#jakes oc

[thedevillsmaid]

⋆˚࿔ walking on water - 엔하이픈

[ SCENE ] ⟡ wet with enhypen

━ ⋆.˚ warnings: nsfw, mostly soft dom enha, sex in watery places wc. 1000~ per member

⋆˚࿔—minors dni | 18+ only | nsfw—⋆˚࿔

did not test read ㅜㅜ but i hope you likey @ taglist

⋆˚꩜｡ ──── REBLOG FOR A KiSS AND A GiFT !

Jungwon | Private Onsen in the Mountains

Setting: Late evening, deep in the Japanese mountains. A private onsen shrouded in thick steam and moaning cicadas. The mineral water is hot. The air is cold. And Jungwon’s eyes are starving.

The wooden steps groaned under your bare feet as you stepped into the open air. Cold mountain wind kissed your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms—but the steam from the onsen rolled over you like silk. Thick. Heavy. Almost alive.

You spotted Jungwon already waist-deep in the hot spring, arms outstretched along the edge, head tilted back. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his throat, jawline glistening with droplets. His eyes opened slowly, locking onto you like a predator spotting prey.

“Finally,” he said, voice low, already thick with heat. “Took you long enough.”

Your bikini clung to your curves with every movement, the thin straps digging in just right. You stepped down into the water, inch by inch, hissing as the heat licked up your calves, then thighs. Jungwon watched you like he couldn’t blink. When the water reached your hips, you paused, heart thudding.

He didn’t move. Just waited.

Then, finally, you lowered the rest of your body in, sitting across from him.

“You gonna come closer or sit over there pretending you’re shy?” he asked, tone teasing but eyes sharp.

You met his gaze and slid through the water—closer, closer—until your knees touched his. The heat wasn’t just from the spring anymore. It pulsed beneath your skin. Between your legs. In every inhale that tasted like steam and him.

His fingers reached for your wrist, guiding your hand to his thigh under the water. He was already hard.

“I’ve been like this since you said onsen.”

You bit your lip, heart slamming, as your fingers brushed up his inner thigh. He hissed, jaw clenching.

“You like the view?” you whispered, smirking.

“You have no fucking idea.”

The mist curled around you both like a curtain, shielding the rest of the world. His hands slid along your waist, thumbs dragging under the water. You moved closer, straddling his lap slowly, your knees digging into the rocky seat as his cock pressed up against the fabric of your bikini bottoms—thick, heavy, pulsing.

No towels. No barriers. Just thin soaked fabric and want.

Jungwon’s lips ghosted over your neck, mouth warm and wet. His hands smoothed down your back, then slipped beneath your bikini top, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples until they stiffened.

“You’re so soft here,” he murmured. “So fuckable.”

Your hips rolled against him involuntarily, making both of you gasp. His cock throbbed against you, and you reached between your bodies, fingers curling around him under the water. He groaned into your mouth when you stroked—slowly, then faster. You traced the veins, teased the head with your thumb, your wrist flicking just right. His head fell back.

“You wanna be in me,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw.

“I want to wreck you,” he growled.

He grabbed your ass with both hands, lifting you just enough to align. The fabric was yanked aside, your bikini bottoms tugged roughly to the side by his fingers, and then—

He slid in.

Thick, slow, stretching you inch by inch as the water rippled around you both.

The heat of him inside you was blinding. You buried your face in his neck, teeth scraping skin as you adjusted to the feeling—full, tight, deliciously overwhelmed. His hands didn’t stop moving—up your back, into your hair, gripping your hips as he started to move.

Slow.

Deep.

Each stroke was a punishment and a gift. The sound of water sloshing mixed with breathy gasps, moans, skin hitting skin under the steam. Jungwon fucked like he wanted to leave a mark on your soul. Like every thrust was a signature on your body.

You rolled your hips, grinding down, and he cursed hard, gripping you tighter.

“That’s it,” he whispered, teeth at your earlobe. “Fuck yourself on me, baby. Take all of it.”

And you did.

You rode him, water splashing against rock, steam clinging to your skin. His cock hit every spot inside you just right—every thrust making your vision blur. He played with your clit under the water, fingers fast, relentless.

When your orgasm hit, it was violent.

You clenched around him, back arching, a cry tearing from your throat that echoed off the mountains. He fucked you through it, growling, fucking harder—until he suddenly pulled out and came all over your stomach, hot and thick, groaning your name into the steam.

You collapsed against his chest, shaking, water lapping at your skin.

He stroked your back as you came down, lazy and warm. Then he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “We’re not done. The moon’s still out.”

Heeseung | Rain Shower in a Penthouse Suite

Setting: High-rise penthouse suite. The shower is all glass, wide open, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Outside, rain streaks the glass like tears. Inside, he’s about to make you forget how to breathe.

The water poured from above like rain, hot and steady, soaking your hair and skin. You stood still for a moment under the rainfall showerhead, hands braced against the cool tile, letting the heat wash away the tension in your shoulders. It was late, past midnight, the city outside glowing like a circuit board—cold blue and violet light flickering through the full-length windows.

And then you felt him.

Heeseung’s presence behind you—close, confident. You didn’t even hear him come in, but now his body heat licked your spine through the rising steam. A whisper of breath at your neck.

“You look so fucking good like that,” he murmured.

You turned slightly, the strap of your bikini sliding off your shoulder. Heeseung’s eyes dropped immediately, fixated. He was shirtless, damp already, swim trunks low on his hips and clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was wet, dark and tousled, drops sliding down his jaw.

“Is this how you imagined it?” you teased, voice quiet.

His hand touched the small of your back. “No,” he said. “This is better.”

He stepped closer, chest brushing your back, one hand sliding up your arm with an almost reverent slowness. You could feel his breath on your neck, his nose grazing your skin. The rain from the shower soaked you both, water running in rivulets between your bodies.

His hand reached around, fingers splaying over your stomach. Slowly. Purposefully.

“You get shy when people look at you,” he whispered in your ear, voice low and rough. “But right now you want me to see everything, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. His fingers slipped down, brushing the waist of your bikini bottoms.

“I want you to say it.”

You hesitated, breath catching. “I want you to see me.”

“Mmm.” His hand dipped lower. “Good girl.”

He peeled the soaked bikini from your hips with both hands, letting it drop to your feet. His mouth kissed down your spine, slow and wet, until he knelt behind you. You felt his hands spread you apart—bare, dripping, exposed to the open glass and glowing city lights.

He didn’t touch you there.

Not yet.

He just breathed.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re already so wet. You need me, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He stood, slowly, the shift of his body up your back maddening. You reached behind, grabbing his wrist, guiding his hand between your thighs. His fingers slipped through your slick folds, circling your clit, teasing your entrance.

You moaned, forehead pressed to the glass. It was cold, but you burned.

He kissed your shoulder, bit your neck.

“I want you to feel everything,” he said. “The water. The window. Me.”

You felt his fingers curl inside you, slow and firm. His other hand reached up, bracing on the glass next to yours, boxing you in. His hips pressed forward, his cock hard against your ass through his trunks.

“Can I?” he asked, voice strained.

“Take them off.”

The trunks were gone in seconds. You felt him line up behind you—thick, already twitching—and then he was pushing in, slow, deep, dragging a groan from both of you.

Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, Heeseung—”

“I got you,” he whispered, lips at your ear.

He fucked you against the glass. Long, slow strokes that hit deep, grinding at the end of every thrust like he wanted to feel you shatter. The water ran between your bodies, down your thighs, making everything slick and obscene.

His hand wrapped around your throat—firm, possessive.

“Look outside,” he whispered. “Let them watch you come.”

You opened your eyes.

Rain painted the skyline in streaks of light. Your reflection glared back at you—wet hair, flushed cheeks, parted lips as Heeseung fucked you hard from behind. You could see the way his hips snapped, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you in place. The way your tits bounced with every thrust.

You wanted to scream.

You pressed back into him harder, grinding, chasing the orgasm building like thunder in your spine. His other hand slipped around to rub your clit—fast, tight circles—and you broke.

Your legs shook. The glass fogged up. You came with a moan that echoed against tile and sky, trembling in his arms as he fucked you through it, lips at your ear, voice rough and shaking.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”

Then he cursed—deep and desperate—and pulled out just enough to come against your lower back, hips jerking, thick ropes spilling hot onto your skin as the shower washed it away.

You both collapsed to the floor of the shower, steam curling around your bodies. His arms wrapped around you from behind, holding you close, lips on your shoulder.

The rain kept falling.

The city kept watching.

You didn’t care.

Jay | Luxury Hotel Jacuzzi

Setting: Late night, rooftop suite. The jacuzzi is sunken into marble, surrounded by glass and gold, with champagne chilling nearby. The stars are out. The bubbles are high. And Jay? He’s sitting there, spread wide, watching you like you’re dessert.

The air was warm with a hint of champagne and night breeze, the rooftop city view glittering beneath you like spilled diamonds. The jacuzzi gurgled softly, hot bubbles fizzing to the surface in lazy, rhythmic pulses.

Jay sat in the water like he owned the entire hotel. And maybe he did.

One arm draped along the edge, the other holding a champagne flute, legs spread under the water just enough to be disrespectful. His black swim trunks clung to him like a second skin, soaked and outlining the thick shape beneath. The lights under the water turned the bubbles golden around him.

His eyes were already on you as you stepped out onto the marble.

Bikini, tiny, black. Skin glowing. Your hair was slightly damp from the shower. You walked toward him with a sway in your hips that wasn’t entirely innocent, and Jay’s lips curled like he knew exactly what you were doing.

“You took your time,” he said.

You stepped into the jacuzzi slowly, one foot after another, the hot water lapping up your calves, thighs, hips. You slid in with a little shiver, breath catching at the warmth.

Jay’s eyes dropped immediately to your chest. Bubbles clung to your skin, gathering between your breasts. You sank down until the water kissed your collarbones, settling across from him.

“I wanted to make sure you were thirsty,” you said.

He raised the champagne to his lips, sipping slow. His throat moved as he swallowed, and then he set the flute down with a soft clink.

“Oh, I am,” he said. “But not for this.”

Your foot brushed his leg under the water.

Then his thigh.

Then his cock.

Hard already.

You smirked. “I didn’t even touch you.”

“Baby,” he said, leaning forward, voice low and deep, “you’ve been touching me since you walked in that bikini.”

You crawled across the water toward him, bubbles fizzing around your thighs, arms slipping around his neck as you settled into his lap. His hands found your waist instantly, gripping like he’d been starving for it.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel perfect.”

His cock pulsed against your core, only the thin layers of wet fabric separating you now. You shifted your hips—grinding—slow and taunting, making his breath hitch.

His hand grabbed your ass, hard. The other snaked up your spine, fingers threading into your hair.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fuck you right here, with the whole fucking city watching.”

You leaned in, your lips ghosting over his. “Do it.”

Jay’s eyes locked with yours.

And that was it.

He kissed you like he was claiming territory—tongue deep, teeth grazing, lips devouring. You gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips up into you, cock grinding against your folds under the water. You rocked against him, pace matching the rise and fall of the bubbles.

“Take these off,” he growled, yanking at your bikini bottoms.

You obeyed.

He didn’t wait.

He pulled the waistband of his swim trunks down, just enough. And then he grabbed your hips and guided you down—onto him.

You moaned, loud, as he filled you in one slow, slick thrust. The water surged around you. His cock stretched you just right—thick, pulsing, deep.

“Eyes on me,” he said, voice low and wrecked.

You looked at him.

And fuck, it made your walls clench. His stare was molten, unreadable, full of restraint and possession.

“Look how good you take me,” he whispered. “So fucking tight.”

You rolled your hips, grinding in slow circles. He hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into your skin. He pulled your bikini top down, freeing your breasts, watching them bounce as you rode him.

“Fuck. Look at these.” He cupped them, thumbs flicking your nipples, voice husky. “You wanna come just from this? From being so full?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, Jay—yes.”

“Then ride it, baby. Come on. Ride this dick.”

You moved faster.

Up and down, rocking into him, moaning shamelessly. The water splashed with each motion, wet sounds filling the air between your gasps. His cock dragged in and out, thick veins rubbing your walls, tip hitting the perfect spot inside.

His mouth was everywhere—neck, collarbone, sucking your nipples between teeth, groaning against your skin.

You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, legs shaking, voice breaking as you came on him, walls spasming tight. Jay held you through it, biting your shoulder, grinding slow and deep as you shook.

Then his hands gripped your hips, and he fucked up into you hard.

Once. Twice. Three sharp thrusts—then he came, hot and thick, deep inside, voice low and broken against your throat.

You collapsed against him, chests heaving together in the bubbling water.

He kissed your cheek. “Next time,” he whispered, “we’re doing it on the edge of the tub.”

Ohhh yes.

Jake | Beach at Night

Setting: Midnight. A secluded private beach, moon glowing high, waves crashing just feet away. You’re walking barefoot in your bikini, and Jake’s right behind you—eyes low, voice deeper, hungry. The sand is warm, the air sticky, and your patience? Gone.

The sand was still warm from the day, clinging to your feet as you stepped off the wooden path. Wind whipped your hair around your face, cool with salt and ocean mist. The sound of the waves was constant—loud, rhythmic, endless.

And Jake was behind you.

He’d followed you down without a word, barefoot in nothing but his loose black swim trunks, a towel slung over one shoulder, that damn look in his eyes.

You stopped near the edge of the water. The sea foam reached for your ankles like fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing back.

His answer was a smile. Slow. Sharp.

“I’m great,” he said. “But you’re killing me in that bikini.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve seen it all day.”

“Exactly.” His voice dipped. “And I’ve been hard all day.”

Your breath caught.

He dropped the towel.

Then stepped right into you.

His hands slid to your hips, fingers brushing the knot of your bikini bottoms, thumbs teasing just under the fabric. His eyes roamed your face, your lips, your chest, like he was still debating whether to worship or devour.

“You walk ahead of me on purpose, huh?” he murmured. “Swishing that little ass. Pretending you don’t know I’m about to lose it.”

You smirked. “You say that like you didn’t stare the entire way.”

“I always stare.”

His mouth met yours before you could sass back—warm, sweet, but needy. Tongue sliding past your lips, hands grabbing your ass, grinding his hips forward until you could feel just how hard he really was.

You whimpered into his mouth.

The waves crashed nearby, but your body drowned in him.

“Lie down,” he said, tugging you toward the sand.

You hesitated. “Here?”

He just raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

You dropped like a challenge.

The sand was soft. The night wrapped around you like heat. Jake knelt between your thighs, eyes locked on yours as he untied your bikini bottoms—slowly. Like he was unwrapping a gift.

He tossed them behind him. His fingers slid up your thighs, spreading them open until the ocean breeze kissed your bare pussy.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered.

Then he bent down.

His mouth on you was heaven.

Hot. Wet. Starving.

He licked slow at first, tasting every inch, then locked onto your clit and sucked. Hard.

Your back arched. You grabbed his hair, moaning, grinding up into his face as his tongue pushed inside you, his hands keeping you open. The ocean roared behind him, but all you could hear was your own breathy gasps.

He pulled back only when your thighs started shaking.

“Not yet,” he said, crawling up your body. “I wanna come with you.”

You grabbed at his trunks. He helped, yanking them down, cock springing free—thick, flushed, dripping at the tip.

You both groaned as he lined up, teasing your entrance.

“Ready?”

You nodded.

Then he pushed in.

Slow.

The stretch made your breath catch, your legs wrapping around his waist as he filled you inch by inch.

“Jake—fuck—”

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So fucking wet already.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started thrusting—deep and slow, hips rolling like the waves, every stroke grinding against your sweet spot. His hands were everywhere—your tits, your waist, your throat. He kissed you hard between moans, tongue messy, hips snapping faster.

The sand shifted beneath you. The stars blurred above.

Your orgasm built fast, dizzying.

“Jake—fuck, I’m close—”

He grabbed your face, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me when you come.”

You did.

Eyes locked, pussy clenching around him, mouth open in a cry as you came hard—shaking under him, vision gone white.

He fucked you through it, then growled your name as he spilled inside you, cock twitching deep, hot cum flooding your pussy as his hips stuttered.

He collapsed onto you, both of you breathless, waves brushing your toes.

You laughed, gasping. “You’re insane.”

He grinned against your shoulder. “And you’re gonna walk back to the villa with my cum dripping down your legs.”

Sunghoon | Indoor Pool, Low Lights

Setting: A private indoor pool, lights dimmed to dusky blues and shadows, water cool enough to bite. Echoes of your breath bounce off the walls. You’re alone. Just you. And him. And nowhere to run.

The pool was silent.

Empty.

Still.

Only the low hum of underwater lights filled the space, glowing cool blue beneath the surface. Shadows rippled across the tiled walls, and the air smelled of chlorine and something electric.

You stood at the edge, bare feet on the tile, the sleek black bikini hugging your skin like sin. You could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up.

Sunghoon stood waist-deep in the water, arms resting on the edge behind him. Black swim trunks. Hair pushed back. Face unreadable—until you caught that glint in his eye. That flicker of hunger he always tried to hide.

You stepped in, slowly. The water was cold. Sharp.

You hissed as it hit your skin.

Sunghoon smirked.

“Too cold for you?” he asked, voice echoing in the cavernous stillness.

You took another step, the water licking up your thighs. “Not if you warm me up.”

His gaze dropped to your hips. “I could do that.”

By the time you reached him, the water was up to your ribs. You paused in front of him, not touching, heart pounding.

He reached out lazily, dragging one finger up your stomach. You shivered—part chill, part anticipation.

“That bikini’s illegal,” he muttered.

You smirked. “Do something about it.”

And just like that—the switch flipped.

Sunghoon grabbed your waist, yanking you against him with a splash. You landed on his lap, straddling him in the water, your bare thighs bracketing his as his cock pressed thick and unmistakably hard against your soaked bikini bottoms.

“You feel that?” he growled against your neck.

You nodded, grinding your hips forward.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice tight. “You’re already soaked.”

You leaned back just slightly, letting your breasts rise above the water. His eyes went dark. He cupped one through the fabric, squeezing slow, then tugged the top down with one sharp pull.

Cold air met your nipples. So did his mouth.

He sucked hard—no teasing. No build-up. Just filthy, wet pressure, tongue lapping, teeth scraping. You moaned aloud, back arching into it.

His hand slipped between your legs, under the water, pulling your bottoms to the side. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. One finger slid inside you, then two—deep.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, clinging to his shoulders.

“You like being fucked in the water?” he growled. “Like a dirty little secret?”

You clenched around his fingers in response. He grinned, then pushed them deeper, fucking you slow, hard, relentless. The water rippled with every movement.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he said.

“Then do it,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to hear more. Sunghoon lined up his cock—already bare under his trunks, slick and heavy—and with one sharp thrust, he was inside you.

You cried out, nails raking his back.

He fucked up into you in hard, cold snaps, water splashing around your hips. The chill made every nerve fire like lightning, made his cock feel hotter, thicker, deeper.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so tight,” he groaned. “So fucking good around me.”

You held on for dear life as he bounced you on his cock, fingers bruising your hips. Your moans echoed off the tile—sharp, desperate, drowning out the splashing water.

His teeth found your neck, biting, marking.

“You gonna come for me?” he demanded. “Come on my cock like a filthy girl?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, Hoon—don’t stop—”

He reached between you, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure. Fast. Mean. Exactly what you needed.

You came so hard your vision went white.

Your scream hit the ceiling, your pussy clenching like a vice, milking his cock. He cursed violently, then thrust hard—once, twice—and came inside you, thick ropes filling you up as he buried himself deep, holding you down with a growl.

Your legs shook. Your head fell to his shoulder. Water lapped lazily around you, cooling the heat that burned in every inch of your skin.

He kissed your temple.

“Still cold?” he murmured.

You laughed, breathless. “Not even close.”

Sunoo | Scented Bubble Bath, Candlelight

Setting: A massive tub carved into stone, lit only by dozens of flickering candles. The water smells like jasmine and vanilla. Bubbles float over the surface. Sunoo waits inside, back against the curve of the tub, hair pushed back, eyes already dark with intention.

The bathroom glowed gold.

Hundreds of tiny flames flickered in the candlelight—lining the tub, the counters, even the floor. Shadows danced on the marble walls, and the scent of jasmine mixed with the thick steam curling in the air. The bath itself looked like something carved for royalty—deep, wide, with milky, foaming water bubbling gently over smooth stone.

You stepped inside slowly.

Sunoo was already in the bath, half-submerged, hair damp, skin glowing in the golden light. His arms were spread along the edge, legs splayed just wide enough to pull the breath from your lungs.

He looked at you like he’d ordered this moment. Like you were exactly where you belonged.

“I was about to come pull you in,” he said.

You dropped the towel from your hips, the black bikini clinging tight to your skin. “Then I guess I’m lucky I made it in time.”

His smile turned wicked.

“Take those off.”

Your fingers moved without thinking, untying the strings, the soft whisper of wet fabric falling to the floor. You stepped into the water slowly, letting the heat swallow your legs, then thighs, then hips. Bubbles curled around you, hiding nothing from his gaze.

When you reached him, he pulled you into his lap like it was instinct. His hands slid up your back, wet and warm, until your chest was pressed to his. His cock was already hard, throbbing against your core under the water.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, lips brushing your neck. “You always do.”

You rolled your hips forward—slow, teasing—and his breath hitched. He gripped your ass with both hands, squeezing, grinding you down on him harder.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, voice low.

You grinned. “I always finish.”

His eyes flashed. Then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not gentle.

Sunoo’s kiss was heat and teeth, tongue pushing in like he wanted to taste your soul. His hands tangled in your hair, dragging your head back as he bit your lip, sucked it between his teeth.

You moaned into him, grinding harder, faster.

“Fuck—stop,” he muttered suddenly, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth.

“Why?”

“Because if I fuck you like this,” he growled, “I’m going to spill before you even scream.”

You swallowed hard.

He gripped your hips and lifted you. One hand grabbed his cock under the water, guiding the thick head to your entrance, and he looked you dead in the eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded.

And he dropped you onto him.

You cried out, hands clenching his shoulders, as he filled you—slow, stretching, deep. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your skin.

Then he snapped his hips.

Once.

Twice.

Fast.

Hard.

You screamed, fingernails raking down his back.

“Fuck—yes,” he hissed. “That’s it. Take it. Take all of it.”

The water splashed over the rim of the tub with every sharp, filthy thrust. Your moans bounced off the stone, echoing between the candles. His cock hit deep, grinding against your sweet spot with punishing precision.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Rub that clit while I wreck you.”

Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers trembling. You rubbed circles fast, gasping, body starting to tremble. He watched you do it—eyes locked, mouth open, moaning your name as you clenched around him.

“You wanna come, baby?” he growled. “You wanna soak my cock?”

“Please—”

“Then beg for it.”

You sobbed.

“Please, Sunoo—don’t stop—fuck me, please, harder—”

That’s all it took.

He slammed up into you, grip bruising your hips, and your orgasm exploded—so intense you nearly blacked out. You screamed his name, thighs quivering, water thrashing around you as your body convulsed.

Sunoo held you down and fucked you through it, biting your throat, groaning into your skin.

Then he came inside you.

Hot, thick, endless. His cock pulsed deep inside, filling you up as he groaned your name like a prayer and a curse.

You collapsed against him.

The water stilled.

The candles flickered.

His hand stroked your back as he whispered, “You’re mine now, you know that, right?”

You smiled against his skin.

“I always was.”

Ni-ki | Dance Studio Shower Room

Setting: Late night. Everyone else is gone. The studio’s quiet, the locker room lit in low flickering fluorescents. Steam clouds the air from the showers. You’re both sweaty, flushed, and still in your practice clothes. You weren’t supposed to be alone with him.

The music had finally stopped.

The studio was dead quiet, except for your breathing and the dull thump of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. Your skin was slick with sweat, body trembling from the intensity of the last run-through.

You leaned on the barre, chest rising and falling, when you heard his steps behind you.

Slow.

Controlled.

Predator.

Ni-ki.

You turned your head just enough to see him in the mirror. His shirt was sticking to his chest, hair damp and hanging in his eyes. He was still breathing hard—but not from the dancing anymore.

“You pushed me hard tonight,” you said, voice light, teasing, though your pulse was already racing.

He stepped closer. “You always act like that wasn’t the point.”

You met his gaze in the mirror.

“Wasn’t it?”

That was it.

In an instant, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back as his mouth found your neck—hot, wet, desperate. You gasped, hands scrambling for the barre as he pressed his body flush to yours from behind, cock already hard against your ass through his joggers.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he growled. “Every time you bend over in front of me… every time you moan during warmups?”

“I wasn’t moaning—”

“You were,” he cut you off. “And now you’re gonna really make noise.”

He dragged you toward the locker room—fast, rough, hungry.

The moment you crossed the threshold, steam hit your face. The showers were still running. Warm mist rose around you, mixing with the echo of dripping tile.

He shoved you up against the cold wall.

His hands yanked down your leggings, your soaked sports bra already halfway off before you could blink. You weren’t wearing underwear. His breath caught as he saw how wet you were—not from sweat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.

You braced yourself against the tile as his mouth met your pussy, tongue immediate, no warm-up. He ate you like he’d been starving, lips sucking, tongue flicking your clit in fast, precise strokes that had your knees buckling.

“Ni-ki—shit—fuck—”

He moaned into you, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as you writhed, hips grinding against his face. His tongue slipped inside you, curling, and your hands slammed against the wall as the first orgasm tore through you—sudden, sharp, spine-arching.

He pulled away, lips wet.

“You done?” he asked, cocky.

You glared down at him. “Not even close.”

His smile turned feral.

He stood, shoved his joggers down, and lined his cock up without ceremony. He grabbed the back of your neck, shoved you hard against the shower wall—and slammed into you in one thrust.

You screamed.

He didn’t stop.

Ni-ki fucked you like he’d had this fantasy for months. Fast, deep, dirty. His hips slapped against your ass, wet skin smacking loud in the tiled room. His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head back so he could hiss in your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Fucked like a slut in the locker room?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“You gonna come again on my cock?”

“Ni-ki—”

He pulled out. Flipped you around. Lifted you against the wall with raw strength, one hand under your ass, the other choking you softly as he slammed back in.

You wrapped your legs around him, water streaming down your bodies.

He was deeper now—angled just right, cock hitting that spot that made your whole world flicker. You clawed at his back, shoulders, kissed him hard as your second orgasm built—fast, unstoppable.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “Tight, warm—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You broke apart with a cry, body clenching down on him, soaking his cock as your orgasm rocked through you. He fucked you through it, eyes locked on yours.

Then with one guttural moan—he came inside you, cock pulsing deep, filling you up until it spilled out around him, mixing with the water.

You stayed like that. Pressed to the wall. His breath panting against your mouth.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “You were waiting for this.”

You smirked, voice wrecked. “I was waiting for you to snap.”

© thedevillsmaid

should i make more ot7 scenarios??

[itendtothinkalot]

certified hater

summary: jake sim’s got a new roommate. and he hates it. he hates you. until one random wednesday afternoon, you look at him with those eyes, and suddenly he’s noticing things he definitely shouldn’t. now jake’s stuck trying to ignore the fact that his least favorite person is somehow making his heart beat faster. he didn’t sign up for this. but hey, neither did you.

genre: fluff | enemies to lovers

characters: jake x f!reader

words: 15.3k

warnings: curse words, kissing i guess

a/n: based on in this economy's jake! our fav hater is back!

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, hand over his heart. “There she goes. The only decent roommate I’ve ever had. The only one who cleaned the hair out of the drain without me having to beg. Who made late-night ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal. Who laughed at my jokes, told me when my shirt was inside out, and didn’t steal my shampoo.”

His best friend rolled her eyes, already halfway up the porch steps with her bag. “Jake, we’re literally 30 minutes away. You’re going to see me every other day.”

Jake turned to Heeseung with a sunny smile. “Well…take good care of her, yeah?”

“I do take care of her,” Heeseung said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

She snorted. “I’m not being shipped off to war, Jake.”

Jungwon—boba in hand, sunglasses on, posture far too relaxed for someone witnessing emotional carnage—finally spoke.

“Alright, drama club,” he called. “Wrap it up. People are starting to stare. Mostly me. And I’m starting to lose interest.”

Jake turned to him with a deep sigh. “What’s even the point of going home? The apartment is going to feel empty.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I still live there, right?”

Jake waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but you don’t count. You don’t talk to me. You just throw protein bars at my head and call it a meal.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve survived,” Jungwon deadpanned, like Jake was some tragic survivor of mild inconvenience. “Anyway. You got to live with your best friend. Now I get to live with mine.”

Jake froze mid-chew, narrowing his eyes. “…Wait. Wasn’t that hypothetical?”

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his phone. “No? I meant what I said. She’s moving in today.”

“She? You mean to tell me… I’m coming home to a stranger? A female stranger?”

“She’s not a stranger to me,” Jungwon said with an infuriating shrug. “Anyway. She’s chill. You’ll love her. I think.”

Jake pointed accusingly at Jungwon. “I swear if she does something annoying, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Jungwon said, already walking away. “Write her a strongly worded Post-It? Sue her?”

“Ugh. First, I lose my best friend to my annoying boss now…now this? I’m going home!” he yelled, heading for his Uber. “But before I do…Heeseung,” Jake called out.

Heeseung took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s Mr. Lee to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that when we’re off the clock and you look like a walking beige napkin.”

“This is Gucci,” Heeseung said flatly, glancing down at his designer shirt—then at Jake’s outfit. “And whatever you’re wearing is…”

Jake sneered. “Is a gift. From your girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then I love them,” Heeseung said sweetly, turning to kiss her on the lips without breaking eye contact.

Jake recoiled. “Tell your boyfriend to back off.”

“Tell your ex-roommate to get a grip.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I hope your new place has ants.”

And then... standing there on Heeseung’s stupidly spotless porch, watching them disappear into their stupid new house (because of course Heeseung could just casually buy a house like he was adding a new hoodie to cart), Jake squinted thoughtfully at the disgustingly perfect front yard.

Jake’s eye twitched. God, he hated rich people. To be specific, he hated Heeseung. Stealing his roommate and his best friend, just like that. Selfish bastard.

But then — just by the edge of the driveway — movement.

Tiny. Crawling. Full of untapped petty potential. Jake’s lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured to absolutely no one, crouching down like a villain in sweatpants.

“Nature provides.”

Cut to twenty minutes later:

Jake crouched like a criminal in Heeseung’s yard with a plastic cup. Scooping ants off the sidewalk like he was foraging for revenge. Whispering to himself like a lunatic.

“This is what betrayal gets you, Heeseung. You bitch.”

By the time he had an entire squad of confused ants swirling around in the cup like unwilling accomplices, Jake stood up, dusted his hands off, and jogged across the lawn.

He rang the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — annoying, spaced out, just to be a menace.

Finally — the door yanked open.

Heeseung stood there, deadpan, already exhausted. In socks. Mug of tea in hand. 

“What.”

Jake grinned, wide, sweet, feral. “Miss me?”

Heeseung blinked at him like he regretted every life choice that led to knowing Jake Sim.

“Didn’t you leave with Jungwon?”

“I was going to but…”

And then — without missing a beat — Jake yeeted the entire cup of ants straight through the doorway.

Heeseung’s eyes tracked it mid-air.

The cup landed with a hollow little plunk on the entryway floor — ants scattering like their Uber just arrived.

Heeseung stared.

“What—” Heeseung’s eye twitched. “Did you just—”

“Nature says hi.” Jake whispered.

And then?

Jake ran. Full sprint.

Cackling like an absolute child as Heeseung’s voice exploded behind him —

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jake was already halfway down the street, gleefully texting Jungwon like a war general reporting a win.

jake: bro i did smth

jungwon: what did you do

jake: nothing much. Had fun w nature tho…lol

jungwon: wait a min…did u throw ants in their fucking house

jake: yea lol i can still hear heeseung yelling

jungwon: take a vid?

jake: i’ll snap u LOOOL

—-

It wasn’t that Jake hated new people. Well—okay. Maybe he did. A little. Just a bit.

Sure, he looked friendly — floppy hair, easy grin, that dangerously smooth voice that could charm strangers and confuse baristas into giving him extra whipped cream without asking. But deep down?

Jake Sim was a man powered entirely by routine, caffeine, and emotional damage.

At work? Immaculate. Precise. Heeseung’s best guy on every project. The guy you could trust to fix your mess without asking questions.

At home? At home, Jake Sim was powered by rage, Doritos, and spite-fuelled midnight snacking.

And nothing — nothing — disrupted that fragile ecosystem quite like a stranger invading his living space.

Jake sighed and glanced at Jungwon, who sat curled on the couch, no emotion on his face.

“You’re sure she’ll like me?” Jake asked, leaning back like he genuinely needed reassurance.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. I’m betting my money on the latter.”

Jake grinned, ego inflating instantly. “But I’m charming. I’m handsome. I ooze sex appeal.”

Jungwon finally looked up. Blinked. Paused.

“You’re… okay.”

Jake stared. “Okay?”

Jungwon shrugged, unbothered. “You’re like store-brand charming.”

Jake squinted. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Looks the same. Works okay. Nobody’s writing home about it.” Jungwon deadpanned. “But yeah, sure. Reliable in a pinch.”

Jake clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a plastic spoon. “I am premium charming.”

Jungwon sipped his drink. “You’re aisle seven, bottom shelf, on sale for $2.99.”

Jake looked genuinely offended. “Wow.”

“Look,” he said flatly, “she’s moving in tomorrow whether you like it or not. So dust yourself off… and for the love of God, take down that thing you call art.”

He pointed lazily at The Painting. The painting that Jake did during his “I’m unemployed and spiraling” era. His “maybe I’m just like Van Gogh” phase. A little stressed, a little depressed, and unfortunately — very creative.

Except he wasn’t.

Because if Jungwon was being brutally honest (and he always was), Jake’s 36 by 36 inch masterpiece was…

A giant, aggressively well-shaded dick.

Like, museum-level shading. Art school tragedy. Anatomically correct in ways that made Jungwon genuinely concerned for Jake’s mental health.

“It’s abstract,” Jake had insisted once, dead serious.

“It’s a dick,” Jungwon had replied, dead inside.

“To you,” Jake had said, like he was Picasso defending himself in court. “To me it represents manhood. The transition from child to man.”

Jungwon stared at him. Stared at the cursed, hauntingly well-shaded disaster on the wall. Stared back at him.

"Just take it down by tonight, you moron." he muttered, already walking back to his room. "Because I am not explaining to a grown ass woman why there’s a three-foot dick staring her dead in the eyes while she’s just trying to eat her cereal."

—-

You balanced a box against your hip, car keys jingling in one hand, your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stepped into the apartment for the very first time.

“You couldn’t skip one class?” you muttered into the phone, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. “Just one? I am literally dragging my entire life through this hallway alone right now.”

Jungwon’s voice crackled on the other end. “And I am literally about to ace my quiz on post-colonial literature. We all have battles we can’t pick.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “I hope your professor forgets your name and ends up giving you the biggest F in history.”

“Trait—”

Jungwon cut you off with a yawn. “Anyway, key’s under the mat. Room in the back is yours. Make yourself at home. Don’t fight Jake. Love you.”

You paused mid-step. “Who?”

“Bye!” he said, then hung up like a man with no conscience.

You stared at your phone. “What do you mean ‘don’t fight Jake’?! Who’s Jake?!”

No answer. Just the echo of betrayal.

You let out a long sigh and took in your surroundings. The apartment was… livable. Clean-ish. A little too beige. Smelled like something between cologne and aggressively microwaved noodles. Classic boy territory.

Still balancing your box, you headed toward the back, where you assumed your room would be. The hallway split into two doors. One was cracked open slightly, revealing a glimpse of a desk.

You knocked once, half-hearted and awkward, and pushed the door open.

And then everything happened at once.

Music. Blasting.

Eyes. Wide.

Box. Dropped.

You screamed.

Because standing dead center in the room was a guy in nothing but boxers, aggressively dancing to Bruno Mars like he was auditioning for a boyband. 

He jumped like he'd been tasered, yanked an earbud out, and yelped, “WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you echoed back, slapping a hand over your eyes. 

“I’M NOT NAKED!”

“YOU’RE LIKE 80% NAKED!”

He grabbed a throw pillow off his bed and held it over himself like it could protect either of you from this moment. “What are you even doing in my room?!”

“Jungwon said the room in the back is mine!”

“This is my room!”

“Then label your damn doors next time!”

“You’re supposed to knock!”

“I did knock!”

“Then you wait for a response, smartass!”

“Are you serious right now?! How was I supposed to know you’d be air-humping the universe like a deranged psycho?!”

“That was choreography!”

You both stared at each other, panting like you’d just come out of battle. You took a long breath, picked up your box again, and hissed, “You must be Jake.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you must be the replacement.”

“Well,” he said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats, “we’re off to a great start.”

If first impressions were anything to go by, this was going to be war.

And unfortunately, the battlefield was your new living room.

—-

You wiped your palms on your jeans, jaw still tight as you grabbed another box from the small pile by the front door. This one was heavier—textbooks, probably. Just as you turned around to haul it outside, you slammed straight into a very firm, very warm, very fully clothed chest.

You looked up. Jake.

Now dressed in a hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered the shame off. Unfortunately, he still looked obnoxiously good. Annoyingly taller than you. And, somehow, smug—which should be illegal after whatever happened earlier.

He blinked down at you. “Need help?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he held up a hand.

“Unless…” He squinted dramatically. “You’re about to peep on me again, then I—”

“Peep at you?!” you hissed. “I walked into what I thought was my room and got assaulted by a hip thrust.”

He shrugged. “I was in the moment.”

“Are you always this delusional?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t already a disaster. “You really can’t admit it, huh?”

“Admit what?”

“That you enjoyed the view.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry,” he added, all faux-gentle. “Not everyone can handle the Full Jake Sim Experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, Jungwon warned me about you.”

Jake’s grin kicked up, cocky. “Let me guess — ‘Jake’s a little dramatic, but give it time and you’ll fall for the charm.’”

“Actually,” you said dryly, “it was ‘don’t engage, it only encourages him.’”

“That’s slander,” he declared.

“That’s advice,” you corrected. “Good advice.”

—

Jungwon slid his bag off his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m home!” he called out, voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Finally. After years of joking about it, he was officially living with his best friend.

Jungwon knew the odds were low that you and Jake would hit it off immediately.

You were... you. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Quietly unhinged. But also — annoyingly kind. Thoughtful in that backhanded, "made you ramen but insulted you while doing it" kind of way.

You’d survive Jake.

Hell, maybe Jake needed to survive you.

He strolled down the hallway, humming as he knocked lightly on your door. “Yo. You alive in there?”

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing. With a shrug, he walked over to Jake’s door and gave it a push. Open. Empty.

“Jake?”

Then, from the depths of the apartment, came shouting.

Jungwon blinked. Tilted his head. The bathroom. He padded toward the noise—and regretted it immediately.

“I was here first!” you snapped.

“No, I was here first!” Jake shot back, voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I had my towel in here! That’s bathroom code!” You yelled.

“There is no such thing as bathroom code, you freak!”

“Let me in! I’m going out and I have to pee!”

“Looking like that?” You sneered at Jake whose smile faded.

A long pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

You offered a polite smile. “Oh, nothing. I just thought you cared about how you dressed. But hey—good for you. You’re braver than most of the people I know!”

Jungwon closed his eyes. Rested his head against the wall. Inhaled slowly.

This was his life now.

—-

Jake sat slouched at the edge of the table, a half-spilled bowl of kimchi stew in front of him, aggressively chomping like it had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Heeseung and his girlfriend were mid–honeymoon phase nonsense—feeding each other dumplings, whispering like the rest of the room didn’t exist, giggling over god knows what as if Jake wasn’t having a full-blown emotional breakdown one seat over.

“She color-codes the pantry,” Jake snapped, waving his chopsticks like a weapon. “I left one bag of chips—one!—and she reorganized the entire cabinet. Who’s even looking in there, huh? The Pantry Police?”

“Oh—oh, and get this,” Jake ranted, mouth still half-full of kimchi. “She sends me photos of the sink. With captions. ‘This is your plate, Jake. I know it’s yours because it has your little cartoon fork on it. Like—what?! How does she even know I have cartoon forks?! Who memorizes someone’s cutlery?’”

He flailed a hand like he was being victimized.

His best friend didn’t even blink. “The real question is why you’re still using forks with tiny bears on them.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You ever thought of, I don’t know…” Heeseung finally looked up, lips shiny from dumpling sauce. “Being a better roommate instead of…an ass?”

“I’m not being an ass!” Jake protested — loud enough to startle the next table and wild enough to knock over the soy sauce dish. He scrambled to fix it with a sad napkin, still grumbling under his breath like he was the victim here.

“She’s just—she’s too clean, okay? Like robot clean. Psycho neat. I leave one hoodie on the couch and next thing I know, it’s folded, labelled, and put away neatly.” 

“It just sounds like you’re being an ass to her,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s unpack that.”

Jake squinted. “Unpack what?”

“You know.” Heeseung leaned back, annoyingly relaxed. “Why are you all…angsty and weird about her?”

“Because!” Jake snapped. Jake glared. At them. At the table. At the ceiling.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

Then he exploded, “…Because she freaking pisses me off, that’s why!”

The table went silent.

“That’s crazy. Sounds a lot like flirting to me.”

—-

You threw yourself onto the couch with the kind of rage that could only come from enduring Jake Sim for more than ten minutes. Jungwon sat across from you, calmly chewing on dried squid like he wasn’t witnessing a breakdown.

“He leaves his stupid fucking hoodie on the couch,” you exploded, hands flailing like you were directing traffic in hell. “Like we live in a prison bunk. Like there’s no other surface in the entire apartment for his crusty-ass clothes except the exact spot I want to sit.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. Unbothered. A man built for surviving your storms.

You inhaled sharply. But oh — you were not done.

“And don’t even get me started on the pantry.” You threw a hand toward the kitchen like it personally betrayed you.

“He messed up my color-coded snack shelf. My system, Jungwon.” He raised a brow. Brave. Curious. Foolish.

“What system?”

You blinked. Offended. “My Oreos go beside the dark chocolate. That’s balance. That’s harmony. That’s civilisation. That’s how society should be.”

“But noooo—” you went on, fully deranged now, “Jake Sim, chaotic neutral in sweatpants, decides to put my Oreos between the shrimp chips and the ramen cups like he’s staging a fucking rebellion.”

“So what I’m hearing is…” he drawled, “you think about Jake... a lot.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He ignored you completely. “God, you two act like toddlers.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whined. “He’s making living here hard.”

Like breathing was fine until Jake Sim walked into the room with his stupid smug face and stupid loud voice and stupid boy smell that was weirdly clean for someone who acted like a feral animal.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine to him either,” he pointed out.

“That’s only because…” you muttered.

“Because?”

“Because he’s loud and smug and he–he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor and–”

“Because?”

“BECAUSE HE FREAKING PISSES ME OFF, THAT’S WHY!”

The room went quiet. Jungwon stared at you. You stared at Jungwon.

And then he went back to chewing his squid, completely unfazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you’re definitely in love with him.”

—-

It was nearly midnight, and the apartment was quiet except for the occasional sharp screech from the horror movie playing on the TV. The lights were off, the only glow coming from the screen casting quick shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your shoulders, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap, gripping a pillow more out of nerves than comfort — heart jumping at every sudden sound.

Jungwon was long gone—fast asleep behind his locked door like a man who knew better.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering ominously across your face as the horror movie reached its cursed little climax.

On screen, the main character was creeping down some nightmare hallway — flickering lights, suspicious footsteps, a soundtrack practically begging something to kill them. You squinted, peeking nervously between your fingers.

“Don’t open the door,” you whispered to the screen, your voice tight. “Don’t open the door, you idiot—”

On screen, the character opened the door.

You sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable jumpscare.

And then—

“Boo.”

You didn’t even think.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. The bowl of popcorn went airborne. Your fist met something very real, very solid, and very human.

Crack.

“OW—WHAT THE FU—”

You turned mid-panic to find Jake Sim, doubled over and holding his nose, blinking like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Your jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD—JAKE?!”

He groaned loudly. “Did you just punch me?!”

“YOU SNUCK UP ON ME!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE THE FUCKING DEMON?!”

Jake pulled his hand back and stared at the red streak now smeared across his palm.

“Is that—” you gasped, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?”

“Yes!” Jake hissed, clutching his nose. “My face is leaking! My nose is leaking because you decided to square up with me like this was Mortal Kombat!”

You scrambled to grab tissues, knocking over a cushion and somehow stepping on your own foot in the process. “I didn’t mean to! It was a reflex! Who sneaks up on someone during a horror movie? You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Jake flopped onto the couch like a man deeply wronged. “You need a warning label.”

“You need common sense.”

“You need to stop throwing hands like you’re in an underground fight club.”

You shoved the wad of tissues at him, dropping onto the couch beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Drama queen.”

“Violent rat.”

The two of you sat there, breathing hard. Popcorn crunched quietly under your sock. The horror movie still played in the background — completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, chewing your lip. Jake sat slouched on the couch, ice pack pressed to his face, still sulking like you’d ruined his modelling career.

“Are you okay?” you asked, cautiously.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Physically or emotionally?”

You squinted. “...Both?”

“Physically, my nose is fighting for its life. Emotionally? I’ve seen things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

He gave you a look over the ice pack. “I googled it. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

You snorted. “Let me see.”

“What, so you can break it again?”

Still, when you leaned in, Jake let you push his hand away.

Carefully, you touched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in focus. Up close like this, you were quiet for once — way too close, way too serious, and way too pretty for his peace of mind.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered, inspecting him closely. “Tragically.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath. “Bet you’re disappointed.”

“A little,” you admitted.

Your hand brushed his cheek as you pulled away and Jake’s brain short-circuited for a solid second.

“Okay, you’re fine. Still got your stupid face. The world can rest easy.”

He grinned lazily. “Worried about me?”

You scoffed. “I’m worried you’ll bleed all over the couch.”

You got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you tea.”

Jake blinked. That shut him up fast.

“Chamomile?” he asked hopefully.

You groaned from the kitchen. “Isn’t that the only tea you drink?”

Silence.

Then Jake — deadpan, smug — called out, “Weird how you know that.”

You rolled your eyes. Hard. “Weird how you only drink the saddest tea on earth like an old timey British person.”

Jake snorted. “Says the girl who labels her instant noodles like they’re priceless artifacts.”

“At least I don’t treat chamomile like a personality trait.”

“At least I have a personality,” Jake shot back. “Yours starts and ends with passive-aggressive Post-Its.”

You yanked open the cupboard. “Maybe if you read them, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you punched fewer people we wouldn’t be here.”

There was a beat.

You grabbed a mug, muttering under your breath, “Should’ve punched harder.”

Jake, from the couch, still icing his nose, let out a scoff of disbelief.

“And yet,” he said flatly, “here you are. Making tea for me.”

You slammed the kettle down louder than necessary. “Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed out and haunt me out of spite.”

Jake leaned back, smug despite the tissue stuffed up his nose.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he called out. “If I do die and end up haunting you, I’m definitely hiding your stupid label maker first.”

—-

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the blinds, soft and golden. The apartment was quiet. Jungwon had already disappeared for his 8 a.m. class like the punctual little overachiever he was.

Which left you here.

In the kitchen.

Making the most humiliating thing of your life:

“I’m sorry I punched your nose” scrambled eggs.

This wasn’t because you liked Jake Sim. God, no. This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t kindness.

This was guilt.

Stupid, irritating, nose-bleeding guilt.

Because yeah — maybe he shouldn’t have snuck up on you like the human embodiment of a jumpscare. But also... maybe you shouldn’t have decked him like you were trying out for MMA.

Maybe.

Unfortunately, despite being fully committed to hating Jake Sim with your entire soul... you also had a functioning moral compass.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jake padded out of his room half-asleep, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair a disaster, still mentally in dreamland — following the smell of butter like a man possessed.

But then he saw you.

And whatever was left of his morning brain just... stopped.

There you were. Standing by the stove — hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t even tried, barefoot, apron cinched around your waist, that stupid little dress swaying just slightly as you moved.

It was... weird.

Soft, almost. Domestic.

Like he’d walked into someone else’s life.

You were humming to yourself, lazily stirring scrambled eggs — completely unaware that Jake had frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because it hit him — quietly, without warning — that you were pretty.

Not just yeah, okay, she’s kinda cute when she’s not yelling at me pretty.

But actually pretty.

So pretty it knocked the rest of his words clean out of his head.

Which explained why he didn’t notice the sharp corner of the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

WHAM.

His toe slammed into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back like he’d been shot.

You jumped, whipping around. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Jake blinked down at you from the other side of the kitchen, still cradling his busted toe like it was your fault. His hoodie was sliding off one shoulder, hair an absolute mess, socks mismatched.

Meanwhile, you?

Hair tied up like it was nothing. That stupid little dress swishing around your knees. Making breakfast.

It was almost offensive, really.

Jake narrowed his eyes. \Why did you look... annoyingly good this morning? Since when? Since when were you this pretty?

Damn, maybe you gave him a concussion.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you snapped, holding up the plate like it was a peace treaty you immediately regretted.

He blinked, snapped out of it. “What’s this?”

“Scrambled eggs. For you.”

“Pity eggs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider it hush money so I don’t have to keep looking at your tragic nose bruise.”

Jake hesitated. Then took the plate — fingers brushing yours just long enough to send something stupid and sparky down his spine.

Shut up, spine.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t poison these, right?”

“Only emotionally,” you deadpanned. “Just like I do everything.”

Jake snorted under his breath — a sound halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

But then, as you sat across from him, watching him eat like you weren’t the one responsible for his new villain origin story, you shifted awkwardly.

And Jake noticed.

Hard not to, when you were never this quiet.

“Look…” you started, voice forced like you were fighting every bit of your pride. “I was talking to Jungwon, and… maybe I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

Jake paused mid-chew.

Maybe?

Maybe?

“...You broke my face.”

You glared. “It’s not broken.”

He gestured wildly. “It could be. You’re not a doctor”

You exhaled sharply. “I’m just saying... maybe we could be, like, civil.”

“Are you sure you didn’t poison—” 

“I didn’t fucking poison them, you rat.” Jake just stared at you, smug. 

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tone like you hadn’t just threatened him with breakfast. “What I meant to say was… no. I didn’t poison them. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Jake watched you from the corner of his eye — the way your dress moved, the way your ponytail swayed.

“I just feel bad, okay?” you huffed, glaring at his very tragic, very dramatic face. “That big-ass bruise on your nose’s making eye contact with me.”

Jake froze. Instantly concerned.

“...Bruise?” he echoed, voice tight.

“Yeah.”

Like a man possessed, he snatched his phone off the counter, flipped to the front camera—

And the noise he made?

Somewhere between a gasp, a dying bird, and a full-on crime scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “You ruined my face.”

You blinked. “I—”

“My beautiful fucking face!”

You winced. “That’s… a little dramatic.”

Jake spun around like you’d personally ended his modeling career, shoving the phone in your face. “Do you see this?! How am I supposed to show up to work tomorrow looking like I got body slammed by Dwayne Fucking Johnson?!”

You snorted. “You literally work in tech.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I’m pretty sure it is the point,” you deadpanned. “You’re not an idol, Jake. I’m sure the CEOs will survive your mildly distressed nose.”

Jake let out a pained groan, like you just didn’t understand the gravity of his suffering. “I have a presentation tomorrow!”

You raised a brow. “Okay... and?”

“A huge one!” he cried. “Multiple CEOs. Investors from all over the country. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Not like I got mauled by a vending machine!”

You shrugged, zero sympathy left in your body. “Can’t your boss… what’s his name again… Hee...Heesoo do it?”

“It’s Heeseung,” Jake bit out. “And he’s in Japan for a business trip.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I am someone else!” he exploded, pacing now like his nose was about to file a lawsuit.

A beat of silence.

You tilted your head slowly, casually, a little too calm for his liking.

“…What if I did it?”

“...What.”

“I could present it for you,” you said, crossing your arms, your smile inching into dangerous territory. “You wear a mask, pretend you’re sick. Cough a few times for realism. I’ll read your script. Boom. Problem solved.”

You turned back around, all casual, all dangerous. “Your pitch. I could do it.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah, uh, no offense, Broadway, but the presentation is about app technology. Not jazz hands.”

You shrugged. “Fake it till you make it. Plus, I’m excellent at pretending I know things. Ask any of my professors.”

Jake stared at you.

Like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You,” he said flatly, “want to stand in front of a room full of multi-millionaire investors... and pretend to know shit about app tech.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“That is—hands down—the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“And also,” Jake added slowly, like it pained him to admit, “possibly... my only option.”

You shot finger guns at him.

You grinned like the menace you were. “Come on, Jake Sim. Admit it. You need me.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Like the word physically hurt coming out of his mouth. “But you’re getting a crash course in app tech in two hours. No complaining.”

You shrugged, breezy, unbothered. “Sounds painfully boring. Can’t wait.”

—-

The next day, Jake had already bolted out of the apartment like his hair was on fire while shouting, “The investors are here and they brought their lawyers! I gotta g–” and then he left.

Meanwhile, you?

You were still in the bathroom, casually putting on lip balm like you had all the time in the world. Because if you were about to scam your way through a tech presentation with nothing but sheer confidence and delusion — you were damn sure going to look like someone who belonged on a Forbes list.

Or, well... the clearance rack at H&M’s attempt at one.

Were you terrified of tech investors? Absolutely.

Were you about to march in there, smile pretty, and pretend you understood whatever the hell Jake had been mumbling about for the past 24 hours? Also absolutely.

Because if there was one thing you were good at — it was faking shit.

(And pissing Jake off. But that was practically a sport at this point.)

You strutted into Jake’s workplace like you owned the building. Or were seconds away from committing tax fraud in it. Either way — heels clicking, head high, shoulders squared like you’d been bred in the wild on sarcasm and petty confidence.

The lobby was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Air that smelled like imported lemons and old money. A giant, abstract sculpture near the entrance that looked suspiciously like regret and cost more than your entire education. 

Upstairs, Jake checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time.

You’re late. 5 minutes late.

His shirt collar felt like it was conspiring to choke him, and the mask he wore (to hide the bruise you gave him) felt less like protection and more like a visual reminder that he’d been punched in the face by you.

The elevator dinged. Jake didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy internally screaming about font sizes and silently mouthing his pitch like a deranged TED Talk speaker. But then the room shifted. The air changed. Like the universe hit slow-mo.

His gaze lifted. And there you were. Jake looked up. And promptly forgot how to function. Because there you were. Walking out of the elevator like you were starring in his worst nightmare — and maybe his daydream too. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft curls. Glossy lips. That dress. That damn dress — classy, simple, hugging you like it was personally invested in his suffering. The type of dress that shouldn’t have been this illegal in a workplace setting but was, somehow, devastatingly so.

Jake forgot how to breathe.

Because here was the thing about Jake Sim:

He’d seen you in every possible unflattering state known to mankind.

Screaming about printer ink like it committed tax fraud against you. Hair up in a bun so chaotic it looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Wearing the same hoodie for three days straight — his hoodie, he’d realized once, which only annoyed him more — eyes wild with caffeine and vengeance at 3AM because Spotify ads kept interrupting your study playlist.

And still — still — Jake had always kinda thought you were...pretty.

Annoyingly pretty.

The worst kind.

The kind of pretty that snuck up on you mid-argument or when you were mid-rant about detergent prices. The kind of pretty that didn’t need fixing or dressing up. Just...you.

But today? Today was different. You weren’t just pretty. You were dangerous.

His jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard a crack. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even think.

It was like the floor had disappeared beneath him and someone had swapped out his organs with static. His heart had ditched the beat and gone straight to drum solo. His brain, normally quick, charming, obnoxiously cocky? Dead.

“You made it,” Jake said — and immediately regretted it, because holy shit, was that his voice? High. Cracked. Betrayed him completely like puberty had just swung back around for one last revenge tour.

“Yeah, well,” you hummed, throwing him a look and gesturing vaguely to the black mask covering the evidence of your sucker punch, “figured I owed you.”

Jake nodded. Or at least he thought he did. Hard to tell.

He decided to stay silent. Because God knows what would happen if he opened his mouth again? God help him — a full-blown Ed Sheeran love song might just crawl out.

So he didn’t. He just...stood there.  Standing at the podium, you looked...ridiculous. Ridiculously good.

Like you didn’t just belong here — like you ran the place. Like you were here to pitch an app or recruit followers for a cult — and honestly? Jake wasn’t even sure which one. All he knew was… he’d probably sign up either way. No questions asked. No dignity left.

"Well, good morning, everyone,” you began, and even you were surprised by how calm you sounded. 

Jake stood in the back, blinking at you like he’d never seen you before. You were charismatic. Smart. A little terrifying. And you had the entire room hanging on your every word.

Somewhere between “LinkedIn is dead” and “our algorithm is based on actual passions, not titles,” Jake realized something horrifying. You weren’t just pretending to be good at this. You were good at this. Confident. Sharp. Effortless. 

His chest swelled — with what felt suspiciously like pride — until reality smacked him upside the head. This was the same girl who, just last night, sat cross-legged on his floor, staring blankly at his laptop and asked, with full sincerity:

"Wait… what does AI even stand for?"

Jake was still smiling like an idiot.

God, he hated to admit it — but you killed that presentation. Clean. Sharp. Smooth in a way that made him kind of want to brag about it like he trained you personally (he didn’t — he barely survived explaining what an API was to you without passing out).

A few came up to shake your hand — small talk, praise, the usual empty corporate fluff. Except no one really asked you questions. Not the tough ones, at least.

Right up until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

Two guys. Tall. Sleek. Expensive haircuts that probably cost more than Jake’s entire outfit. Hovering. Too close. He squinted. Because they weren’t walking toward him. Nope.

They were walking toward you.

Grinning. Hovering. Talking with their hands like they were about to pitch you a deal or — god forbid — flirt. His eyes narrowed. You were still reeling from the high of the presentation, packing up your notes when a smooth voice cut through the air beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Blondie. "Mr. Sim never mentioned someone so young... and pretty working in the App Tech department."

 “Oh, uh, I’m new,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “Just joined.”

Blondie smiled, clearly not buying it. “New and already giving such an impressive presentation. I’d love to hear more about the algorithm sometime… maybe over dinner?”

You blinked again. Algorithm? Was that on Slide 7?

Before you could even form a response, a voice cut in like an unexpected thunderstorm.

“She’s booked.”

You turned just in time to see Jake—Jake—swoop into the scene like a knight in wrinkled business casual. His jaw was tight, eyes practically shooting daggers. And that mask? Somehow, it made him look even hotter. You were definitely going to need therapy to figure out why anger made him so ridiculously attractive. That was something for a professional to unpack. 

“She’s what?” Blondie asked, blinking.

“Taken,” Jake said, his voice like cold steel. “I’m with her.”

Blondie’s eyes widened like he’d just been slapped with a fish. “Oh! I didn’t realize—”

Jake grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips with a quick peck, way too casual for the situation. “Anyway,” Jake said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “thanks for admiring my girlfriend. I, too, find her absolutely breathtaking.”

Blondie and his friend, practically evaporated under the weight of the awkwardness. They muttered quick goodbyes and slunk off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

“Girlfriend?” You stared at Jake, still holding your hand in his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jake leaned down slightly, his voice soft but pointed. “You’re welcome for saving you from that finance bro disaster. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I was not,” you shot back, still flustered.

“You squeaked.” Jake smirked, his lips curling up in that annoying, irresistibly smug way of his. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shoved it down. He was being a jerk.

You crossed your arms, still confused by the whole situation. “You’re so weird. Why the hell would you do that?”

Jake shrugged casually, as if the whole thing had been no big deal. “Someone had to save you. I’m not letting some guy with a bad haircut flirt with you in front of me. It’s... inconvenient.”

"Inconvenient?" You stared at him, baffled. "What are you even—"

And then, like a slap to the face, it hit you.

He was jealous.

“No way,” you muttered, half-laughing. “Are you… actually jealous right now?”

Jake’s face flushed slightly, but he smirked, all smooth and defensive. "No, I just—"

You interrupted him, holding up your hand. "You are! Oh my god, you are jealous."

His eyes flickered briefly, like he was calculating his next move. “I am not. You're... imagining things.”

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing, incredulous look. “Right, because you not letting some guy get too close is just a totally normal response for someone you fucking despise.”

Jake paused, then looked at you with that intense, quiet stare, his expression unreadable for a moment. You felt a flicker of something in your chest, but before you could process it, he said, in a voice softer than you expected, “I don’t despise you.”

—

Jake sat across from you at the tiny grill table, doing his best to act like he didn't care that you were wearing what could only be described as the world's most unassuming dress. It wasn’t even remotely textbook "sexy." No slits, no plunging neckline, just a simple, casual thing that barely clung to you. Yet, somehow, you made it look like flawless.

You were just grilling meat, for crying out loud. Nothing remotely provocative about it. And yet, there Jake was, trying—and failing—to pretend he wasn’t completely losing his mind over it.

Then, disaster struck.

Jake’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, nearly snapping them in half. He could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. He didn't even realize he was glaring until the waiter noticed. And that’s when he realized something was very, very wrong with him.

You turned to Jake, blinking innocently. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Me?” Jake laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t even remotely convincing. “Totally fine. Just making sure you’re not about to, y'know, set the whole table on fire.”

He shrugged off his jacket and—without thinking—slung it over your shoulders like his life depended on it.

“You look cold,” Jake muttered, trying to sound casual, but the effort was absolutely wasted.

“I’m sitting in front of an actual fire,” you pointed out, obviously not buying the excuse.

“Just take it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brain glitching as his fingers brushed against yours for half a second.

“You’re acting weird,” you muttered, clearly starting to suspect something was off. “Did you hit your head again today or…?”

“Just wear the damn thing.”

“Why?” you asked slowly, suspicious. “I’m not even cold.”

“It’s not for warmth,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook. “So what’s it for?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near whisper like he was plotting a heist. “It’s... you're over there looking all... attractive, and the waiter’s looking at you like he wants to take you home. And I—” He paused and muttered, “I’m the one who invited you here, okay? So technically, you’re my dinner guest. And I just feel like you shouldn’t be—”

“Did you just call me attractive?”

Jake froze. For a split second, his mind went completely blank. He’d said it without even thinking, and now that the words were out there, the whole table seemed to get a little bit warmer, a little bit more suffocating.

“Uh—” He fumbled, trying to backpedal. “No! I didn’t—what I meant was—” He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. 

You stared at him, eyes wide. “Jake... you’re an awfully jealous person today.”

He froze. Blinked. And then launched into a performance so bad it was almost impressive. “Jealous? Me? Oh my god, that’s so cute. That’s actually hilarious. I’m not jealous. You? Of you? Pfft. I just... look, I just think it’s unhygienic for strangers to salivate this close to raw meat, alright?”

He avoided your gaze and took a big gulp of his drink, probably hoping it would give him some answers. “Also, that guy was undressing you with his eyes.”

You gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. "And your solution to a perv is to throw a jacket over me like I’m some fragile piece of art in a museum?”

Jake kept his cool, eyes still avoiding yours. “I could go beat him up if you want,” he offered, not-so-casually.

You snorted, leaning back in your chair, slipping your hands into the sleeves of the jacket he’d thrown over you. “You're an idiot.”

—-

The next time Jake found himself questioning the entire fabric of his reality, it was in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

A totally normal evening.

Except not really.

Because you were sitting across from him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a smile, and Jake was experiencing what scientists might classify as a complete psychological collapse.

He wasn’t even sure what the hell the conversation was about. Jungwon was laughing about something, maybe a dumb meme or a cursed group chat screenshot, and you were giggling so hard you smacked Jungwon’s arm and nearly knocked over your drink.

Jake didn’t laugh. Jake stared.

Because every time you moved, your stupidly oversized shirt rode up a little, and your bare legs—the ones he absolutely should not be noticing—taunted him like they were sent from hell specifically to test his willpower. 

He hated it.

No, actually—he hated you. Yes. That was the correct narrative. He hated the way you always left passive-aggressive sticky notes on his leftovers ("These are MINE. I will KNOW if you eat one. By you I mean JAKE SIM."). He hated you when you reorganized his entire snack drawer by vibe. (“The spicy chips are angry. They go in the red bin.” What did that even MEAN?)

He hated that you chewed ice. That you used a ten-step skincare routine that monopolized the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning. That you once referred to him as “the reason I believe in selective mutism.”

And yet… he was currently staring at your thighs like they held the secret to inner peace.

Jake looked away, clenching his jaw. What the hell was happening to him? Was this a stroke? Had you poisoned his food?

The next time he went absolutely bonkers was a few days later. He had to pee.

He pushed the door open without knocking, because this was his house and he had…welll…he had the rights.

And then.

He saw you.

Half-naked.

In your bra and underwear, bent slightly over the sink, drying your shirt with a hairdryer.

His brain short-circuited like someone had poured water directly into his skull.

His gaze dropped—just for half a second, a reflex—and immediately locked on your bare legs, and oh god, he hated himself. He spun around so fast he almost slammed into the door.

“OH MY GOD—SORRY!” Jake yelped, one hand covering his eyes like he’d been hit with a solar flare. “You—why—WHAT—why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You blinked at him in the mirror and chuckled, totally unfazed. “Oh shit. I forgot to lock it.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? You walked in,” you pointed out.

“You left it unlocked!”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“I shouldn’t have to knock in my own apartment! What are you doing half-naked drying your shirt in here?!”

“I spilled soda on myself.” You replied, nonchalant.

“I’M THE VICTIM HERE,” Jake yelled dramatically, still not turning around. “I just wanted to pee and now I’ve seen your underwear! I’ll never recover from this!”

You laughed again, breathless. “Relax. It’s just a body. You’ve seen legs before.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Jake slowly turned his head just enough to peek at the wall. “Are you, um...decent now?”

“Yeah,” you said, tugging your damp shirt back over your head. “Crisis averted. You can resume your regularly scheduled hate.”

Jake turned around cautiously. You were grinning, cheeks slightly pink, shirt clinging a little, hair a mess—and somehow, it was worse. Way worse. Because even like this, maybe especially like this, you looked unfairly adorable.

He stared at you for one second too long.

“Jake,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “are you...blushing?”

“No,” he snapped immediately, brushing past you with all the grace of a man running from his feelings. “Now get out, I need to pee.”

As he shut the door behind him, you called out, “You’re welcome for the free show, by the way.”

Jake groaned.

Out loud.

Into the void.

He was never going to recover.

—-

It all started with what Jake would later refer to—dramatically and with full PTSD—as The Saturday Incident.

He had spent the entire day in bed, pretending to do work, but actually doing what could best be described as “vague laptop clicking” and “aggressively avoiding you.”

You were out in the living room, probably plotting new ways to rearrange the furniture or alphabetize the spices by vibe again. He wasn’t going to risk interaction. Not when his heart had started doing these strange, erratic flips every time you were near. It was disorienting, this fluttering sensation that kept taking him by surprise. Honestly, he didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t appreciate whatever the hell was happening in his chest, because he'd never felt like this before. 

The thought crossed his mind—maybe he should go see a doctor for a cardiogram. Heeseung had laughed in his face when he mentioned it, as if the idea of it being a medical issue was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jake didn’t get what was so funny, though. All he knew was that every time you entered the room, his heart seemed to forget how to behave, and he wasn’t sure that was something anyone could just laugh off.

So he stayed hidden.

Until there was a knock.

“Jake?” Your voice came through the door—soft, almost... sweet?

He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Jake?” you called again, this time with a tone that made his brain short-circuit just a little. He sighed like a man being forced into labor and got up, preparing for whatever minor chaos you were about to deliver.

He opened the door.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

There you stood. In a dress—a glittery, stupidly pretty dress he had never seen before. The tag was still dangling from it, and for some reason, that made it worse. Like you were a gift waiting to be unwrapped and oh no what the hell, brain, stop right there.

His mouth went dry.

His knees? Unreliable.

You were—unfortunately—gorgeous.

“Can you help me?” you asked, turning around.

And that’s when he saw it. Your bare back.

Jake died a little. Right there in the doorway. He whispered, barely audible: “F-fuck.”

“Huh?” you looked over your shoulder.

“I said—sure! Sure, totally, yep,” he said, voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy seeing shoulders for the first time.

He reached for the zipper like it was made of lava. His fingers brushed your skin and he physically flinched. 

“You busy with work?” you asked casually, like this wasn’t slowly killing him.

“Yeah. Working. Doing... business things. Graphs.” Nailed it. “Are you, uh, going out?” He zipped faster, praying for this moment to end and also never end, confusingly.

“Nope.” You turned back around, smiling. “I just got this dress and wanted to see if it fit.”

Jake stared at you like he was watching the heavens open. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Besides, I was bored.” You laughed, brushing past him like this was your room, and plopped yourself onto his bed like it was no big deal.

Jake blinked. “You can’t just—don’t just walk into my room!”

“What? You hiding something?”

“Yes!” he said, voice a little too high. “I mean—maybe. You don’t know my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess. Secret stash of R-rated movies?”

“What?! No!”

“Love letters? Hidden shrine of an ex?”

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—you have love letters?”

“I don’t have any! Why are you like this?!”

You grinned. “Hard to believe. You’re, like, suspiciously single.”

Jake scoffed. “Suspiciously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute in a grumpy, emotionally constipated way.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“I mean, when you’re not yelling about laundry socks and acting like you’ve never heard of coasters.”

Jake’s face flushed. His lips twitched. A smile was fighting its way out, and he hated that you were winning. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re hell personified.”

“And you,” you said, leaning back onto his bed, “are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Jake,” you said, eyes twinkling, “your ears are red.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but—hold on. Why are you in my room anyway? All dressed up, all dolled up, all pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“You just listed three compliments,” you pointed out, your voice teasing.

“They weren’t compliments.”

“They sure seem like it.”

He stared at you—your ridiculous sparkle dress, your smug little smirk, the fact that you looked entirely too comfortable lying on his bed like you belonged there—and felt his heart do a full-body sigh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He was in trouble.

Because he didn’t hate you at all.

—-

Jake had one goal tonight: get snacks, avoid feelings, don’t die.

He’d nearly made it to the kitchen—eyes forward, brain reciting his grocery list like a prayer—when he heard your voice.

“Jake?”

He froze like someone had hit pause on his life.

There you were, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, looking... cozy. Cute. Normal. Like you weren’t the cause of 99% of his internal screaming today.

“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, already bracing for disaster.

“Come watch this with me.”

Jake turned halfway, one hand still on the fridge. “What? No. Why would I wanna–”

You pouted. And he hated—hated—how fast his resolve crumbled at the sight of it.

“C’mon. Please? I’m lonely,” you said. “Jungwon’s not back for another hour.”

Jake audibly swallowed, “F–fine.”

Still, he sighed and walked over like a man approaching a guillotine.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, as far from you as possible. Like you might spontaneously explode and take him with you.

You blinked at him. “Why the fuck are you sitting miles away from me? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Jake’s ears went red so fast it was almost impressive. “I’m—just giving you space.”

You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “What, do I have cooties now?”

“No!” he blurted, then immediately regretted sounding like a panicked fifth grader. “I just thought—I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I thought we were pass our enemy phase and in the ‘I-only-hate-you-when-it’s-convenient-phase.”

His heart stopped.

Jake stared at you.

“We are! I just–”

You shook your head and patted the seat next to you. “Come on. You're so dramatic. Sit like a normal person.”

Jake, against his better judgment and every self-preservation instinct, scooted closer. A little. Then a little more.

You tossed the blanket over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There. See? Not so scary.”

He sat stiffly under the blanket like it was radioactive, absolutely convinced he was going to die. His arm accidentally brushed yours and his brain lit up.

You leaned in slightly, focused on the screen.

Jake leaned back slightly, focused on not passing out.

And somewhere between the opening credits and the second kernel of popcorn you tossed at him “for flinching like a grandma,” Jake realized something horrifying.

He didn’t hate you.

At all.

And worse?

Instead, it was the absolute opposite. Maybe he liked you.

(Or had the biggest stinking fucking crush on you.)

Either way, these feelings were huge. And scary.

—-

Jake was fine.

Totally. Absolutely. 100% fine.

So what if he maybe thought about the way your shoulder brushed his during the movie? Or the fact that your laugh made his chest do weird twisty things? So what if you looked really cute in that dumb glittery dress and then even cuter in sweats and a bun with popcorn crumbs on your shirt?

He was fine.

No, he was lying. He was not.

Because Jake Sim didn’t do feelings.

Feelings were for wimps. For poets. For people with acoustic guitars and questionable Spotify Wrapped playlists. For people like Heeseung.

Not him.

Jake Sim was immune. Built different. Untouchable. Feelings? He left those at the door with his dignity and expired loyalty card points.

Which is why he was currently, aggressively, avoiding you like you were radioactive.

You walked into the kitchen? He walked out.

You tried to start a conversation? “I’m busy.” (He wasn’t.)

You reached for the chips? “Take it yourself.” (They were on the top shelf. You couldn’t reach. He still left.)

You asked if he wanted to hang out? “No thanks. Be alone. Bitch.” (He did not mean that. At all. And also whispered it when you were already out of earshot, afraid he’d hurt your feelings.)

He was strong. He was cold. He was emotionless steel wrapped in flannel.

Until—

“Jake?” you called from the hallway.

He glanced up from pretending to type on his laptop. “What?”

“Do you wanna go to the store with me? We’re all out of eggs.”

And like the absolute fraud he was, Jake—emotionless, avoidant, emotionally repressed Jake Sim—paused for 0.0000001 seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Let me grab my shoes.”

Traitor.

He followed you out like a puppy who just got asked if he wanted a treat.

As you walked side by side through the aisles, Jake pushed the shopping cart like he was starring in the most generic romcom montage of all time, trying not to let his arm bump yours again because every time it did, his brain felt like it had just short-circuited.

But it was fine.

Totally fine.

He was definitely not thinking about holding your hand in the snack aisle.

Definitely not wondering if you'd let him try one of your gummies, even though he could buy his own.

Definitely not wondering if this was what it would feel like to be yours.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Nope.

Totally normal. Totally platonic.

He was so screwed.

It all started in the canned goods aisle. And honestly? Jake should’ve known the canned goods aisle brought nothing but bad luck. It happened in third grade when he tripped over his shoelace and fell into a container of perfectly aligned canned soups. It happened when he was trying to grab some mushroom soup for Jungwon when he was sick and ended up dropping the can right on his pinky toe, fracturing it.

And it’s happening again now.

You were just standing there, trying to decide between tomato basil and cream of mushroom, looking entirely too cute for someone who was making soup decisions. Meanwhile, Jake, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching you, was already making a mental list of things he could buy—anything to distract himself from his growing awareness that his brain was short-circuiting.

“Hey,” the guy said. “This might sound crazy, but... are you single?”

Jake turned his head so slowly you’d think someone had insulted his ancestors.

He was standing a few feet away, comparing granola bar sugar contents like a responsible adult, and now he was staring at this random man like he’d just asked to marry you in front of a priest.

You didn’t even seem fazed. You turned your head slightly, giving the guy the most nonchalant look, probably silently wondering if this guy had any idea how little he cared about his question.

Jake could feel the nerve in his temple twitch. The air between you and the guy became suffocating. Jake's hands flexed, holding onto the cart like it might need a good shove.

The guy, oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing a few feet away, “Just thought that you’re really cute, and I figured I’d ask.”

You blinked. “Oh! That’s—um—”

“She’s not,” Jake snapped, suddenly right there, standing next to you like he’d teleported in through sheer fury. “She’s very not single. Taken. Off the market. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh... are you two—”

“Together?” Jake interrupted, smiling like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

You glanced at him, his eyes glinting with that smirk of his. And then it hit you—he was playing this way too well. A little too well. You turned back to the guy, giving a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my God,” you said, suddenly faking an epiphany. “Babe, I didn’t even realize he was flirting. I was too busy thinking about how your hair looks so good today.”

Jake twitched.

You leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his hand like you were in some overly dramatic rom-com. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention when people are flirting with me. Would that be okay with you, my Jakey-wakey? My Jakey-kins? My love machine?”

Jake nearly choked on his own spit. “Okay. That’s enough.”

But you were on a roll. You turned to the stranger, practically glowing. “Isn’t he so cute when he’s protective? Ugh, he gets so territorial over me. It’s like his thing. Next thing I know, he’ll start growling and peeing in the aisles to mark me like his territory.”

Jake made a strangled sound, clearly regretting everything. “Please stop.”

You ignored him, fully leaning into the bit. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to pick out a leash for me next, y’know? Just to make sure everyone knows I’m his property.”

Jake made a strangled sound. “Please stop.”

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Should we kiss?” You smiled, putting your arms around his shoulder.

And then, in what could only be described as a full-blown panic move, Jake spun around and ran.

Like, actually ran.

Through the snack aisle, dodging bags of chips and disgruntled shoppers, past the sample table, and out the store doors. It was as if he'd spotted an actual threat. You stared after him, holding his dignity in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

The stranger who had been casually eyeing you looked even more confused now, as if he’d witnessed a scene from a badly written TV sitcom.

You shrugged, trying to cover for the man who was now two aisles away, “My boyfriend can be a little bit crazy,” you muttered, laughing awkwardly as you began walking toward the door. You dropped the soup can on his foot. “See you!”

And without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the store after him.

“JAKE SIM, I’LL KILL YOU!” you yelled across the parking lot.

You found him pacing next to his car like a madman who’d just come to terms with the fact that he’d let his emotions spiral in public. His hands were in his hair, tugging like he was trying to physically yank his frustration out of his brain.

You marched up to him, heat rising in your chest, and the nerve to confront him. “Hey! You made me look like an idiot!”

Jake turned to face you, eyes wide, clearly surprised that you were actually following him. “You made yourself look like that!” he snapped, a slight edge in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to if you stopped acting like my boyfriend around any man who approaches me!” You felt your hands on your hips, standing your ground like you were the queen of this absurd conversation.

Jake’s face froze, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You want freaks like him to approach you?”

“No?” you shot back. “But I’m perfectly capable of turning them down on my own.”

“I was just—” he began, floundering for a reason that was not his own mess.

“Was just what? Why do you keep doing this? Acting all weirdly jealous and protective!” you interrupted, genuinely curious now.

Jake exhaled, turning slowly, like the weight of this conversation was about to implode on him. His voice softened, his eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by your determination. “Because…” he started, his voice lower than usual, the words stumbling out like he was wrestling with a secret.

“Because what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there—hands clenched, jaw tight, breath sharp.

Then suddenly—he dropped his arms like they weighed a ton. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a single, desperate step before spinning back around to face you.

“BECAUSE!” Jake shouted, his voice louder than he intended. Your eyes snapped open wide, caught completely off guard.

Jake kept going—words spilling, frantic. “Because I don’t know what this is—whatever the hell you’ve done to me—but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe when you look at me like that and I haven’t felt like this ever and it’s—it’s messing me up.”

His hands went to his temples. “Like fuck…I think I might need therapy. Like, actual therapy. Because of you.”

The air between you cracked—silence stretching heavy and tight.

You stared at him, voice soft now. “I– did I do something wrong?”

Jake dropped his hands, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His face twisted, like he hated even having feelings, like letting them out was burning him from the inside.

Then—quieter. Broken.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, no. Quite the opposite.”

You stood frozen. “What?”

He stepped closer, eyes wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, okay?” Jake snapped. His voice cracked, raw and strained like it had been clawing at his throat for days.

“You walk into a room and suddenly I can’t think straight. I forget how to function. I forget what I’m doing. It’s like my entire brain short-circuits just because you looked in my direction.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

“You drive me crazy. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, and you talk like the world’s ending if you don’t say it all right now, and you never let anything go—ever—and it’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting!”

He turned, pointing at you like you were the cause of every malfunction in his soul.

“I shouldn’t care if you’re cold. I shouldn’t want to punch every guy who looks at you for longer than five seconds. I shouldn’t feel like I’m being electrocuted every time you accidentally touch me. That’s not normal. That’s not me. I’m Jake fucking Sim for crying out loud!”

He paused, chest rising and falling, eyes burning into yours.

“I don’t even like people! I liked hating you! I was good at hating you! And now I can’t sleep and I can’t think and all I do is wonder what you’re doing and if you’re thinking about me too and I—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

Then softer, hoarse:

“I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

You stood there. Blinking. Heart somewhere near your ankles.

Jake had just... exploded. Confessed? Kinda? In the most Jake way possible—by yelling about how much he hated that he didn’t hate you.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, like someone trying to defuse a bomb with zero training. “So, like... just to clarify… you’re not mad at me. You’re mad because you like me?”

Jake stared at you like he couldn’t believe that was your takeaway. Like you’d just handed him a banana when he asked for a pen.

“I just—like, not to make this about me,” you continued, hands half-lifted like you were talking to a wild raccoon, “but that was a lot of yelling and you kinda sounded like you were about to fight me and propose in the same breath.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip. “So... um. Do you wanna kiss me or punch drywall? I just need to know what stage of emotional collapse we’re currently at.”

A beat.

“Like... if I lean in, am I getting kissed or concussed?”

He looked like he was seriously considering both.

You tried to smile. “I mean… thanks? For the mental breakdown, I think?”

He just blinked—still breathing like he’d sprinted through a breakup, a confession, and a public meltdown all in one afternoon.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether to kiss you, cry, or walk into traffic.

Then, softer, you glanced up at him. Still unsure. Still trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was definitely trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Like… I mean, I totally get why this would frustrate you,” you said, nodding seriously, like you were a therapist delivering a diagnosis. “Totally understandable. If I was going through what you were going through, maybe I’d be a little insane too. With, you know, healthier coping mechanisms, sure.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re talking too much. Do you like me or not?”

You blinked. “Wow. Okay. No trigger warning?”

“I’m at my limit.” Jake sighed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s… kind of obvious. You’re, like, one sentence away from combusting.”

Jake pointed at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I—God, this is so embarrassing. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” you muttered, looking away.

“You’re saying a whole lot of nothing,” he snapped.

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfectly rehearsed monologue ready! Some of us don’t process our feelings through public tantrums!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “I yelled because I was panicking!”

“Well maybe don’t yell at someone who likes you, Jake!”

“You didn’t even say you liked me!”

“I was getting there!”

“You were stalling!”

“I was awkward!” you shrieked, pointing right back at him. 

Jake threw his hands in the air. “Why are you the one acting like you just confessed your undying love through a full-blown breakdown?!”

A beat.

Silence.

Your faces? Bright red. Breathing like you just finished a cage match.

Then you exploded.

“FINE. YES. I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU PSYCHO!”

Jake froze. “You what now?”

You looked away, furious with yourself. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it. Take the win and choke on it.”

“That was the worst love confession I’ve ever received.”

You glared at him. “It wasn’t supposed to be one!”

“Well, it was horrible.”

“Yeah? Yours wasn’t exactly sonnet material either.”

You stared at each other. Still angry. Still flushed. Still… weirdly too close.

And somehow, despite all the yelling, all the sniping—

There was that thing in the air again. That pull.

Jake blinked. “...So are we dating now or what?”

You groaned. “Not like this, the fuck”

—-

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Not literal silence—the kettle was whistling like it was being paid to, and someone’s phone was playing a YouTube video just loud enough to be irritating. But the emotional silence? The thick, suffocating, “we confessed our feelings and now we don’t know how to human anymore” kind of silence? Yeah, the two of you were losing it.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms folded, staring at the toaster like it had personally wronged you. Jake was sitting on the couch, holding a mug he wasn’t even drinking from, eyes glued to the television pretending to be absorbed.

Neither of you spoke.

The toaster clicked. You jumped like you’d been shot.

The two of you glanced at each other. You blinked at him. He blinked back. 

Then immediately looked away, sipping his mug. The wrong end of the mug.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re drinking from the side with the tag still in it.”

“I like the taste of paper sometimes,” he said without looking at you.

You tried. “So... uh, did you sleep okay?”

Jake nodded way too fast. “Yeah. Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

You stared at each other for another five seconds.

Then, at the exact same time:

“So, what are you—” “Do you want—”

Silence again.

You turned back to the counter, flustered. “This is so weird.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “You think?”

You glanced at him. “Well, I’m not used to openly... liking you or being I guess civil.”

“You’ve done a great job hiding it,” he muttered.

You smirked, falling back on habit. “Well, I am cuter when I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“I think it’s scarier when you’re emotionally available.”

You turned, arms folded. “So what, you prefer when I threaten you with kitchen utensils?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. “At least I knew where I stood.”

And that? That shut you up real quick.

Because you both knew—you’d just entered new, terrifying, heart-melty territory.

And neither of you had a clue what the hell to do next.

—-

There was a sock on the floor.

A sock. On the floor.

His sock.

White. Crumpled. Mocking you from the hallway.

Something inside you snapped.

“SIM JAEYUN!” you shrieked, the kind of full-volume yell that summoned the fury of every past version of you who’d ever tripped over that man’s laundry.

Jake’s door opened slowly, like even it was afraid of you. He peeked out. Hair messy. Shirt hanging loose. Clueless. Hot. You hated him.

“...Yeah?”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCKS—”

“I—”

“You what? This isn’t the first fucking time–”

“Ah, fuck it.”

You didn’t get to finish.

Jake stepped out. Two fast, easy strides.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

His hand found the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently yet desperately, as if he’d been aching for this moment, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. Without hesitation, his lips met yours—no gentleness, no grace—just raw, impulsive need.

The hallway blurred.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound whole. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed your body to make sense of the chaos in his head. The kiss was hot and heavy, all teeth and tongue and emotion that neither of you had known what to do with until now.

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him even closer, as if you were trying to tear the tension from his chest and claim it for yourself. Jake’s groan vibrated against your lips—low, desperate, and filled with something completely unrestrained. His hands dug into your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And then, with a sudden shift, he moved—forward, desperate, no longer willing to hold back.

In one swift, breathless motion, Jake pressed you against the wall, his body caging you in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His hand gently cradled your jaw while the other slid down to catch your wrist, his fingers locking with yours as if the touch was a lifeline, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

You gasped, the back of your head colliding softly with the wall, and Jake swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you whole. The kiss turned hotter, more frantic—lips pulling, chasing, moving with an intensity that had been building for weeks and was now unleashed all at once.

Then, you squeezed his hand. Hard. Your body trembled with the force of it, like you needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself. And Jake felt it—felt the desperation in your touch. Without hesitation, he squeezed back, his thumb brushing over yours as he refused to let go.

For half a second, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, and neither of you willing to pull away.

You blinked up at him, your mind still spinning from the kiss, disoriented.

“…I’ll pick it up,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended. “The socks.”

You bent down, still avoiding his gaze, grabbing the sock off the floor. “Just... just put it nicely next time.”

You turned and walked back into your room, your legs unsteady as if they could no longer hold you together.

Jake stood in the hallway, frozen, his heart racing, his mind completely blank. He gripped the wall beside him like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But it did. And now, he had no idea what to do with it.

—-

Jake hadn’t screamed your name like that since the glitter explosion 2 months back.

“WHERE’S MY RED FOLDER?!” he bellowed.

Before you could even think of a way out of this—or how to hide under the floorboards—Jake barged into your room. Hair still wet from the shower. His shirt hanging half-buttoned, like he’d walked straight out of a webtoon. Fuck, he was sexy. Not the time though because you were sure you were about to get beaten up.

He slammed the door open so hard that it bounced back off the wall with a sickening thud.

You gave him a nervous smile, your best attempt at pretending you weren’t about to die. “Don’t be mad…”

Jake’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What did you do?”

“I… might’ve thought it was old,” you said, wincing at the honesty in your voice. “So I kinda... threw it away?”

Jake’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You what?!”

“I—” You stammered, hands raised defensively. “I swear it looked all crumply, all old and–and–and ruined!”

Jake stepped forward, eyes burning with anger. You could feel the heat of his fury radiating off of him—jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, like he was about to explode. You knew this look. It was like he was one wrong move away from detonating.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, you did the only thing you could think of.

You threw yourself at him.

Your hands grabbed his shirt, and before he could even get a word out, you yanked him down, your lips slamming into his with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. It was hard, urgent—so intense, so sudden, that it instantly shut him up.

Jake froze for a split second, like you’d short-circuited his brain, and then, just like that—he kissed you back. No hesitation. No holding back. You were already moving, pushing him backwards, your arms locked around his neck, drawing him closer, deeper. His lips tasted like desperation, like need, and it was all consuming.

You kissed him with everything you had, no holding back. No gentleness. Just the kind of hunger that had been building up between you two for far too long. Your lips moved together, fast, messy, and you felt him press into you, desperate to keep up. Every part of you wanted him—wanted him to feel the frustration, the desire, the rage that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks.

Jake groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. You kissed him harder, faster, pressing him back against the wall until he was pinned, his breath ragged as you both gasped for air.

His hands found your thighs and, without a word, you jumped. Legs wrapping around his waist, you felt him catch you effortlessly, your bodies moving as one.

Then, with a sharp turn, he slammed you against the nearest wall, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was relentless, like he was starving, like he needed to make you feel every part of him, every inch of his desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, possessive, and you responded in kind, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

Your mouths collided, chasing each other, moving too fast, too clumsily. 

Jake pulled back only when you both couldn’t breathe anymore. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, eyes wild and hungry.

He looked you over once, placed you back down on the floor, his expression unreadable, and then muttered, “...I’ll just rewrite it.”

And before you could process it, before you could say a word, he was gone. Leaving you breathless, in your own room, utterly wrecked—staring at the spot where he'd just completely destroyed every last bit of control you had.

—-

You were standing in the kitchen, Jake was at the sink, and the tension was so thick you could practically slice it with a knife.

“I don’t understand why you would move the dishes,” Jake snapped, gesturing like you’d committed an actual war crime. “I have a system.”

“You have no system,” you shot back, holding a spatula like a sword. “You just shove stuff in and pray the dishwasher works it out like divine intervention.”

“It does work it out!”

“Really? Because last week you melted a Tupperware lid onto a knife.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

You threw the dish towel down. “You’re such a control freak.”

Jake turned, dripping wet hands mid-air. “You alphabetized the seasoning rack. By aesthetic. I had to Google what "sage green" looked like.”

You huffed. “It’s about visual peace, Jake!”

He took a step closer. “You know what’s not peaceful? Living with a freak who organizes our spices!”

You stepped toward him, eyes locked, breathing hard. “Well you know what’s not sexy? Whining about spice jars!”

“Funny,” Jake growled, now chest to chest with you, “because I still want to kiss you right now.”

You both froze.

You were both holding something—him, a mug. You, a spatula. Neither of you blinked.

Then—at the exact same time—you both dropped them.

Clatter.

And lunged.

You collided in the middle of the kitchen, your mouths crashing together, the kiss so intense and fiery it felt like it could set the room on fire. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. You fisted your hands in his shirt, yanking him even closer, until there was nothing between you but shared breaths and weeks of pent-up frustration.

His kiss was desperate, furious, like he hated how much he wanted it, and yet couldn’t stop. Your lips moved together, teeth clashing, and you met his passion with equal intensity—biting his lip, tilting your head, the quiet sigh you let out making him groan into your mouth.

You were both angry, breathless, and so far gone you didn’t even care.

When you finally pulled apart, your noses brushing, your lips swollen and tingling, you both just stared at each other. Your hearts pounded.

Then, at the exact same time, you both asked, “...Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or what?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and then your neck, before pulling back with that signature smirk.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think we are.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him back down, and kissed him again.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jake groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you even closer.

“God, I’m so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting,” he muttered, his voice full of both frustration and affection.

And for once, you couldn’t agree more.

—---

It was your first official date.

Like—an actual, real, human-first-date. No yelling. No post-argument makeouts. Just food. Chairs. Maybe eye contact if you were feeling brave.

You’d been dating for three days.

Which, so far, had consisted of:

Yelling at each other.

Making out.

Rolling your eyes at each other.

Making out again. Repeat steps 1–4.

Three days of chaotic tension. Of brushing shoulders in the hallway and pretending it didn’t set your whole body on fire. Of accidentally calling him “babe” and then gaslighting him into thinking he misheard you. Of Jungwon asking the two of you to shut up and stop arguing in the middle of the night. You weren’t arguing. 

Three days of sharing the sink like civilized people, brushing your teeth side by side, totally normal, totally casual—totally not internally spiraling over the fact that your former arch-nemesis was now your boyfriend.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like this morning, when you walked into the kitchen to find him already making coffee. He handed you a mug—black, just the way you liked it—and pretended he didn’t notice the way your fingers brushed.

You stared at it.

“What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a monster.”

You took a sip. “So you’re being nice to me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t want to date someone who’s chronically dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my water intake while you eat chips for breakfast.”

“Those chips had lime on them,” he said. “That’s vitamin C.”

Still, later that day, he also handed you a granola bar before you left the house. No comment. Just tossed it at your head with alarming accuracy and walked away.

And that was your boyfriend.

You, of course, were no better.

Like last night, when you walked past his room and saw him still hunched over his desk, blue light glowing off his face, glasses crooked, typing like he was trying to physically punch a thesis into existence.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching the way his brows were furrowed in that hyper-focused, very-stupid, very-Jake way.

Then you glanced at the time. No dishes in the sink. Nothing in the trash.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

You scowled, muttered something about “men and their lack of survival instincts,” and turned straight into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, you dropped a steaming bowl of his favorite ramen next to his laptop without saying a word.

Jake blinked up at you. “Did you—?”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t pass out. It’ll be annoying to carry your unconscious body.”

Then you left.

Fast.

Too fast for him to say thank you. Too fast for him to see the way your lips twitched just slightly at the corners.

And then…

The next day, you were minding your business, scrolling on your phone, sprawled on the couch like the world owed you peace, when Jake casually walked in and dropped himself beside you—close, but not too close.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Dramatically.

You glanced at him. “Are you dying?”

“Not today,” he said. Then added, without looking at you, “Wanna hang out tonight?”

You blinked. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere with food. Lighting. Chairs. That’s usually what dates have, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you asking me out?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Depends. You gonna say yes?”

You stared at him for a long beat.

He stared at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Then, you smirked. “Only if you promise not to talk about tech stuff the whole time.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll limit myself to only mentioning API twice before dessert.”

You squinted. “You’re really bad at this whole romance thing, aren’t you?”

He grinned back, impossibly confident. “And yet, here you are. Saying yes anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips threatening to betray you with a smile. “Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions sometimes.”

Jake nudged your knee with his, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal. “You’re about to make another one. I’m picking you up at seven.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed. “We live together.”

Jake leaned back, completely unbothered. “So? I can’t be romantic?”

You didn’t argue.

God help you.

You were kind of excited.

—-

This was your first date.

And you were spiraling.

You had changed your outfit three times. Reapplied your lip balm five. Stood in front of the mirror giving yourself a pep talk like you were about to go on national television.

Jake was downstairs.

Wearing cologne and Jake never wore cologne.

When you finally met him outside, Jake blinked at you like you'd just materialized from a dream. His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, as if he could avoid the full force of your impact.

“You clean up okay,” you teased, trying not to smile too wide.

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to recover, but it came out wrong. “You look... pretty.” He froze, his face turning a shade of red that should’ve been illegal. Then he scrambled, “I mean, uh, shitty.”

“I heard you the first time, Jake,” you said, tapping his face lightly, almost affectionately. “So do you.”

—-

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing.”

“Stop that! It’s not my fault I ordered curly fries and you got regular fries.”

“And I regret it. Let me live.”

You were about to launch into a full rant about Food Boundaries when your foot brushed his under the table. Then his knee. Then his thigh.

Neither of you moved.

And then—like gravity just snapped—you were both leaning over the table. French fries abandoned. Eyes locked. Breaths syncing. Heat crawling up your neck.

Jake reached out, brushed a hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

You stared at his lips. He stared at yours.

Oh, you were so going to kiss in this grimy diner booth, and it was going to be beautiful and stupid and you didn’t even care.

And then—

“Well, well, well.”

You both froze.

Standing next to the table, milkshake in hand, eyes wide with the smuggest expression on Earth: Jungwon.

Jake sat up like someone just caught him cheating on a test.

You blinked. “Jungwon! Hi! What a surprise!”

Jungwon glanced between the two of you. The blushing. The weird knee situation. The shared fries. The vibes.

He sighed, long and dramatic.

Then took a sip of his milkshake and said—

“Fuck. Now I gotta move out.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Jake looked stunned. You stared after Jungwon in horror.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell everyone?” you whispered.

At that exact moment, both your phones buzzed in unison—a notification from Jungwon’s Instagram, tagging both you and Jake.

“That answers our question.” Jake replied.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And under the flickering diner lights, knees still touching under the table, Jake reached across and laced his fingers through yours.He glanced at your intertwined hands, then at your face.

“God. I think I actually really like you.” he muttered, like it physically pained him.

You didn’t even blink.

“I hope the fuck you do. I’m literally your girlfriend.”

Jake groaned, slumping back into the booth like you just personally ruined him.

“This is so humiliating.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. For you.”

[glasswarproject]

Recreating the Ice King Crown, from Adventure Time

[thewulf]

When the Laughter Stops || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in

Mornings at North Island always started the same way.

Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.

Jake Seresin knew it too.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.

You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.

“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”

His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”

You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.

“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.

 “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.

You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.

“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.

Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”

You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.

Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”

The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.

“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.

His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.

And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.

Until last night.

Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.

Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.

Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.

Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.

The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.

You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.

And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.

And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.

He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.

But then he really looked at you.

Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.

“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.

You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.

Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.

Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.

But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.

Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.

The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.

You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”

“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”

You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

Jake went still.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”

Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.

Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.

You blinked up at him. “Jake—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.

Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.

“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”

He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.

After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He made you laugh.

You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.

“��I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”

“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”

You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.

You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”

His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.

His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.

Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”

And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.

When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.

“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.

Jake.

You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.

Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.

He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.

At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”

You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.

Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”

You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”

His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”

The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.

Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”

You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”

Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”

You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Charming,” he corrected, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”

He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”

And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ryswritingrecord @lostinwonderland314 @xxrougefangxx @greantii @tallrock35 @hyunjinvoid @ahoeforfandomsblog

[nobitchs-world]

Me after explaining the multiverse of different people and characters where I have different ocs in my head to my sisters

[miange1]

could you do an older man and male reader who's nervous around him because he's got daddy issues?

definitely sex after :3

PUT ME IN A MOVIE — drabble

pairing: older character insert x younger male reader

tw: male reader, age gaps, daddy issues, "lana" mindset, daddy kink, slight feminization, reader is described to be smooth and soft, kinks stemming from trauma(kinks as in a daddy kink don't be weird), fantasies, constant teasing

note: wanted to off myself writing daddy. for the plot tho fr. reminder, i NEVER proofread.

older man, who had no clue why you acted this way around him. always so fidgety, never looking him in the eye, late responses, the stuttering. the stuttering really got on his nerves, give him a damn straight answer.

older man, who was much more perceptive over you as time passed. he would try to ask you what the matter was, but you'd brush it off and instantly change the subject or just plain out left. but he'd see it, he would notice it

older man, who'd see the way you'd look at him. notice the way your breathing seemed to stop or quicken once he got closer, see the way you'd get tense. he could see the way you'd flinch and shake, your face looking like you had a fever, the way you were huffing like you ran a mile.

older man, who'd realize almost too late. he figured it out, and used it to his own advantage. started bumping elbows on "accident" , tiny touches he knew would drive you crazy, making you look him in the eye when you spoke to him. yeah, he loved that part. you looked pathetic, looked like you needed him as a vessel to keep you alive. you looked at him like he healed something inside of you.

older man, who finally had you. or rather to you, you finally had him, but this wouldn't be the case if he hadn't made the first move. cornering you, asking you what the hell was wrong until you confessed. he loved it just as much as you did, and he didn't even think that would happen. you tagged along him all the time, hung onto him and couldn't take your eyes off of him,

older man, who took in every single sound you made like it would come loose from his grasp. taking in the way your body wiggled and arched from his touches and his teases. your skin glistening with sweat, he'd ask if you want a break but no– "daddy please.." you'd beg, trying to push him inside deeper

older man, who'd spoil you till your teeth rotted. getting all them clothes and things you wanted. as long as he could pick something out for you as well. he could dress you up like a pretty little baby doll, getting you all pretty and ready for him whenever he wanted. like you wanted.

older man, who'd only laugh and shake his head when you claimed the outfits were embarrassing. they weren't embarrassing, so stop covering yourself and that pretty body. he'd extended two fingers, telling you to come here so he could get a real good look at you. that skirt that covered nothing, giving him a real good look at that smooth cock that stood and leaked so pretty all for him, all because of him.

older man, who couldn't help himself. you wanted him, and now you had him. and then he had you, twitching and grinding all on him for more. "daddy.." oh, he'd get high off of it. "mhm, daddy's got you."

[melaninforkings]

a piece of me dies every time im reading a fic and taylor swift lyrics pop up😭 then i realize the description of the oc or “reader” are very white coded like OH! that’s not…

[flwrstqr]

⋆ . ˚ ⌇ ENHYPEN AND FAKE DATING YOU

﹙ 𝓹𝐥𝐨𝐭 ♡𝓹𝐫é𝐜𝐢𝐬 ⋆ when they fake date you 𝒘𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 . . . 𝔀arning , kissing, petnames, skinship┊GENRE ‎⸝⸝⸝ imagines fluff head canons ◞ 𝓐𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ──

DANi NOTEZ ୨୧ loosing fic idea ㅠㅠ

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung’s hand slipped around your waist as you both smiled for the cameras, the flashes nearly blinding. “you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” you whispered, trying to ignore how his touch felt a little too natural. “we have to sell it, don’t we?” heeseung grinned, leaning closer until his breath tickled your ear. “besides, you’re a pretty good fake girlfriend.” your heart skipped at the way his voice dropped, almost teasing. “fake, huh?” you shot back, glancing up at him. he raised an eyebrow, his grip tightening slightly. “unless you want to make it real.” you blinked, trying to read his expression, but the smirk playing on his lips. “you’re such a flirt,” you muttered, though your pulse quickened as he chuckled softly. “only for you.”

rest of the members below !!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay's arm wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you closer, leaning in just enough to make it look convincing. “you don’t have to hold me so tight,” you whispered, glancing up at him with a playful smirk. “i’m just making sure they believe it,” he said, his voice low, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. “and maybe i don’t mind,” he added, teasing. your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to act unfazed. “you’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?” he chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against your arm. “well, can you blame me? fake dating you isn’t so bad.” rolling your eyes, you nudged him lightly. “just stick to the plan, romeo.” but as his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, you wondered if pretending was starting to feel a bit too real.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake’s fingers laced with yours, his grip firm but warm as he leaned in close. “you’re really committed to this, huh?” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up. he smirked, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “well, i have to make it believable, don’t i?” he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “besides, it’s not that hard pretending to be with you.” you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “you’re enjoying this way too much.” he laughed softly, leaning closer until his lips were inches from your ear. “maybe i am. what if i wasn’t pretending?” your breath hitched, and you shot him a side glance. “don’t get any ideas, sim.” his smile widened, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “too late for that, angel.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

sunghoon’s hand rested lightly on your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “ready?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. you nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. it was supposed to be just a kiss, just for show, but as his lips met yours, something inside you shifted. the kiss lingered longer than expected. for a moment, you forgot it was all pretend. when he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes still closed, he whispered, “we really sold that, huh?” you forced a smile, as you wished for it to be real. “yeah… just acting.” but deep down, you knew you were fooling yourself more than anyone else.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 (김선우)

“can you stop staring at me like that?” you laugh, trying to keep a straight face as sunoo leans in a little too close. “we’re supposed to be convincing people we’re actually dating.” he gives you a playful grin, eyes sparkling. “what if i am staring at you? wouldn't be so bad, right?” you feel your cheeks heat up, quickly looking away. “no one can know this is fake. i can’t have my friends thinking i'm into you.” he pretends to look hurt. “why wouldn’t you be? i mean, come on, look at me!” rolling your eyes, you nudge him. “just hold my hand and act normal.” he takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours effortlessly

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 (양정원)

“you know, you don’t have to stand so close,” you mumble as jungwon steps closer, his arm casually draped around your waist. “what? we’re supposed to look like a couple, right?” he smirks, pulling you in tighter. you can feel your heart race, his hand resting just a little lower than you'd expect. “yeah, but not that close,” you whisper, glancing up at him. he leans down, his face only inches from yours. “relax, you’re acting like you’ve never been this close to me before,” he teases, his breath warm against your cheek. “i haven’t,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. he chuckles, his fingers brushing lightly against your side. “well, you’re doing great for a first-timer. maybe we should practice more often.” your face flushes, and you playfully shove him. “you wish.” he winks, pulling you back in. “just admit it—you’re getting used to this.”

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 (西村力)

“come on, you’re not even trying,” riki teases, slinging his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “we're supposed to look like we’re dating, remember?” you roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth of his body pressed against yours. “i am trying! you’re the one being extra,” you mutter, feeling your heart speed up when his hand starts tracing light circles on your arm. “extra? i’m just being convincing,” he smirks, leaning down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “unless you’re nervous being this close to me.” you scoff, but your flushed face betrays you. “nervous? please.” he laughs, his voice low as his hand moves to your waist. “admit it, you’re liking this a little too much.” you nudge him, trying to hide your embarrassment. “keep dreaming.” with a grin, he tugs you even closer. “maybe i will.”

[ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl]

i’d love to be right there in the middle 😊.

[luvyeni]

🪴… ( text reaction ) dating rumors ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you get caught in a dating scandal  ヾ

boyfriend!엔하이픈・ 8thmember!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・fluff ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎none wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. i was thinking maybe enhypen 8th member when you guys are caught in a dating scandal together?!

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 there was like three different ways i could’ve written this but I chose this way cause i haven’t text reactions in a while ..

[all-my-love-for-harry]

  ☾— Almost Eden

series masterlist

pairings; jake seresin x childhood friend!reader

summary; Childhood friends—close enough to matter, but just far enough apart for him to never really see her. She was the younger girl who tagged along, sweet and wide-eyed. He was the boy she quietly adored, despite everything.

Years later, Jake is forced to return to his hometown. She’s grown, and so have her problems: a mother who won’t let her go, and a fortune she can’t touch unless she’s married. So he offers.

To her, it’s a lifeline. To him, it’s just a favor—at first. But somewhere between pretending and protecting, between shared memories and unfamiliar feelings, everything shifts.

warnings; age gap!! around five years. shitty mothers. fake relationship/marriage. english is not my first language. no use of y/n, reader goes by bambi mostly.

ask me anything | series tag | total word count so far; 6.5k

part one

part two

part three

part four (coming soon)

part five (coming soon)

part six (coming soon)

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Endgame

bob floyd x fem!reader

You noticed him right away.

It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon, just you and the soft hum of the AC, until the bell above the bookstore door chimed. You looked up from restocking the poetry shelf behind the counter and spotted him stepping inside—tall, broad-shouldered, golden hair a little tousled from the breeze outside.

But it was his glasses that caught your eye first.

Rounded wire frames, a little fogged from the humidity, which he gently wiped on the hem of his shirt before pushing them back up his nose. He didn’t look like the usual customer. Something about the neatness of him, the calm. Like he was always five seconds ahead of whatever was happening.

“Hi,” you offered with a smile. “Looking for anything in particular?”

He glanced up, eyes warm and a little shy behind the lenses. “Uh… not sure yet. Just browsing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” you said. “Fiction’s on the right. Non-fiction’s on the left. And the hidden gems are back there,” you added, gesturing to the narrow room behind the register. “Used books. Chaos. Treasure.”

That got a small smile out of him—barely there, but enough to make you pause.

He wandered for a while. Quiet, thoughtful. Hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers brushing against spines like he was familiar with the texture of every title. You got distracted with a few customers, and by the time you looked back up, he was standing in front of the register again.

“Find something good?” you asked.

He held up a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five.

You grinned. “Classic. Solid choice.”

“Never read it,” he said, shifting his weight a little. “Felt like I should.”

“Well, you picked a good copy. That one’s survived three owners and one coffee spill.”

He let out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling. “Perfect.”

You rang him up, slid the book into a paper bag, and handed it over. “Thanks for stopping in.”

He nodded. “Thanks… uh—” He glanced at your name tag. “Y/N.”

And then he left.

That was it. First day.

But then he came back.

Once, then twice, then regularly. Always soft-spoken. Always polite. You learned his name on his third visit—Bob Floyd.

“You military?” you asked one afternoon when he came in with a badge clipped to his waistband.

“Yeah,” he said. “Navy.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a WSO,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I fly in the backseat of jets. Kind of boring.”

You blinked. “You fly in a jet and you think I have the exciting job?”

He smiled—wide this time. A real one.

After that, the rhythm started. Every few days, he’d stop by. Sometimes he brought coffee. Once, when the place was slammed and you looked visibly overwhelmed, he walked in with a sandwich from the deli next door and just handed it to you without a word.

You looked at him, stunned. “Did you—?”

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said. “The guy behind the counter said turkey’s your favorite.”

You stared. “You asked?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Seemed important.”

Eventually, he started lingering longer. Sometimes he’d sit in the chair near the window and read while you worked. You got used to him being there. Looked forward to it, even.

And then, one day, with the rain tapping the windows and a stack of books half-sorted in your lap, you looked over and said, “I’ve never been on a base. You guys have tours?”

He looked up from his book. “I could… probably show you around. If you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a good recommendation record,” he said, holding up the book you’d handed him last week. “Figured I owe you.”

And just like that, something shifted.

———

You weren’t sure what you expected from a military base, but it wasn’t this much sun. The light bounced off the concrete as you stepped out of Bob’s truck, shielding your eyes and squinting up at the massive hangar doors ahead.

“Big, huh?” Bob asked, stepping around to your side with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t in uniform today — just a navy tee, jeans, and his glasses perched comfortably on his nose — but he still somehow looked more official here. Like this place belonged to him.

“Very big,” you echoed, still staring. “How do you not get lost?”

“Trial and error.” He smiled. “C’mon. I told Phoenix we’d stop by.”

He held the door open for you, and the second you stepped into the hangar, it was like walking into a different world — hot, alive, and buzzing. Jets lined up like sleeping giants, tools clanking in the distance, voices echoing off the walls. A few heads turned when you entered, but no one said anything right away. Just curious glances — flickers of recognition.

Bob didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t flinch.

You stayed close to his side, your eyes darting everywhere, soaking in the unfamiliar world with quiet awe.

“This is where I work,” he said simply. “Over here is the simulator room, but you’re not missing much. It’s just a dark box that makes you nauseous.”

“Sounds… thrilling.”

“You’d love it,” he said with a chuckle. “I threw up my first day.”

You laughed softly, and Bob glanced at you — and maybe it was just the hangar light, or the sound of your voice, but something in his face softened.

From across the floor, someone whistled. “Baby on board!”

Bob exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted everything.

You blinked. “Was that—?”

“That’s Hangman,” Bob muttered, under his breath. “Don’t… don’t ask.”

Jake Seresin was making his way over with that smug, golden-boy energy radiating off him like a second sun. But before he could get to you, Phoenix intercepted, striding up like she’d been waiting all morning.

“About time,” she called. “I’ve had three people ask if they’re allowed to stare.”

“Please tell me you said no,” Bob said.

“I said wait five minutes and act casual.” Phoenix grinned at you, warm and surprisingly relaxed. “You must be the bookstore girl.”

You nodded, shaking her hand. “That’s me.”

“C’mon,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Bob’s going to get mobbed in about sixty seconds, and I’m not babysitting. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You looked at Bob, a little hesitant, but he smiled.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, nudging his head toward a small crowd of pilots heading his way. “Don’t let Phoenix talk you into anything illegal.”

Phoenix snorted. “I only did that once.”

As she led you deeper into the hangar, you glanced back just once. Bob was already in conversation, but his eyes flicked to you briefly. Just a second — but long enough to say still here. I see you.

And somewhere near the back of the hangar, Hangman leaned in to Bob’s side.

“So,” Jake said, voice low and too casual. “Baby on board. That your girl?”

Bob didn’t look at him. Just stared at the hangar doors where you’d disappeared with Phoenix. His mouth tugged into a small, shy smile.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m manifesting it.”

Phoenix didn’t need to say she was giving you the VIP tour—you could feel it in the way she walked. Confident, steady, a little protective. You’d barely stepped onto the hangar floor before she’d whisked you off, casually tossing a “You’ll be fine, you’re with me,” over her shoulder like that was supposed to ease your nerves.

Spoiler: it kind of did.

You jogged a couple steps to catch up with her as she led you toward the fighter jets gleaming under the bright lights. She was already pointing out a few things—flight groups, gear lockers, a very expensive-looking toolbox someone definitely wasn’t using correctly.

“Okay, full disclosure,” she said, glancing at you with a little smirk. “I don’t usually do tours. But Bob asked if someone could show you around, and I figured—I fly with the guy every day. Might as well do him justice.”

You smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, it’s a great thing. You’re in the hands of the best pilot-WSO duo on base. He’s got my six every time we’re in the air.”

You followed her gaze to one of the jets. It was sleek and deadly, all power and precision. Your eyes widened a little.

“This is ours,” she said, hand resting lightly on the frame. “Well—ours in the sense that the Navy owns it, and we abuse the hell out of it on a daily basis. But she’s good to us. And Bob—he makes her better.”

You raised a brow. “How so?”

“He’s got the kind of instincts you can’t teach. Reads the radar like it’s a second language. Calls out threats before I even see them.” She shrugged. “We’ve flown through some crazy stuff together. Not once have I ever questioned if he’s got me.”

There was something honest in her voice—real trust, real admiration.

You looked back at the plane, trying to picture it: Bob, in a helmet, locked in, calm under pressure. You’d never seen that version of him. The Bob you knew wore soft flannels and brought you sandwiches on your busiest days. The Bob who always asked how your shift was and remembered which books made you cry.

Phoenix crossed her arms, glanced sideways at you. “And outside the cockpit? He’s the most grounded person I know. Loyal to a fault. Always thinks things through. And he’s the kind of guy who’d rather sit through a three-hour rom-com than make someone feel alone.”

That made you laugh.

“Let me guess—he’s done that for you?”

She grinned. “He once sat through The Notebook on a deployment. I cried harder than I care to admit, and the whole time, he just kept passing me tissues like it was nothing.”

You smiled down at your shoes, cheeks warm.

Phoenix nudged your shoulder gently. “Just saying—guys like that don’t come around often. And when they do? You hold onto them. Even if it starts with just… spending time.”

You looked back at the plane, then toward the far end of the hangar where you could just barely make out Bob’s figure, deep in conversation with someone.

“I didn’t think someone like him would even notice someone like me.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Then clearly, you don’t know how often he talks about you.”

You blinked. “He talks about me?”

“Mmhm. Said you’ve got a laugh that could shake the dust off his worst days. And that no one’s ever looked at him like he mattered until you did.”

Your breath caught a little, heart tugging.

Phoenix gave you a warm, knowing smile. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your not-quite-boyfriend before Jake tries to convince him to go skydiving again.”

The second Bob spotted you across the hangar, something in his shoulders eased.

You were walking alongside Phoenix, chatting easily, your arms swaying at your sides. From where he stood—half-listening to Coyote explain something about flight telemetry—it was like time clicked into place. Like the sun came out just a little brighter.

You caught his gaze before he could look away, and your face lit up in that quiet, devastating way that always made his heart race a little faster. You gave him a little wave.

“Hey, there you are,” you called as you reached him, Phoenix peeling off with a smug smile and muttering something about giving you two a minute.

Bob cleared his throat, trying not to grin too hard. “Hey. You, uh—have fun?”

“I did,” you said, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “Phoenix gave me the rundown. Told me you’re basically her better half in the sky.”

His ears went a little pink. “She said that?”

“She also said you cried during The Notebook, but we can unpack that later.”

His smile cracked wide open. “She told you that?”

“Oh yeah,” you teased. “Said you passed her tissues and everything. Real stand-up guy behavior.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glasses slipping just a little. “Well… she was crying pretty hard.”

You tilted your head at him. “You’re kind of the whole package, huh?”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly like he was going to say something, but all that came out was a soft, surprised laugh. “I—I try.”

“Trying’s working for you,” you said, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Everyone here kind of thinks we’re a thing, you know.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

You raised a brow, heart suddenly fluttering. “Does that bother you?”

Bob stepped a little closer, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach twist in that delicious, dangerous way.

“Not if it’s true.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could say anything, Hangman’s voice cut through the moment: “Hey, Baby on Board! You bringing your girl to poker tonight, or are you too chicken to lose in front of her?”

“Tell him I’ll clean him out,” you said over your shoulder to Hangman, but your eyes never left Bob’s.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

Neither of you said anything after that—not right away. But he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said everything.

And when his hand brushed yours as you both started toward the others… you didn’t pull away.

———

The pool table had been pushed aside, replaced with a worn wooden table and a scattered deck of cards. Around it sat Hangman, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Bob — and you, somehow coaxed into joining despite claiming you hadn’t played poker since college.

Real cash was spread across the table in uneven little piles. Singles, fives, tens. Phoenix had set a buy-in cap — twenty bucks max — to keep things friendly. Still, competitive fire burned hot, especially in Jake Seresin’s eyes.

“You sure you wanna sit in?” Hangman grinned, tossing in his first five. “I play for blood.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally ten-dollar max bets.”

“Blood,” he repeated, grinning wide.

Bob sat beside you, shoulders slightly turned your way, quiet and observant. He hadn’t bought in tonight. “She’s playing for me,” he told the table earlier, soft and proud.

The first few hands? You folded quick. A couple clumsy raises. Easy bluffs. Hangman leaned back, smug, convinced you were just learning.

Then came a quiet hand.

Three players in.

The pot slowly growing.

And you cleaned them out.

“Full house,” you said, flipping your cards like it was no big deal.

Hangman blinked at his pair of aces. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you said sweetly, dragging the pile of bills toward you.

After that, the game shifted.

Jake stopped talking. Coyote narrowed his eyes every time you lifted your cards. Phoenix just watched in growing amusement, sipping her beer like she knew.

And you?

You kept winning.

Not every hand — but enough that by the end of the hour, you had a neat stack of bills in front of you. Seventy dollars total. Most of it from Jake, who now had three singles and a crumpled five left to his name.

“This is highway robbery,” he muttered. “You played me.”

You smiled. “I didn’t do anything. You bet into it every time.”

“She’s terrifying,” Coyote whispered to Phoenix. “How is she so calm?”

Jake shook his head in defeat as you slowly counted your bills, pausing at the fifty mark. You picked up a crisp ten and a five, and held them out toward him.

He frowned. “What’re you doing?”

“Giving you back your dignity,” you teased. “Or at least fifteen bucks of it.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want it?”

“I want a free drink and maybe a soft pretzel,” you said. “Not a reputation.”

Jake huffed, but he took the money. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed.”

Bob was definitely the latter.

He leaned toward you, voice low, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You really only kept fifty?”

You nodded, slipping it into your jacket pocket. “That’s more than enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hangman lose that gracefully.”

You laughed under your breath. “I’m sure he’s just holding in the tantrum for later.”

Bob chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re fine,” you said, nudging him lightly. “You backed me up from the start.”

He gave you a look — one that held a quiet kind of admiration. Not loud, not flashy. Just a warmth that said he saw you.

And maybe, just maybe, his fingers brushed yours under the table. Not on purpose. Not at first.

But neither of you moved away.

———

(6 months later) 

The hum of the overhead lights blended with the low clatter of forks against ceramic plates. It was nearing midnight, and the old 24-hour diner on the edge of town had mostly emptied out, save for a few regulars and the two of you tucked into a corner booth.

Bob stirred his coffee absently, eyes darting from his cup to the half-eaten slice of pie you were insisting he finish. You were grinning, warm and carefree, wearing one of his old academy hoodies over your dress from earlier in the night. And Bob, for once, looked a little uneasy.

You noticed.

“Alright, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s going on?” you asked gently, nudging his knee with yours under the table. “You’ve been chewing on that coffee stirrer like it personally wronged you.”

He smiled sheepishly, cheeks coloring. “I’ve just been thinkin’,” he said, eyes still not quite meeting yours.

You tilted your head, curious but patient.

He sighed and finally looked at you, the weight of something important softening his voice. “It’s been six months. Half a year. And I know we’ve said we’re taking things slow, and I love the pace we’re going, I really do. But I’ve been telling my family about you.”

Your eyes lit up just slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A lot. I mean—Phoenix calls you my girl at work and I don’t even bother correcting her anymore. I don’t want to. And my mom, she… she keeps asking when she’ll get to meet the person who makes me sound this happy on the phone.”

You softened. “Bob…”

“I want you to meet them,” he said, finally. “I’m nervous, don’t get me wrong. I think I’m more nervous about this than I was flying solo the first time. But they’re important to me. And you’re… God, you’re everything. I want them to know you.”

There was a long pause before you leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. “I’d love to meet them,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “And for the record, I think your mom’s gonna love me.”

Bob let out a quiet, relieved laugh and shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, she’s already halfway planning the guest room.”

You grinned. “Guest room, huh? So I’m staying over?”

He blushed. “I mean… if you want to.”

You kissed the back of his hand and whispered, “I want to.”

————

Bob pulled his truck up the long gravel drive, tires crunching beneath them as the familiar white farmhouse came into view. A breeze made the wind chimes on the porch sing, and the golden hour light turned the sky soft and hazy.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, completely frozen.

Bob glanced over. “You good?”

“Nope,” she said too fast. “Definitely not.”

His brows creased, concern flashing in his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I’m about to meet your family, Bob. Like—your actual family. Your mom, your siblings, people who knew you before you were Lieutenant Floyd. What if they don’t like me?”

He turned toward her, resting his forearm on the steering wheel. “They’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I mean—I’m not from here. What if I say something dumb? What if I mess up a handshake or like… I don’t know, accidentally insult your mom’s green beans or something—”

Bob laughed softly. “You’re not gonna insult anybody’s green beans.”

“You don’t know that!” she half-whined, hands clutching the skirt of her sundress.

He reached across and took one of her hands gently, grounding her. “Y/N. They are going to love you. My momma’s been cleaning the house since I told her we were coming, and she already made sweet tea, pot roast, and probably more bread than either of us should legally be allowed to eat. She’s excited. I’m excited.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment before nodding, even if it was hesitant. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He gave her a smile and hopped out, coming around to open her door like he always did. She let him help her down, her hand lingering in his as they walked up the porch steps. She could hear voices inside—faint laughter, a dog barking somewhere in the back.

Before they could knock, the front door swung wide open.

“Bobby Ray Floyd, you get yourself over here and hug your momma!”

Bob grinned. “Hey, Momma,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. His mother was shorter than she sounded, but sturdy and warm like she’d spent her whole life feeding people and loving hard. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a soft braid, and her floral apron still had flour dust on it.

Then her eyes landed on Y/N.

“And you must be the sweet girl I’ve been hearin’ so much about,” she said, already reaching forward with open arms. “Come here, sugar!”

Y/N blinked but smiled, hugging her back. “Hi, Mrs. Floyd. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, honey,” the woman said, pulling back and cupping her face in both hands, “Just call me Margaret. Mrs. Floyd makes me sound like I’m ninety and mean as hell.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Okay. Margaret.”

“That’s better. And look at you—Lord have mercy, you’re even prettier than Bobby said you were.”

Bob blushed behind them.

Margaret waved them inside. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost done and everyone’s dyin’ to meet you.”

The house was warm and lived-in, smelling like roast chicken, biscuits, and cinnamon. Bob’s siblings were already coming out of the woodwork—two of his younger brothers giving him hell, his sweet younger sister introducing herself right away and pulling Y/N into conversation.

But not everyone was smiling.

From the hallway, a woman leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her tone was flat as she said, “So. This her?”

Bob stiffened slightly. “Yeah. Hannah, this is Y/N.”

Y/N stepped forward and offered a polite smile. “Hi.”

Hannah gave her a once-over. “Hm.”

That was all.

Y/N’s smile dimmed for just a beat before Bob gently placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the kitchen.

“Don’t you mind her,” Margaret said brightly. “She’s been in one of her moods. Been that way since she was old enough to steal Bobby’s toys.”

“Momma,” Bob mumbled under his breath, but Y/N squeezed his hand.

Dinner was loud and warm—Bob’s siblings trading stories and teasing him about everything from his slow drawl to the time he accidentally glued his own hand to a model plane in fourth grade. Margaret kept slipping more food onto Y/N’s plate. Bob just kept looking at her like he couldn’t believe she was really here, really sitting beside him.

And all through it, Hannah said almost nothing. When she did, it was pointed. Dry. Not loud enough to make a scene, but enough that Y/N felt it like a pebble in her shoe.

After dessert, when everyone wandered toward the porch, Bob stayed behind to help his momma with dishes. Y/N sat with his sister, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

“She likes you,” Bob’s sister whispered, nudging her.

“She doesn’t act like it,” Y/N said softly.

“She’s just… guarded. Don’t let it get to you.”

“I’m trying,” Y/N admitted. “I just want to make a good impression.”

“You already have.”

Inside, Bob wiped his hands on a dishtowel and looked out the window—his girl, sitting on his momma’s porch, in his old rocking chair, like she belonged there.

And God help him, she did.

———

The sun had long set by the time everyone gathered around the big oak table in the Floyd family dining room. Someone had unearthed a battered Uno deck from the junk drawer, rubber-banded and worn, like it had lived through generations of Floyd family game nights.

Margaret poured everyone sweet tea in mismatched mason jars. “Uno always brings out the truth in people,” she warned playfully.

Y/N sat beside Bob, heart still fluttering from dinner and all the warm welcome she’d been shown—almost all of it. Hannah sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed tight and expression unreadable.

Will shuffled the deck dramatically. “Y’all ready to lose?”

“I don’t know,” Bob said, grinning at Y/N. “She’s got a good poker face.”

Hannah snorted. “Guess some people are just good at bluffing.”

Y/N blinked. She wasn’t even sure that one was meant to land—but it did.

The game began. Will talked the most trash, naturally. Margaret cheated a little, blatantly dropping extra cards and daring anyone to call her out. Bob sat close, letting his hand rest on the back of Y/N’s chair, his knee brushing hers now and then.

And Y/N? She was destroying them.

One by one, they folded, groaned, drew four. Y/N didn’t gloat. She just smiled, almost shyly, stacking up her winnings—a mix of fives, tens, and twenties everyone had tossed in to make the game interesting.

“Beginner’s luck,” Bob’s younger sister joked.

“I think it’s just quiet confidence,” Margaret chimed in warmly. “She’s got that strength in her. Like she’s used to holding her own.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Or maybe she’s just lucky enough to keep landing in the right places.”

Bob stilled.

Y/N’s smile faltered, just for a second, before she folded her hands in her lap and looked down.

Margaret frowned. “Hannah—”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/N said quickly. “Really. I’m just good at card games. I used to play a lot growing up.”

“You sure you weren’t playing people, too?” Hannah muttered under her breath.

That did it.

Bob sat up sharply. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Everyone went silent.

Hannah raised a brow, acting innocent. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“No, you’re being mean,” Bob said, voice low but firm. “You’ve been like this since we walked in the door. She’s done nothing to you.”

“Maybe I’m just being cautious,” Hannah snapped. “You fall fast, Bobby. You always have. Someone needs to think straight when you can’t.”

“She’s not someone,” Bob said. “She’s Y/N. And she’s not like—”

He stopped himself. The room hung heavy with that pause.

“She’s not like her,” he said finally. “You know that.”

Margaret stood, her voice sharp. “That’s enough. We treat guests like family in this house, and we sure as hell don’t humiliate them at our table.”

Will muttered, “This is awkward,” trying to break the tension, but it didn’t land.

Bob’s younger sister gave Hannah a disgusted look. “What is your dealtonight?”

Y/N stayed quiet through all of it, eyes on the table, hands still neatly folded. Until Bob’s older sister—Sophie—stood up gently and nudged her arm.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Y/N glanced at Bob, who gave her a little nod. And then she followed Sophie out to the porch, where the summer air wrapped around them like a humid blanket.

⸻

They drove through the quiet country roads in Bob’s dad’s old pickup, windows rolled down. Neither spoke for the first few minutes. Then Sophie finally broke the silence.

“She’s not usually like that,” she said. “Hannah. She’s just scared.”

Y/N looked over, brows drawn. “Scared of what?”

“Of you,” Sophie said honestly. “Of how much Bob cares about you. Of what happened the last time he fell for someone.”

Y/N stayed silent, sensing more was coming.

“Six years ago,” Sophie went on, “he dated this girl. Real sweet. Beautiful. She came around once. We all liked her. But then she just… vanished. Called him from another state and ended it. Said she couldn’t do this kind of life. Couldn’t be second to the Navy.”

Y/N’s heart cracked.

“He didn’t cry,” Sophie said. “Didn’t yell. Just… shut down. For almost a year, it was like he disappeared, even when he was home. Hannah took it the hardest. She’d go sit in his room and just… watch him be quiet.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s being a brat. Don’t get me wrong,” Sophie said. “But she’s not trying to hurt you. She’s trying to protect him. Even if she’s doing a really shitty job of it.”

Y/N gave a tiny nod. “I’d never do that to him. I’d rather die than hurt him.”

She paused.

“…Though I guess that would also hurt him.”

Sophie let out a laugh. “Yep. That’s how we know you’re in it for real.”

Y/N smiled softly, watching the road roll out in front of them.

“Come on,” Sophie said. “Let’s get you back. He’s probably pacing the porch already.”

By the time Sophie’s truck pulled back up the long gravel driveway, the front porch light was glowing like a beacon, and there he was—Bob, standing on the steps in his hoodie and jeans, wringing his hands like he’d been waiting for hours instead of just thirty minutes.

Y/N barely had her door open before he was at her side, his voice low and anxious.

“You okay? I—I wanted to come with but I figured—”

“I’m okay,” she said, smiling softly, and reached out to brush her fingers against his. “Sophie filled me in.”

His jaw twitched, a million things on the tip of his tongue he wasn’t sure how to say.

“She told me everything,” Y/N added gently. “About her.”

Bob lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want that to be the first story they ever told you about me.”

“I’m glad I heard it,” she whispered. “I’m glad I know what you’ve been through.”

He looked up then, and there was something glassy in his eyes he tried to blink away.

Sophie gave them a moment, then cleared her throat. “I’m heading in. Try not to start another Uno war, alright?”

Y/N laughed softly as Bob guided her up the steps with a hand at her back. The house was quieter now. The tension from earlier still lingered, but it felt like the air had been cracked open, like maybe—just maybe—something had started to shift.

They sat on the back porch for a little while, shoulder to shoulder, Y/N’s head leaning against Bob’s arm, both of them watching the stars.

Then the screen door creaked open.

It was Hannah.

Bob immediately stiffened.

“Hey,” she said, not looking at him. Her gaze was locked on Y/N.

“Hey,” Y/N said back, not unkindly, just cautious.

Hannah took a few slow steps out, arms folded, like she wasn’t sure if she should even be standing there.

Bob stood. “If you’re gonna say anything else that—”

“No,” she cut in quickly. “I’m not.”

She looked between them, jaw clenched.

“I came out here to apologize,” she said finally. “To you.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

“You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. Not at dinner. Not at game night. Not… at all.” Hannah shifted her weight. “I was being a bitch. And I knew it.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Hannah raised a hand.

“I was scared. Not of you. Of what you could do to him. You don’t know what he was like after she left. He didn’t even come home for Christmas that year. Didn’t answer our calls for two months. I thought—I swore—he’d never come back from it.”

She swallowed hard.

“And then you showed up. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like his whole world just… lit up again. And I got scared all over again.”

Y/N stood slowly, walking a few steps toward her. “I understand,” she said quietly. “But I’m not her. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“You say that now,” Hannah whispered.

“I mean it now,” Y/N replied.

A long silence.

And then—surprisingly—Hannah cracked a tiny smile. “You know… it pissed me off how good you were at Uno.”

Y/N grinned. “You should’ve seen me at poker night with the team. I made Jake Seresin hand over a hundred bucks.”

Bob let out a quiet, wheezing laugh. “You gave most of it back.”

“She kept the twenty with the barbecue sauce stain on it,” Bob added proudly.

Hannah blinked. “Wait, you’ve got the barbecue bill?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s a Floyd family tradition. You win that, you run the table.”

Y/N bit back a laugh. “Well. Guess I’m part of the family now.”

Hannah looked at her for a long moment, then finally nodded.

“I still don’t trust easy,” she said. “But… I believe you love him.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “I do.”

“And you hurt him…?”

“I’d never forgive myself.”

Hannah nodded once more, then gave Bob a very sisterly death stare. “You better not mess this up, Baby on Board.”

Bob groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “Why did I ever tell you about that?”

Y/N was already giggling. “Wait, you told her?”

“I told everyone,” Hannah said. “He called you his endgame, Y/N. Don’t let that go.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed pink.

Then—tentatively—Hannah held out her hand. Not quite a hug. But a start.

Y/N took it, and it was enough.

[thedevillsmaid]

under the surface - jake 재윤

━ ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING: bestfriends younger brother jake x older fem!reader

━ ⋆.˚ GENRE: friends to lovers, older brothers best friend!au, forbidden love, eventual smut

━ ₊˚⊹♡ WORD COUNT: 1,3K

━ ⋆.˚ WARNINGS: hot tub sex, forbidden attraction, noona kink, confident jake, mentions of size, needy reader, unprotected sex, fingering

━ ⋆.˚ A/N: there is an age gap but it is only 2~ years taglist

⋆˚࿔—minors dni | 18+ only | nsfw—⋆˚࿔

The weekend getaway at the cabin had been supposed to be about escaping the chaos of school.

But all you could think about was Jake.

He wasn't the little brother you used to know anymore. Jake had grown up-toned, taller, more confident-and you couldn't help but notice it. Every time his eyes lingered on you a little too long, or when his hand brushed yours, it made your pulse spike. But you ignored it, told yourself it was nothing. He was your best friend's younger brother, and you'd never crossed that line.

But tonight was different. The water in the hot tub bubbled around you, the steam rising as the night air cooled, and there was a feeling between you and Jake that you couldn't deny. You tried to tell yourself it was just the heat of the moment, but when he sat beside you, the space between you two was close, too close.

"You seem tense," Jake said, his voice low and casual, but there was something in his tone that made your stomach tighten.

"I'm fine," you replied quickly, but the way his eyes never left you told a different story.

The water was warm, the sound of distant laughter from inside the cabin barely audible. Your best friend Yuna had gone to bed with the others, leaving you and Jake alone. You could feel the air between you thickening, the tension hanging like a spark waiting to catch.

Jake's knee brushed against yours, just the slightest touch, but it sent a rush of heat through you. You shifted, hoping he wouldn't notice, but his gaze never left you.

"You're not fooling anyone," he said quietly. "I see the way you look at me."

You froze. Did he really just say that? Your heart skipped a beat as your face flushed with heat.

"Jake, don't," you whispered, your voice unsteady.

But he wasn't listening. His hand moved slowly, almost deliberately, across the edge of the tub, his fingers grazing your thigh, just lightly enough that you could feel the warmth of his touch.

The movement made your breath hitch, and for a second, you wanted to pull away, but his hand stayed there, just on the edge of your skin, making your pulse race.

"Jake..." you tried again, your voice barely above a whisper.

But he wasn't backing down. He was closer now, the space between you almost nonexistent. His eyes were dark with something unfamiliar, something hungry.

"You feel it too," he said softly. "You've always felt it, haven't you?"

You couldn't speak. The words were stuck in your throat, a mixture of hesitation and something deeper

-something you'd been hiding for so long. His hand moved just a little further up your thigh, and you gasped at the contact. It felt like your entire body was responding to him, the warmth of his touch, the closeness.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was so much more than you'd ever expected.

Jake's hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. His lips were soft, but there was urgency behind them, a need that made your heart race and your body heat up even more.

It was reckless. It was wrong. But it felt like everything.

His hands moved to your back, his fingers skimming the curve of your spine, pulling you into him until your chest pressed against his. The water sloshed around you, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way his body felt against yours, how your heart seemed to beat in sync with his.

"You've wanted this," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and rough. "I can feel it."

Your breath caught in your throat as he kissed down your neck, the warm water now a backdrop to the heat between you two. His hand slid around to the small of your back, urging you even closer, and every nerve in your body felt alive. You knew this was dangerous, that you shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this.

But as his lips found your skin again, all those thoughts faded away. There was only the pressure of his lips, the way his hands felt on you, the way his body made your stomach twist with anticipation.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I know what you want."

And maybe, for the first time, you didn't want to fight it anymore.

The hot tub bubbled and gurgled around you as you and Jake made out like horny teenagers, completely lost in the heat of the moment. His lips moved with an urgency that matched your own, the passion between you igniting in an inferno of lust. You could feel his hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of his swim trunks, making your core throb with desire.

Jake's hands roamed your curves, slipping under the thin straps of your bikini top. He deftly untied the strings, letting the garment fall away to expose your heaving breasts to the cool night air.

Your nipples pebbled under his touch as he cupped and squeezed the soft mounds, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers.

You gasped at the sensation, arching your back to press yourself further into his hands. "Mmm, yes Jake, touch me," you moaned shamelessly. Your own hands slipped under the water to grip his muscular ass, pulling his firm cock against your aching slit. You could feel how hard as he was, even through the layers separating you.

With a low growl, Jake yanked down the bottom of your bikini, baring your pussy to his hungry gaze. He pushed a finger inside your wet heat, groaning at how tight and slick you were. "Fuck, you're so ready for me."

"Yes, I need you," you panted, grinding yourself against his hand shamelessly. Your head fell back as he worked another finger in alongside the first, pumping them in and out of your dripping cunt. "Please Jake, I want to feel you inside me."

Jake didn't need to be told twice. He quickly stripped off his swim trunks, his massive cock springing free. You bit your lip as you took in the impressive sight, licking your lips in anticipation. He pulled you into his lap, positioning his thick tip at your entrance.

With one swift thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your tight channel. You both cried out at the incredible sensation, your pussy stretching deliciously around his considerable girth. He gave you a moment to adjust before he started moving, setting a deep, pounding rhythm that made the water slosh around you.

"Oh god, yes, fuck me harder!" you begged, clinging to his broad shoulders as he pistoned in and out of your core. The wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the night air, punctuated by your wanton moans and his masculine grunts.

Jake captured your lips in a searing kiss as he pounded into you, his tongue claiming your mouth. One hand reached down to rub firm circles over your clit while he drilled you relentlessly with his dick. "Come on my cock, Y/n. I want to feel you come apart for me."

His filthy words and skilled fingers pushed you over the edge. Your inner walls clamped down hard on his thickness as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. You screamed his name to the stars as your orgasm ripped through you.

With a roar, Jake buried himself balls deep one final time, erupting inside you with a hot flood of cum. He held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks of your intense climax, your bodies joined together intimately.

Finally spent, you both collapsed back against the tub, breathless and sated. Jake pulled you against his chest, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Wow, that was incredible," he murmured, running his hands soothingly over your back.

You couldn't help but smile, nuzzling into him contentedly. For better or worse, you'd finally acted on the forbidden attraction between you and Jake. And it had been more amazing than you ever could have imagined. Now the only question was, where did you go from here?

© thedevillsmaid

[montesmithart]

Banger show from my childhood 🐉

Thank you so much @starcanary49 for reminding me about this show and unlocking my childhood memories ;D ❤️ You’re a sponsor of this drawing!

[maria-ruta]

fuck it, toreador veronica and brujah jake.

[polarisjisung]

BROTHERS BSF! JAKE TEXTS

PAIRINGS: brothers bsf! Jake × fem! reader

WARNINGS: use of petnames, jealousy, nothing else i hope

NOTES: these are a little different to the other two, not too much i think but I feel like these might be a little more rushed | LIBRARY

I used the wrong your/you're once, spare me please 🙏

tags: @nanawrlds @flaminghotyourmom @mystverse @chenlezip @lotties-readings @jenobubbles @sinisxtea @neozon3nha @gxwesn