trying to get you under him. from blowing his cigarette smoke directly into your direction to all his dirty comments, luke castellan was acting like he wanted you. and surprisingly, you didn’t stop him. 

“can y’all just fuck already?” you spun around to find clarisse leaning against a tree, her spear mounted on the floor. she had a teasing smile on her lips, “maybe once you hate-fuck, you guys will get it out your systems.” 

“ew, castellan?” you sneered. your nose scrunched up in disgust, though your stomach churned at the thought of it. “never in a million years.” 

“dude, the sexual tension between you guys is insane,” she shrugged, walking over to you. “come on, sis, you can’t pretend like you don’t feel it.” 

“i feel a lot of things for luke castellan, but wanting to fuck him is not one of them.” 

you’re a liar. you knew that. clarisse knew that. but you’re thankful that your sister didn’t call you out on your bullshit. 

she laughed, “whatever you say. now, ready to train me?” 

you spun your sword around expertly, “always.” 

this week’s game of capture the flag was eventful. you lost, much to your dismay, but the results of the game were overshadowed by poseidon claiming percy as his kid. the subject of forbidden kids were a touchy subject, for obvious reasons, but you knew that it was especially hard for luke. you didn’t know thalia well, but with how often annabeth talked about her, you felt like you knew her. 

luke never talked about thalia, though. you figured it was because it was too painful for him to think about. he knew her longer than annabeth did and his memories of her were much more vivid than the young girl’s. with percy being poseidon’s kid, you knew that it was bound to bring up some unwanted memories for the hermes counselor. but what shocked you was seeing luke sitting with his siblings at the campfire instead of being surrounded by fawning girls like he usually was. whenever his team won, he would bask in the glory of the win, shotgunning smoke into the mouth of whoever was closest to him before disappearing for a bit only to come back with marks all over his neck. 

but tonight, he was sitting next to chris, a beer can in his hand, staring directly at you. the red cup in your hand filled with mysterious liquor was cold to the touch. clarisse was trying to hide the smile on her face as she watched you and luke lock eyes. she mumbled a fake excuse, running away to leave you alone while she tried to find silena. luke chugged the rest of his beer before crushing the can in his hand and walking over to you. 

you stood your ground, feet planted on the floor, with your arms folded across your chest. “no celebration tonight castellan?” 

“not unless you want to celebrate with me,” he replied. 

“shut the fuck up,” you sighed. 

luke watched as your arms pushed your tits up your chest. he couldn’t stop himself from biting his lip, watching your chest rise and fall as you took your breaths. he was almost tempted to burn his toast tomorrow morning just to thank the gods that you decided to wear a low-cut shirt tonight. your camp necklace was resting on top of your tits and he wanted to reach over and count the beads on your necklace. four, just one less than he has. 

“i love that you’re a sore loser,” he said, pulling out the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear. “makes it so easy to mess with you.” 

“‘m not a sore loser,” you argued, absentmindedly pulling out the lighter in your pocket. 

he was surprised by your actions. he knew you smoked, but you’d never smoked with him before. he pulled out a cigarette for you which you gladly took. you lit yours first then leaned over for him to light his own. luke shook his head, bringing up his index finger for you to come closer. he lit his cigarette with the burning end of yours, humming in appreciation when the nicotine hit his senses. 

“you are,” he blew out the smoke, “but it’s adorable.” 

“flirting with me isn’t gonna get you very far, castellan. you should know this by now.” 

“what, you want me to be mean to you?” luke said it teasingly, but then he saw your shoulders freeze for a millisecond. he chuckled, darkly, voice dropping an octave when he spoke again. “holy shit, you’re into that.” 

“none of your fucking business,” you shook your head, thankful that you had at least one substance already in your system to keep you from turning red. 

“it’s hot, y/n, own it,” he shrugged his shoulders, turning a bit to face the rest of the campers. all of the younger kids were off in their own world. they knew better than to hang out with the older kids at these things. he had a cocky smile on his face when he turned to you again, “i can be mean, if you want, y’know. just say the word.” 

you downed the drink, needing some sort of liquid courage if you were going to keep this conversation going. clarisse and silena were watching you and luke a few feet away and you can tell by their faces that they weren’t going to come save you from the conversation even if you begged them to. “that kind defeats the purpose, no?” 

“what do you mean?” 

you wiped the drop of liquor away from the corner of your lips, “having to ask you to be mean. you should just be mean without me asking.” 

luke’s eyes darkened. sure, he flirted with you, but you never kept up with him before. you usually tell him to fuck off and walk away, leaving him with a head full of images of your red, embarrassed face, to keep him occupied at night. “noted.” 

you shoved the empty cup into his chest, taking a puff out of your cigarette before walking away, “no need to take notes, castellan. i know you’re all talk anyway.” 

iii. 'cause i'm heartless and i'm back to my ways 'cause i'm heartless.

luke was pissed. you can tell by the way his shoulders were tense. you just disarmed him during practice, the tip of your sword resting comfortably under his jaw. the title was yours again. 

“say you surrender,” you taunted, pushing the sword just a little deeper on his skin, but not enough to cause any damage, “say you surrender and i’ll let you leave with some dignity.” 

“this doesn’t count,” he replied, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i was distracted.” 

and he was. you took your shirt off, leaving you in a sports bra, at around the third sparring session. the sun was beating down harshly on the both of you and the lack of a breeze in the air didn’t help. your chest was glistening with sweat and you were breathing heavily. luke took his eyes away from your moves for a second to look at your figure and you took advantage of it. 

“no excuses, castellan,” you lifted his face up with your sword, “surrender.” 

“fine,” he relented. he got up from his knees when you removed the sword from his jaw, “i surrender.” 

“good.” you twirled your sword in your hand, walking away from him to grab a sip of water. your back was turned and luke couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down the curve of your spine. your muscles were defined, no doubt due to the hours of sparring you just did, and your hair cascaded perfectly down when you pulled it out of the ponytail you had it in. he wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull it. 

“fuck,” he groaned, trying to push down his hardening cock in his cargo pants. the action didn’t do anything to help. it was no use. 

“what was that?” you tossed the bottle of water on the ground as you turned to face him. your eyes widened as you took in the image in front of you. luke was staring at you, lips slightly parted, hair in disarray as if he just ran his hand through it, and his pants were tight around his dick. “luke…” 

fuck it, he thought. 

“shut up.” 

luke marched over to you, grabbing your face with a force that knocked you off balance. it was disorienting feeling his lips hungrily over yours because it felt so damn good. his hands migrated from your face down to your ass, gripping it and massaging the flesh so he could push you closer to him. you could feel his hard cock poking against your skin and you moaned at the feeling. luke wanted to bottle the sound so he could listen to it whenever he wanted to. 

he pushed you against a tree, grinding his aching hips against yours. he could feel your wetness growing against his pants. he pulled away from your lips, turning your face to the side to give himself access to your neck. he licked a stripe up your jugular, mixing his saliva with the sweat on your skin. he started his attack on your neck, nipping, sucking, licking, everywhere he could. you couldn’t help but whimper at his actions. 

against your better judgment, you pulled him away by threading your fingers through his curls. his eyes were closed, mouth agape when he knocked his forehead against yours. you tugged on the hair by the nape of his neck, “you’re not fucking me, luke.” 

“fuck, okay,” he breathed out. he was horny, but he respected your wishes. 

“not today,” you placed a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling away. his lips followed yours, but you tutted, “but you can watch me if you let me watch you.” 

“yes,” his eyes snapped open, moving away from you to give you space. 

“come here,” you walked away from him, motioning him to come to the patch of grass secluded from the training area. he followed you, hissing as he tried to adjust himself in his pants. you lay on the grass, propping yourself up on your elbows. your hand slowly trailed down to your pants before you dipped your finger inside your underwear. your back arched as you felt how wet you were from the earlier interaction with luke. 

luke sat at your feet, undoing his pants. he pulled out his cock; red, dripping, and angry. he felt his confidence rise when you moaned at the sight of it. his veiny hand was wrapped at the base of his cock, slowly pumping. his voice was broken as he spoke, “let me see you.” 

for a moment, you were vulnerable, hesitating to expose everything to him. but luke’s face showed nothing but desire and you melted under his gaze. you shimmied out of your pants, tossing them somewhere near, before opening your legs for him to see you. your fingers pulled apart your folds, showing him your slick-covered pussy. 

“prettiest fucking pussy in the world,” he groaned, watching as you circled your clit. “fucking perfect, y/n.” 

his words spurred you on. you dipped two fingers inside, mewling at the stretch. luke flicked the tip of his dick, moaning at how your fingers disappeared as you pumped them inside you. he can hear your wetness loud and clear and he wanted nothing more than to slurp it up with his tongue, but he can be patient. this can be enough for now. 

his hand moved faster on his dick, the muscles on his arm tensing with each stroke. he watched as you threw your head back in pleasure, admiring the marks he left on your skin. a feeling of possessiveness bloomed in his chest knowing that he marked you. 

“want a taste?” 

luke nodded, crawling over to your outstretched fingers while still pumping his cock. his lips hollowed to suck off your juices from your fingers, eyes closing at the sweet taste. his tongue danced between your fingers, licking them clean. you watched in awe as he hungrily sucked off your fingers. there were beads of sweat trickling down the edge of his face, his curls were sticky on his forehead, and there was a look of pure bliss on his features. 

“so sweet,” he whispered, letting your fingers go with a pop. “fuck, y/n.” 

“luke,” you panted, continuing to get yourself off. “i’m close.” 

“give it to me,” he said. his voice was nearly gone. “need it.” 

there was something about luke castellan begging you to cum for him that made your head spin. you came, hard, all over your fingers while he watched you come undone. the image of you cumming, the whisper of his name leaving your lips, was going to be burned into his memory forever. 

“i’m coming,” luke groaned, the veins in his neck popping out as he gritted his teeth. “open up.” 

you moved closer to him, leaning down with your tongue out for him. he pumped his cock until white spurts covered your pink, patient tongue. he wanted to take a picture of you right now for later. eyes closed, makeup on your face ruined, hickeys on your neck on full display while his cum coated your tongue. you were a wet dream come to life. 

luke gripped blades of grass with his other hand, trying to steady himself as he watched you swallow his load. when you opened your eyes, you opened your mouth to show him you didn’t waste a drop, and luke couldn’t do anything else but kiss you to show his appreciation. 

you had avoided luke after your training session. you didn’t know what got into you doing that with him, but one thing was for sure, the tension didn’t disappear after it. it just got worse. 

everywhere you went, you felt his eyes following your every move. he would stare at you, eyes narrowed, during classes or during meals. but he never did anything. 

until he lost at capture the flag. you skipped the celebration, opting to stay alone in the ares cabin to avoid running into luke. the whole situation left you with so many questions that you were afraid to get the answer to. you fucked yourself in front of luke. and you liked it. there hasn’t been a day since when you didn’t think about his cock and how it would feel inside of you. it was getting pitiful how often you got off thinking about him. his sounds, his face when he came, his taste. everything. 

you were getting ready for bed when you heard the door of the ares cabin slam open. you turned your head, eyes widening, when you saw luke walking towards you, kicking the door shut. he didn’t break eye contact with you as he reached the foot of your bed. 

he licked his lips, “you’re avoiding me.” 

“i’m not,” you lied, tugging your blanket up to cover yourself. “was just too tired to celebrate.” 

“bullshit,” he ripped the blanket away from your body, “you want mean, right? i can give you mean.” 

you pushed your thighs together, making him smirk.

luke got on your bed, his knees on either side of you. he pushed his head into the crook of your neck, leaving rough kisses on your skin. your hands flew up to his hair, pulling softly, “my pretty girl won’t betray me.” 

it took you a minute to realize that he wasn’t talking about you. his fingers rubbed on your clit over your pajama shorts, making you arch into him. you whimpered, “luke, please.” 

“nuh uh,” he pulled away from your neck, “you don’t get to say please, anymore. you’re gonna take my dick until i’m done.” 

luke connected your lips. his lips were relentless against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. he groaned at the feeling of your hand reaching down to palm him. he grinded his hips into your hand, lips sloppily crashing against yours. luke put all his weight on one arm, using the other one to lightly wrap his fingers around your throat. he did an experimental squeeze, growing harder when you moaned in pleasure at the pressure. 

clothes were flying off both of your bodies after that. your pants drowned out the faint hum of the campers away at the campfire. luke pulled away from your lips, marking your neck again. the hickeys he left you were already fading and he hated not seeing the remnants of his time with you on your skin. he trailed the hickeys down your body, spending extra time on your plush thighs. he pried your legs open, sighing in content when your pussy welcomed his thick fingers. 

he pressed his tongue against your folds, closing his eyes at the sounds of pleasure that left your lips. his lips wrapped around your bud, sucking, until you were lifting your hips up. he placed an arm across your stomach, pressing down on you to keep you still. from where you were lying, you could only see his eyes. his eyes were boring into yours, watching your reaction to learn what you liked. when his tongue darted inside of you, touching that spongy part, your face contorted in unparalleled pressure and luke knew that he needed to keep hitting that spot. 

you were a mess under him. you’ve never came before unless it was your own doing, but you were dangerously close to the edge with how luke was eating your pussy. he was determined to have your wetness coat his tongue. he’d been dreaming of tasting you since you last let him. he’d been craving it. 

when your thighs pressed against the side of his head, he knew it was coming. he used his thumb to draw figure eights on your clit. you came with a cry, his name repeating off your lips like a mantra, like a prayer. 

luke pulled away from your pussy, wiping the wetness on his chin away with his forearm. he pumped his cock in his hand a few times, hissing at the pain of it being forgotten. 

“luke,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. you clung onto him like a lifeline. “give me a second.” 

he took in your state. all fucked out just from his tongue. his jaw ticked, “been givin’ you space for days, don’t think you deserve any more.”

“fuck!” you cried as his dick entered you. luke had to shut his eyes to keep himself from cumming. your pussy was so tight and so wet and so greedy for his cock. he pushed all the way in, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. 

“perfect fucking pussy, like i said,” luke’s voice was hoarse as he thrusted into you. his hand grabbed one of your tits, flicking the hardened bud with his fingers. he continued to snap his hips into you as he leaned down to your ear, “been thinking about fucking you dumb with my cock.” 

“been-ah- thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks growing red at his words. you were clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks, “been touching myself thinking about you.” 

“looks like you’re the one who’s all talk, y/n,” he was going faster now, reveling in the sounds that your connected bodies were making with each push of his cock. reminders of your first orgasm were all over his base. “made me watch you fuck your perfect pussy, then-fuck- avoiding me.” 

“didn’t think you were serious with your words.” 

luke pulled out of you completely. you got a good look at him for the first time. his nostrils were flared, chest heaving as he pumped his cock in his hand. he made a noise, “seems like i’m not doing my job right.” 

you reached out for him, pussy tightening around nothing, “huh?” 

“you’re still being smart,” luke grabbed your hips then and turned you around. you arched your back for him, giving him a view of your ass. he rubbed his hands over the flesh, slapping it. he pushed your head down on your pillow, wrapping your messy hair around his fist. he leaned over to whisper in your ear, “told you, i wanted to fuck you dumb on my cock.” 

he thrusted into you with fervor, skin slapping as he took you from behind. luke watched as your ass bounced sinfully against him as he pushed his cock deeper into you. with this angle, he can can push into you more easily. he was on his knees, holding your hips flush against his body. the sounds you were making as his cock found your pussy were delicious. 

you were incoherent then, mumbling into your pillow, begging for him to keep going. luke wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. when your second orgasm of the night came crashing down, you screamed luke’s name loudly. 

he came inside you, ropes of milky cum coating your gummy walls. he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he moved your hair away to place kisses on your back. 

when you both got dressed, luke left a lingering kiss on your raw lips. he left one last hickey on the side of your jaw, “training. tomorrow. don’t be late.” 

[hanrinz]

THE EGOIST NEXT DOOR.

pairing. isagi yoichi x gn! reader ( word count. 1.0k ) genre. boy next door

synopsis. wherein the guy next door often borrows things from you and then he asks for something different.

content. fluff, just isagi your handsome neighbor, loser isagi lol, use of the word 'pretty', word vomit. minimal proofread.

notes: after a month of no post i finally posted smth :') omg i miss writing sm </3 omg first real fic?? lol :x isagi is a loser no one can change my mind.

a knock sounds through the hallway, six in the morning, you were woken up from your slumber.

who could possibly be up at this hour, on a weekend too? other than your grandmother who you think is the only person who can possibly do so, no one else comes to mind.

swinging your feet off the mattress and dragging yourself to the front door. the knocks haven't ceased down and it only adds to your annoyance.

"coming!" a frustrated huff leaves your mouth as you unlock the door.

only to be met with deep blue eyes and a sheepish smile that accompanies his face.

oh.

"isagi?" brows knitted in confusion, your newly moved neighbor isagi yoichi, who's around your age and often passes by your door by night coming home from practice.

if you recall correctly, a month has already gone by since he had occupied the door next to yours. and a month since he has been knocking at your door whenever he needs something.

or moreso in borrowing something from your home.

most of it being ingredients that should never be gone inside a kitchen. the last thing he had borrowed from you, was your sugar that he still hasn't returned.

the last time you checked your apartment wasn't a convenient store, just for him to knock at and get things as he pleases. you might as well charge him for everything he's been borrowing in your home.

"hi, pretty," a hand comes up as a greeting. curse him and his face, isagi yoichi was too pretty to be smiling at you on this god-forbidden morning.

"sorry to bother you this early, but i need to borrow something, again." he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"isagi, this is the seventh time already." you reminded him.

isagi is nice, yes, unfortunately. it can't really be helped for you to be mad at him long, not when he always makes sure to drop by some cookies that you love, with little notes that are sticked on it.

a way of his compensation to the troubles he had caused.

isagi is nice, but this growing routine needs to be put to a stop—for your sanity and to your pocket that is on the verge of crying.

you're sure, soon enough the both of you would really need to run to the grocery for a restock—also the very thing that isagi had been forgetting to do, you wonder how he's even surviving.

his embarrassment only grew, his cheeks deepened to the shades of red and he clears his throat with a response. "i know, sorry."

you lean onto your door frame, sighing as you let him borrow something from you one last time, "fine, but this will be the last time."

his eyes were now brimming as he smiled so brightly, it might as well rival the sun itself.

"really?" disbelief and excitement evident in his voice. "but promise me first, y/n. you won't be mad, okay?"

you look at him with suspicion, one brow raised, eyes squint in question. "isagi.. what is it?"

"you won't be mad though, right?" he asks once more.

"just get on with it, yoichi."

for someone who is shamelessly borrowing a lot of things from their neighbor, isagi is losing all the confidence to ask you one thing right this very moment.

the pep talk he had with bachira the night before didn't even help with the ever growing anxiety that he feels on his chest. it's funny though, if he wasn't in this position he would've laughed at the situation at hand.

isagi is stupid and an idiot—what rin would've said to him, but lukewarm might just be the perfect word, for what he is about to do.

he reckons he could even possibly recover from this moment ever again, but to hell with it. what is he if not an egoistical striker who can't even get the number of his pretty neighbor next door?

possibly a loser, but let's be honest. he kind of is.

but we can excuse that because of his boyish charms, can we?

the silence that hovers over the atmosphere was rather foreign, uncharacteristically from all the comfortable stillness you had with him.

the anxiety that swirls within was contagious, isagi and this newfound silence was not helping with it.

and in the middle of all the uncomfortable reverie and this consuming tension, with hundreds of practice and perfection in his head, he still managed to fuck things up.

"can i borrow your phone?"

fuck.

isagi yoichi is a loser. even after all the countless talks and encouragement insults he had received, isagi yoichi had made a mistake once again.

you looked at him with confusion painted all over your face and to be honest, yoichi might have died a little on the inside.

but what's a man gotta do? he's more determined than to let his already blown away ego and his thoughts, back down from this.

"my phone?"

"..yes.. please?"

you look at him incredulously, doubt was much apparent, but you acquiesce to his plea. grabbing your phone from the bedside of your room, leaving isagi to contemplate every decision he had made.

coming back to him not long, with the device in your hand, handing it to him without any clue to what he needs it for.

an idea comes to mind onto what he is using it for, it may have been he was locked out of his apartment, or maybe he lost his keys, or maybe his phone was dead and his charger was nowhere to be seen.

a lot of possibilities, but it remained to be a mystery.

isagi returned your phone to you without a word, you look at him with much more confusion and he only gives you a sharp grin before running off.

what a way to save himself from this scenario.

leaving you puzzled, as you look at your phone with your contacts left open and noticing a new one added to it, with a name you're very much familiar with.

yoichi ;)

maybe, yoichi isn't here to borrow from you anymore.

© fallenssun 2023. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[hyukakisses]

- emo pervy loser beomgyu as your bestfriend to boyfriend!

parings: beomgyu x fem reader

plot: loser beomgyu, bestfriends to lovers troupe, sweet crybaby reader but still a loser unfortunately, beomgyu and reader like eachother but beomgyu likes reader more than reader likes beomgyu (as it should be for any relationship between a man and a woman), insecure reader who has low self esteem if you squint (very old & re edited post i had up on my old account)

warnings: beomgyu corrupts reader a bit, use of pet names, smut !! (reader n beomgyu receiving and giving), faint ddlg themes, comforting n reassuring beomgyu who loves reader, dom gyu & sub reader

beomgyu was ecstatic; he had recently gotten himself a purple skateboard and just couldn’t wait to show you. he desperately needed one ever since he broke his bicycle in two pieces which you still didn’t know why or how that happened but you really didn’t wanna ask much less know

beomgyu was headed to your house, ready to show you his newly prized possession but he needed to do something first. grabbing a box cutter; the obvious manic emo boy craved your initials onto the back of his skateboard leaving a ‘y/n<3’ on the lower left side it wasn’t that noticeable to where you would notice it but he knew exactly where to find that mark if he went to look

with a satisfied cheeky grin beomgyu marched to your house riding his skateboard before putting on his black over the ear headphones of course. blasting bulls in the bronx by pierce the veil, his favorite artists in his ears. making sure not to fall on his back again, imagining how much you’d cry when he’d come over with cuts on his fingers and face again

“beomgyu!” you let out a faint squeal, your face gleaming in excitement seeing your bestfriend, your only friend climb through your window for the nth time.

“hey baby” beomgyu mutters grinning back at you showing off his dimple. this action made you flush, you were thankful you weren’t pale otherwise beomgyu would never let you blushing at his words down.

another thing that you were hiding was your oh so little crush on your bestfriend beomgyu, completely oblivious to him reciprocating the same feelings. you being a total ditz though, you didn’t really catch onto beomgyu’s liking towards to you. you always just thought he was really sweet.

plus you also had really low self esteem so it was hard to accept that anyone could possibly like you especially someone as special and attractive as beomgyu.

you still couldn’t believe that beomgyu was considered a loser, he seemed way too cool and attractive to be one but after being his bestfriend for years you’d slowly realized why he was one

you’ve noticed beomgyu never really spoke to anyone unless it was to angrily mansplain about the lore behind a hyperfixation he had, or when it came to defending you since you often struggled with anxiety.

beomgyu also always carried an angry look on his face only letting his gaze soften for you of course; beomgyu really lacked common social skills and had anger issues. often smashing things around him but also managing to calm down and comfort you once he noticed he was scaring you

but still you refused to believe beomgyu actually liked you.. i mean it just didn’t make any sense to you he probably just liked being your bestfriend, maybe he thought of you as a little sister to protect.

even after that one sleepover where he went down on you for the first time you still didn’t think he could possibly ever like you

“b-beomgyu?” you’d squeak in fear as you sensed your baby pink pajama short shorts being taken off of you as you tried to watch blue spring ride with the aforementioned male but automatically failed due to sleep taking over your body

“shhh it’s just me baby relax just let me taste my sweet girl you trust me right?” you hear beomgyu coo at you, this action calming you down and you nod your head. his bandaged covered fingertips from his skate boarding trick fails move from holding your face for your comfort to teasing the soft skin of your inner thighs but you couldn’t lie you enjoyed every minute of whatever was going on

your breath hitches, letting out high pitched whimpers clinging onto your teddy bear beomgyu gifted you for your birthday last year. as you helplessly watched the older male through glassy desperate lap at your pussy as if your were his last meal. the only thing that could be heard were your cries of over stimulation due to your climax and faint slurping sounds coming from beomgyu’s mouth

“b-beomgyu..” you’d only whine sensing the same burning sensation growing at the pit of your stomach while beomgyu continued to lap his tongue in and out of your gummy walls more aggressively when the emo boy felt you close up on his tongue

you felt beomgyu snicker against your clit as he looks up at you a faint smirk on his lips; “what is it babydoll? you wanna cum already? gonna cum on my tongue again?”

you two never really spoke much of about that night, seeing how every time beomgyu tried bringing it up you’d start to cry out of embarrassment not really liking beomgyu’s teasing since you were very sensitive and just a big crybaby if we’re being quite frank

however as time went on by since that sleepover let’s just say you and beomgyu were getting closer and a bit more comfortable with eachother

“like this?” you’d tilt your head staring up at your bestfriend through your pretty lashes gently latching your plump lips around the cock in your mouth, attempting to suck beomgyu off not really knowing how to since you never really exactly given head to anyone before

“yes- fuck c’mere” beomgyu lets out a husky grunt, wanting to take control not feeling patient enough to guide you through sucking him off he gently started to move your head back and forth on his length

“gonna be a good little girl and let me fuck your mouth right?” beomgyu hissed at your soft gurgles as you nod rapidly drinking in the sight of the boy towering over you occasionally letting out soft whimpers and praises

“beomgyu?” you’d call out to your bestfriend watching as beomgyu paints his nails jet black; “yes princess? what is it?” he’s not looking at you instead he’s blowing air on his nails but you knew he was paying attention to you

you felt tears forming in your eyes, your hands trembling as you felt your heart race against your chest. “d-do.. do you like me? and i don’t mean like just as bestfriends i mean like do you like me enough to be my boyfriend?” you were on the verge of a panic attack at the mere thought of beomgyu’s rejection

beomgyu can hear the panic in your voice, shooting his head up in worry already knowing what to do to calm you down. “c’mere” the oreo haired boy cradles you onto his lap laying your head on his chest as he rubbed circles on your lower back shushing your cries. whispering in your ears ‘shh it’s okay don’t cry im right here’

“i don’t like you i love you you hear me? i love everything about you, your crybaby tendencies and your pretty face. it would be a dream come true to be your boyfriend if you let me” beomgyu reassured you making you sniffle with a smile followed by a ‘i love you too beomgyu! and i really want you to be my boyfriend!’

[facioleeknow]

Nerds do it better ° Bang Chan

You love nerds, losers and virgins and are always willing to add one to the long list of your conquests. Lucky for you, in your new class, this semester, there's a boy that seems to be made for you ;).

Wc: 1.3k more or less     Genre: college AU, Smut 18+ ONLY

TW: switch chan and reader, experienced reader, inexperienced Chan, dry humping, blowjob, cum eating, public sex, pervy Chan but reader is into it, implied sorority sister reader, shuhua from Idle cameo

The start of a new semester is the best. New classes, new professors, new people but most importantly new boys to add to your list of conquests. Unfortunately being a gender studies major did not aid you in your little mission, there were very few boys in your classes and most of them were insufferable or cute virgins who would never approach you. However what these cute, innocent boys didn't know was that you possessed very specific things that made you irresistible to most men: a good pair of tits, low waisted jeans and a pink lacy thong that peeked out of them. Of course, you also had a very nice personality, a very well functioning brain and ideas of your own but usually men didn't care about that and you didn't care enough to let them see that side of you. Everything you needed was hot steamy toe curling sex and nothing more.

That was why you were currently scurrying the classroom in search of your next prey. And there he was, first row. Black curly hair, white shirt, black pants, shy eyes gazing down at the desk trying not to catch other people's attention. You licked your lips.

“Are you looking for another one of your nerds, y/n?” Shuhua, your sorority sister and desk mate, asked you, a hint of disgust in her tone. She hated men.

“I just found one,” you giggled and collected your bag. The seat next to the “nerd” as Shuhua called him, was free and it had to be yours, even if you had to fight for it.

When your soft hand touched Chan's shoulder he lightly jumped in his seat. His eyes almost popped out of his head when they landed on you. You were hot, really hot.

“Hi my name is Y/N,” you sweetly introduced yourself and extended your hand for him to shake. Not only was your beauty out of this world but your voice was also sweet like honey and your hands were soft and warm. 

Chan swallowed thickly and briefly introduced himself just as the professor walked into the class. He had never been so grateful and relieved to start a lesson but even well after the professor had started talking he couldn't stop thinking about you. Soft hands, wide smile, luscious hair, soft curves. His heartbeat echoed in his ear, his mouth felt dry. He could feel his blood rush to his dick. Fuck he couldn't get hard because of a simple hand shake, but he was unfortunately and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Chan didn't even realize that the lesson had ended until you softly grazed his thigh with your fingertips. His dick throbbed. He could feel his precum start to stain his boxers, your hand was so close, so so close…

“Chan, would you meet up at the library after? I'm not a great student, I could really use some help.” Lie. You were perfectly capable of acing that exam with minimum effort but he didn't have to know that. 

“Yes, of course,” Chan stuttered in response, he had never felt his face get that warm, he probably looked really red too. What an embarrassment.

You smiled, content, and waved at him goodbye before turning around and skipping to your next class. One single peek at your famous pink thing and Chan was headed for the bathroom as fast as he could before he could cum in his pants.

The library was silent as always, despite it being almost full. The biggest tables were already full with texts and students, full of indiscreet eyes. The last small table at the back of the room was the best choice; it was small enough for you to “accidentally” touch Chan’s arm or leg and most importantly it was behind a whole shelf full of books so you were away from the eyes of your colleagues. 

Chan felt like he was about to explode. The temperature had risen throughout the day and you had ditched your simple cardigan, leaving you in a skimpy tank top that showed your cleavage perfectly. Your boobs looked round and soft, oh how he wanted to pull down your stupid top and suck on your nipples while you stroked his hair until you were mewling in pleasure in front of everybody. The only thing he was focused on was the movement of your chest while you breathed. Up and down, up and down, up and down...The slight touch of your thigh against his as you shifted in your seat was the only thing that brought him back to reality from time to time. Chan closed his eyes, he felt like a total pervert but you were so hot he couldn’t help his thoughts.

 A loud thud snapped him out of his thoughts and made him jump in his seat again. You had closed your books.

“You’re cute when you’re jumpy,” you giggled, it must’ve been a habit of yours, he liked it. Chan couldn’t help but blush at your statement.

“Have you ever slept with a girl?” you looked cute, your head in your hand and cheek squished against your palm, but your words were dirty. His dick started to stir in his jeans once again. He shook his head.

“Hm, has a girl ever touched you?” he shook his head again.

“I can touch you,” you assured him, your hands traveled up his thighs, “ do you want me to touch you,Channie? Do you want to kiss me? I want to. You’re so hot, please let me play with you, baby,” you whined into his ear, your hot breath tickled his neck. His dick had never been harder, copious amounts of precum escaped his swollen red tip.

“Yes, please,” he managed to choke out.

You straddled him in no time, your deliciously soft thigh at his sides. Ha had never felt that good before. When your lips touched his, feverish and wanting, he felt like he was about to explode. You had barely touched him, only given him a little kiss, your tongues had barely met and he was already ready to cum. Your tongue danced with his, warm, wet and inviting. Chan could barely contain his moans of pleasure. When your pussy came in contact with his dick, he knew he was done for. For a moment he thought he had died and gone to heaven but then you started grinding your hips and he knew what he was experiencing was real.

 The friction of your jeans and his on your clit felt like heaven, you were so wet and worked up you could’ve cum only by humping him like an animal, but you knew that he would’ve lasted only a couple of seconds. As soon as that thought crossed your mind, Chan let out a pathetic strangled whimper and cum in his pants like a little boy.

“Did you just cum baby?” your hips stilled on his. Chsn could only nod as his breath was too labored to answer.

“Let me taste.”

Your knees hit the ground with no hesitation while your hands worked at his pants and underwear swiftly. His cock stood proudly in front of you, still hard and covered in sticky cum. He was hung and looked absolutely delicious. Your mouth wrapped around him trying to lick as much cum as you could.

“Oh my god, don’t pull away,” Chan moaned. You didn’t listen and pulled your mouth away from his cock to try and lap all of his essence. Without thinking the boy moved his hand to your head and pushed you onto his dick, making you gag. 

“I said keep sucking.”

“Yes, sir.”

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, afab reader, loss of virginity, smut, dry humping, handjob, penetrative sex, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

wc: 1894

a/n: this wasnt proofread at all so pls excuse any mistakes</3

masterlist

"o-oh, i don't think we should-"

"you don't want to?", you pouted at the wide eyed boy under you, hand on his chin as you made him look straight into your eyes.

"it's not that- it's just that, uh, i- i wouldnt want to be disrespectful or anything," he stumbled over his words, bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

you chuckled patronizingly, readjusting yourself on his lap and making him let out a low hiss at the movement.

"it's okay, bunny. we're just having fun, right? nothing wrong with it if we both want it, hmm?", your hands went down to his dress shirt, playing with the collar, undoing the very top button, "plus, we did make a deal, didn't we, bunny?"

oh, right. the deal.

jungkook's eyes almost rolled back at the implication of the agreement you had unexpectedly dropped onto his lap a few days ago.

your grade for your statistics class had somehow dropped below average somewhere along the semester, which caused your professor to recommend some tutoring to you, claiming that you'd likely not be able to graduate if you failed this class, as it was a requirement.

being in your senior year of college, failing was not a risk you could take, so you pleaded with your professor to assign you a tutor, whomever he deemed the smartest. that's when jungkook came into the picture.

by all means, jungkook could easily be described as a loser. his only friends were fellow members of the anime club, taehyung and jimin, equally as virginal as himself. more than anything, jungkook was just incredibly socially awkward, leading him to a life of loserdom as he made no friends and zero good impressions in life. this led him to dedicate all his efforts to school and give up on any social endeavors.

when the professor had asked him to tutor one of his lower-graded students, jungkook had no issue with it. he was offered extra credit if he did so, so it just seemed like a win-win situation to him. it wasnt until jungkook was told it'd be you he'd be tutoring that he began to have a problem with it.

now, jungkook didn't know you, he simply knew of you. so what if he had a crush on you? he didn't need to know the ins and outs of your personality to be into you.

except he kind of did.

to be quite frank, jungkook had a slight obsession with you ever since meeting you at orientation a few years ago. his friends were aware of his crush on you, always teasing him for taking the same classes you did just to get a glimpse of you whenever he could.

how did he find out your schedule? as ashamed as he was to admit it, he had wrongfully used his power as an administrative assistant on campus. he knew he wasnt supposed to, but he couldnt help in looking up your name and saving your schedule for future use.

unfortunately, jungkook never did anything other than coordinate your schedules. he was far too shy to even make eye contact with you, having never even introduced himself to you.

and now he had to tutor you. alone in your room as you sat side by side.

at least that was what he had pictured, not this. not you catching onto his crush immediately and proposing you pay him back for his efforts in the form of taking his virginity.

he could've sworn he almost had a heart attack when you'd shamelessly suggested it, somehow clocking both his crush and his virginal state within twenty minutes of your first session.

that session had ended quickly after that, with jungkook sheepishly accepting with a desperate nod and receiving a chaste kiss on his cheek as a goodbye.

and now you straddled him while he sat on your bed, hands shyly holding onto your hips.

"y-yeah, the deal," he breathed through his nose, mentally preparing himself for whatever you'd do to him. he'd take anything you gave him.

you grinned at him, lowering your head to kiss at his neck, making him immediately sigh in pleasure. he could feel the stickiness of your lipgloss leaving its mark on his neck, but he didnt care. he wished the marks could stay forever.

nibbling at his neck, you made some longer-lasting marks, making him groan as his fingers dug into your pajama-clad hips. that's when your lips made their way back up, catching his own on his first kiss ever.

he knew he might've been awkward in how he kissed, but you didn't seem to mind it, taking his jaw in your hand and tilting his head so you could lick into his mouth. his soul left him at that moment, with his tongue far too desperate in its movement while yours remained slow and sensual. despite how messy he was, you still moaned against his lips, beginning to grind your hips into his own.

"a-ah, that's ... fuck," he breathed out.

"you like how that feels, bunny?" you whispered into his mouth, "just wait til you feel my pussy,"

this time his eyes did roll back. the mere thought of you wrapped around him made him want to rip his hair out in desperation, almost unable to wait until you have yourself to him.

you continued to suckle on his tongue, making him grow more and more frustrated by the second. your hands eventually came to fully unbutton his shirt, removing it before beginning to feel up his chest and arms, gasping into his mouth when his own arms wrapped around you and brought you closer.

jungkook felt his mind cloud as you ground against him, convinced that if he didn't get more from you, he'd lose his mind. fortunately for him, no begging was necessary for you to give him something that'd have his breath catching in his throat and his tent growing even harder.

he pathetically followed your lips when you pulled away, though he sat in complete awe upon realizing the reason why you'd pulled away in the first place. suddenly the sight of your breasts became the most pressing matter in jungkook's life. his breath stopped and his heart raced, making him feel like he'd pass out if he even dared make contact with the newly revealed skin.

yet his reaction did not prevent you from grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts, guiding him so he'd squeeze and play with them.

"o-oh, fuck. they're so ... so fucking soft," he whimpered, "so pretty and ... shit, c-can i ... can- can i play with them?", he pleaded, eyes never leaving your swollen buds as his hands hesitantly ran over your breasts.

he hoped you knew what he meant by play, because he was far too embarrassed to properly word his desire.

luckily for him, you were just so nice and so pretty and so so smart that you understood, removing his hands and guiding his face to your breasts, pressing them together so he could rub his head against them, nuzzling his nose into the skin as be groaned a gruttal groan. his shy tongue came out to lick at them just moments later, licking over your nipples all while he whined and cried as if he was the one receiving the stimulation.

at some point your hands snuck between the two of you, sneaking beneath his pants and grabbing onto his cock. you jerked him as he lost himself to the supple skin of your breasts, letting out breathy whines into your skin while his hands tightly held onto you.

as pathetic as he knew he must've looked, he didn't care. he'd wanted you for years, and suddenly he had you in his arms, willing to let him do anything he wanted? any social filters within him left him, letting his unending desire for you take over no matter how embarrassed he would be at his desperate behavior after the fact.

you let him play with your tits for a while, letting out the prettiest sighs of pleasure as he got his fill of you, eventually pulling him away so you could kiss him again. despite being out of breath, he kissed you back with everything he had, now more able to match your pace.

"bunny, wanna ride you," you pulled away with a pretty pout, letting go of his dick.

"p-please. yes, i- yes," he stammered, hands coming down to touch at his clothed cock out of reflex.

giggling at his desperation, you attempted to get up, only to be stopped by jungkook's grabby hands as he whined at you not to let go. grabbing his arms, you reminded him you needed to take off your shorts, making him get an embarrassed look on his face at the realization.

he got up to take off his own pants, sitting back down and pulling you to him the moment you'd stripped. once more, you giggled at how badly he clearly wanted you, pulling him into yet another kiss.

"i'm gonna sit on it now, okay, bunny?", you breathed against him as you lifted yourself to line him up.

jungkook didn't trust his voice to not let out yet another string of desperate pleas, so he simply nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

but nothing could prepare him for the warmth of your cunt, nor for how tightly it wrapped around his cock, taking all air out of him. he couldnt help the whimpers of desperation that came out of his mouth when you first started bouncing against him, tightening every so often just to get a reaction out of him.

burying his head in your neck, he babbled nonsense against you, incapable of halting his pathetic noises enough to hear your own pretty moans.

after some time, you grabbed onto one of his hands, leading it between the two of you and guiding him, "play with my clit, bunny," you blindly guided him until he finally found your clit, following your instructions of rubbing it all while your bouncing never seized

and god, had that been a mistake.

you got impossibly tighter, dragging your nails down his back and crying his name in the prettiest gasps ever heard by man. he knew he'd meet his end like this, far sooner than he wanted. but he was comforted in knowing that your orgasm was close too, catching onto your pleas to cum with you.

muttering constant praise towards you, jungkook's orgasm took over him as your own arrived, making him deliver endless thank you's while your speed fastened and your rhythm lost all its sense.

"t-thank you, oh, fuck. thank you ... so fucking good, it's- it's so good. oh, thank you ..."

you immediately fell onto each other when your highs had gone down, equally out of breath. being the sweet girl jungkook always knew you to be, he hummed in contentment when you held onto him, cuddling into him in a loving manner and playing with his hair.

if you weren't careful, he'd probably fall in love with you even more than he already had.

he only broke the silence after a few minutes of cuddling, still slightly out of breath.

"do you- do you still wanna go over your statistics homework?"

you laughed, nuzzling further into him, "maybe tomorrow, bunny."

[starzwithapen]

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

JOHN DORY / READER ☆ DUET?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

☆summary: Brozone happens to play on the radio, and JD's appalled to find out you're not a fan

☆content: reader is not a pop-troll, reader is gender neutral, lowkey crackfic lmao, established relationship

☆a/n: Silver wrote this one!! And okay we KNOW realistically JD would tell his partner about being in brozone but for the sake of the comedic factor in the fic he's hiding it shshsshshhsbshshsh

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

You'd been sitting in the driver's seat, driving Rhonda around [a rare occurrence, but JD indulged you just this once] while John Dory stirred his sugar into his mug, handing you yours with a kiss to your cheek. You nod at him gratefully, looking down at the buttons spread across in front of you, one of them particularly sticking out to you.

“Woah, wait, I didn't know Rhonda had a radio.”

John Dory leans against the back of your seat, arms wrapped around you from behind, “ehh, I don't use it often in case it scares off all the animals.”

He pokes your arm playfully, eyes glancing out the window, “we're pretty far out, though, should be fine to listen to some tunes.”

You insert a random channel number, turning the volume upwards. This one seems to be a host speaking about the weather, so you switch to the next- sounds like a cheesy pop song of some kind, probably a boy band. You snort at the lyrics- you didn't know anyone could fit that many synonyms of “girl” into one song.

You switch onto the next channel without catching John Dory's wide, shit-eating grin, and the immediate way his face practically crumples apart, “wuh- hey, what's wrong with that last song? It was really good.”

“Okay, I know you're a pop-troll,” you start, trying to find a channel with your preferred music, “but you have to remember I'm not. That stuff hurts my ears.”

John Dory leans backwards, arms crossing around his chest, “Okay, yeah, you don't like pop music, but why that song specifically? I was really jamming out to it, y'know.” He makes that smug smile of his that normally has your cheeks heating, “guy's a lyrical genius if you ask me.”

You stare at him, unimpressed, because he's got to be joking if he thinks that song has deep lyrics.

“JD, he just rhymed baby with baby. Three times in a row. Within the same chorus.”

“Hey, it's hard to think of rhymes that don't throw off the choreo, okay?” He points an accusing finger in your direction before pausing, forcing a nonchalant pose and pursing his lips, “Or- uh, or so I've heard.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what you pop-trolls always say. I think that guy just needs to pick up a dictionary every once in a while.”

You don't actually care about the song that much, but seeing John Dory get this riled up over it is funny enough for you to go further,

“I bet you I could write a better song by the end of the week than that guy has his whole career.”

John Dory's grin turns wolfish, and oh boy, you should've known better than to try and challenge him, even jokingly,

“Oh you bet, do you? We'll see about that.”

—-------------------

This whole thing was going. Uh. Badly.

Your conversation had escalated into another one of your bets, which you surprisingly lose more often than not, most likely because you bite off more than you can chew. John Dory's unfortunately very aware of this, and throws you bait whenever he can. This time was no different. Winner gets one request for the loser.

You are not a song-writer by any means. You're a troll, yes, trolls sing and dance! But you don't write songs! The most experience you have with rhyming is a shitty poem you made as a teenager that never saw the light of day.

You'd started with listening to more of Brozone's music, and okay, you have to admit, some of their songs were actually really good okay. You'd caught yourself humming them more than once throughout the day, and John Dory always gives you that smug look from your peripherals before leaning in to kiss you senseless. He knew you were coming around to them and it was humiliating, and he was also concerningly elated by it.

While listening you've come to realise the lead singer sounds oddly similar to John Dory, just with a higher pitch and none of that raspiness. Like, freakishly similar. It's had you thinking John Dory's calling for you when he's just sound asleep, and the fact you misheard Brozone's “baby” or “honey” as JD is frankly embarrassing.

You groan and slump against the couch, the pen tumbling out your hand and clattering onto the ground below. Okay, you had to admit, this was really difficult. You were suddenly gaining so much more respect for boy bands.

You'd wanted to use this ridiculous bet as an opportunity to show off, or…even bring you and JD closer together- you know how important music is to him, so getting to write him a love song under the guise of a bet? It's a perfect chance handed to you on a silver platter!

But you just can't seem to think of the words- it's already been a week and so far you've written, what? 4 verses? And they all sucked. You wanted it to mean something- you wanted it to sound poetic and elegant and meaningful all at once, unlike those silly songs on the radio, but it just wouldn't work out!

You muffle a frustrated shout into your hands, pulling them away from your face when you hear footsteps, looking up to see John Dory towering over you.

“You give up yet?” His smile is adorable infuriating to look at, so you cast your gaze aside, huffing and grabbing your pen off the floor.

“No, ‘course not.”

He hums, patient for you to admit defeat, trying to take a peek at your notebook from up above, though you're not too worried since he can't read upside down [or at all, you've come to suspect].

“Okay, fine, I give up. You win.”

John Dory lets out a ‘whoop!’ and throws a fist upwards in celebration, smile so wide you're afraid he'll split his face apart.

You sigh, “Okay, hit me with it, I'm doing the dishes for a full week? Scrubbing Rhonda's windows?”

“Sing a duet with me.”

“This is so unfair, you know I hate doing the dishes- wait- huh?”

John Dory looks at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, holding his palm out for you to take, “Sing a duet with me. C'mon, don't think I haven't seen you swaying to my- uh, ahem, Brozone's music the past few days.”

He recovers quickly from his slip-up, tugging you upwards once you take his hand. He carefully starts up his record player, and you're surprised to find you recognise the song immediately, since it'd become a favourite of yours this past week.

“You know this one?” JD grins in your direction, one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm, “think I've heard you hum it a few too many times during breakfast.”

The song starts off slow, as does your dancing, the both of you simply swaying together- you don't exactly…dance often, so your movements are clumsy while his are self-assured.

The lyrics are cheesy, all about young teenage love, but…they make you feel giddy, your steps becoming lighter, your heart fluttering about. And, well, the song may not have deep mind-blowing lyrics, but you think that's the point of it. It's just meant to be fun, have your blood pumping and your heart soaring.

“We're grown adults, this song is for highschoolers.” You say, though your smile is fonder this time. John Dory chuckles and spins you around in his arms, making your head spin in more ways than one, your feet tripping up over his, “C’mon, live a little! Who says we can't be young and free in our mid-thirties?”

You stumble in place, trying to blink the dizziness out your eyes.

“JD, I'm gonna knock you out.” You try your best to grumble, but it only comes out flustered with how hot your cheeks are.

He smirks, twirling you around, “You've already knocked me-” his foot slides under yours, and you fall down into his arms with a yelp as he catches you in a perfect dip- “off my feet.”

Just before you can spew another insult at him for catching you off-gaurd like this, he leans in to kiss you, lips melding against yours sweetly. You melt into it, his arms secured around you so you don't fall, the music fading into background noise in your mind. You know your voice will be hoarse from singing and your muscles sore from dancing by the end of the night, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

Would be superr cool if you left feedback if you enjoyed it's super helpful and much appreciated ! this guy is so cringefail I NEED HIM. -silver

[mrsparrasblog]

Loser Simon

Tw: he is really pathetic, choking, stalking, masturbation, unprotected sex, baby trapping, micro penis,

A/N: credits to @dumbbitchgalore got inspired by her Pathetic Price fic

The light flickered in the dirty bathroom stall of the pub he went to after Price said they needed to celebrate their win. Well, it was his win; the others were just there. He had every reason to be cocky today. He was a handsome bloke with big muscles and perfect at his job. So when that bird approached him at the pub, which Johnny had eyed for hours, he thought, "Fuck it," and went with her into the dirty pub toilet.

His self-confidence struck again, too high. He should know by now what was about to happen when she removed his jeans, revealing his small member in contrast to his big size. Most of the time, the women or men started to laugh at him before they left. Some hoped he was a grower—he wasn’t. The worst was when a woman finally managed not to laugh, and he came in her face before she even put her lips on him. To a certain degree, he knew he was pathetic, but his confidence always got in his way, so he tried again and again, with the same result.

His sloppy lips licked hers, eager for her to grant his long tongue entrance. His big hands massaged the soft flesh of her ass before she went down on her knees, fighting with his belt. She was so eager, expecting the biggest dick she had ever seen from the 6’4" man. Unfortunately for Simon, she started to laugh when she saw his tiny package standing proud and already leaking precum like a faucet. "That's a joke," she said and just didn’t stop laughing at him, making him lose his cool. He wrapped his calloused hands around her delicate throat. He knew he wouldn’t kill her—he wasn’t a psychopath, after all. "If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you," he threatened. Her laughing stopped and turned to an expression of pure fear as she nodded to keep his small secret.

"That was fast, mate," Gaz mentioned as Ghost returned to their booth.

"That bird was into crazy shit, and I don’t dip my dick in crazy," he replied, getting an approving nod from Price and Gaz, who had their fair share of crazy women over the years. But only Johnny raised his brow suspiciously. He always knew something was wrong with the Lt's sex life—not that he minded, but it was suspicious.

Price didn’t flirt with birds since he was still obsessed with his ex-wife, comparing every woman to Mrs. Price, who he cheated on in a moment of weakness. Kyle didn’t flirt with the girls or boys in the pub since he had a friends-with-benefits thing with you, the most beautiful nurse on base. Poor Kyle fell for you in that act. He himself flirted with every above-average attractive lad or lass who went into the pub, but Ghost—he never had a girl at home, and all the girls he took with him for fun returned minutes later with a traumatized look on their faces. Johnny was pretty sure the Lt was into some kinky stuff or was one of those guys who busted their load way too fast. He just knew something was wrong.

----------------------------

He had half a mind to go to the brothel for his birthday to finally get over his fucking virginity. They were paid to do it, so they wouldn’t turn him down or laugh at him. His plans changed quickly when he saw you in front of his barrack, holding a cupcake with a candle in it, telling him "Happy Birthday" with that beautiful smile of yours. He really wanted to say thank you, but instead, he just looked at you and grumbled. You tried to lighten the mood by telling him you baked it yourself and that it was red velvet.

"How do you know I like red velvet?"

"You always choose red velvet over any other flavor when there are cookies in the mess hall," your eyes still shined as you held the delicious treat under his nose. He grabbed it without even saying a simple thank you and closed the door. Well, Kyle told you, you shouldn’t bring him something for his birthday. The Lt was weird and mean, was all he said. You should be happy if he didn’t spit in your face after trying your treats.

Kyle’s warning was fair. You shouldn’t have baked for the Lt—not because of his rude gestures. You just should never feed a stray dog, or it gets attached to you. And having that big broody Lieutenant attached to you was a death sentence you weren’t prepared for.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ghost knew he wasn’t a particularly good human, never was, and never would be. But right now, he felt like the worst human alive. Ever since you gave him that sweet treat, he was obsessed with you. It started innocently—he wanted to find out your name, your dislikes, your friends. It went a bit too far when he knew your blood type, bra size, and social security number. But that happens, okay? You need to forgive him for being so eager. It’s romantic, after all—or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But now he stood in your room while you were roaming around the base, his small dick in one hand and a pair of your used panties he nicked from the laundry bin in the other. The images of you weren’t enough anymore. He needed the real thing—needed to smell and taste you, finally make you his.

Your panties smelled so good to him. All thoughts of getting a prostitute flushed away. You’d be the one to take his virginity. You’re way too sweet to laugh at him. You’ll take him and love him—all his selfishness, the killing—you won’t care. You will love him just like he loves you.

Something was different. Your friends called you paranoid, but you couldn’t be. For a month, no guy hit on you, Kyle broke off your fuck buddy arrangement—god, you missed his dick—no CO yelled at you, you lost at least 20 pairs of your panties. Your pillow smelled weirdly no matter how often you washed it or even replaced it. Your shampoos and perfumes went empty. You were probably going crazy. Your friends were right.

You were already putting on your pajamas when the door rang. To your surprise, the Lieutenant stood in front of you. "We’re going on a date."

"Uh, how about you ask me first?" you argued. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to—everyone around the base had a crush on him, and you kind of did too. But still, he could have asked.

He didn’t even answer and gave you a big bag. "In 30 minutes outside."

You went inside and opened the bag. To say you were shocked was an understatement of the year. Inside the bag was the black dress you eyed in the mall a month ago in your size, the YSL heels you pinned on Pinterest, and even a set of Victoria's Secret underwear. How did he know all this stuff? Maybe Kyle told him your size, you thought. And who are you to complain about free YSL heels?

The date was interesting. Simon—how you should call him from now on—didn’t talk much, but he was a good listener. He looked even hotter without the mask and paid for the bill without even a blink. If he had talked, it would have been the best date of your life.

Back at the base, he pushed you against the wall, claiming your mouth as his. Everything about him was big and clumsy. You tried to teach him that your nipples weren’t a trigger on a gun, and he was at least eager to learn—that’s more than you’d expect from most of your Tinder dates.

You were surprised when you pulled his dick out from his pants, and he wasn’t as big as everyone thought he would be. But hey, that’s okay. At least it wouldn’t hurt, you thought, as you slowly glided your cunt on his leaking cock. The sounds Simon made were heavenly—he didn’t hold back like other men. He was moaning and whimpering while you bounced on his dick, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

His thick fingers drew circles around your clit, pulling moans from you. He was so attentive, focusing on your needs, and fuck, everything his dick lacked, his fingers could give you.

"Oh God, Simon," you whimpered as he increased the speed of his thick digits circling your pearl like no one ever did before. Making you cum wasn’t a side quest for him—it was everything that mattered right now.

"So good for me, Babygirl. Fuck, show me how much you love being filled out by me." Your cunt started to clench around him when he used that commanding voice on you. It didn’t take much for Simon to finally bust his load inside of you, heavy balls being emptied as you milked him for all he was worth.

"I love you, Babygirl," was all he muttered. You would have run away if you weren’t in an orgasmic bliss.

He was incredibly proud of himself for how long he lasted, and that you didn’t notice how he came in his pants after you kissed him for the first time. That could happen, okay?

Simon caressed your hair while you lay on top of his strong body. He was 1000% sure that he was going to marry you. You took his dick without laughing, and you’re so sweet. He should teach you to get rid of your naivety tho. Having sex without condoms on the first date—really, sweetheart? As if your sugar pills could prevent him from knocking you up.