#IT WAS A LOT BUT THIS GENUINELY MADE ME LAUGH

[disorganizedkitten]

Oh also more on this but commenting legitimately gets fics back into the Active Wip Designation. Just so you know.

Every author works differently, of course, but I have around 200 works in progress and write mostly according to what sparks joy - you know what sparks the most joy? Nice comments.

I'll drop a few examples but comments like this genuinely do get me into the document to add another sentence, paragraph, chapter, etc

Say you like the fic and are interested in where it's going! Say you enjoyed XYZ! Ask a question about a mystery left in the chapter! What made you laugh? Drop some hearts! Say you reread a fic or you got it from a rec list and are deeply enjoying it! Say "thank you for posting, I'm looking forward to more!" I promise, that will be a thousand times better received than an "update pls" comment.

Just. Comment please, it makes the author happy, it helps you to gush over the writing and enjoy it on a deeper level, it shows - especially on multichapter works - that you're still reading, since you can only leave kudos once. And a lot of writers do adjust their upcoming chapters based on comments, especially big plot reveals. How else do we know if we've left enough clues?

do fic readers know that their comments actually influence the course of the story sometimes? i don't mean in a "you need to write it this way because i say so 😡" type of comment, i mean when people are asking questions or really engaging with the plot and the themes in the comments they sometimes bring up things that i didn't even think of, or dig into parts of the story that i've overlooked, or get really interested/fixated on something i was going to just kind of glance over--and it has me going 'oh wait that's actually really interesting, that's a good point' and fully adding or tweaking or changing things about the story going forward. i'm literally adding an entire additional chapter to something right now because someone's comment had me like "oh i didn't dig into that as much as i could have." you have impact!

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ off the record ( sjy ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 18.3k ⤷ based on this request by an anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — hi loves ! i’m so sorry for disappearing for a whole week, i was super sick and needed the rest, but i’m finally back and bringing you a jake fic to (hopefully) make up for it. i hope you enjoy this one, and yes there will be a part two 🤍

⤷ warnings — mild!smut (minors dni), fingering, thigh-grabbing, praise kink, lots of kissing, idol au, secret relationship, established relationship trope, idol!jake, idol!reader, possessive!jake, clingy!jake, overprotective!jake, a little toxic communication, hurt/comfort, couple fights (mild), skinship, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as idols under the same label, dating was never in the plans. but somehow, you and jake made it work—quiet glances behind cameras, shared vans after stage lights dim, promises whispered like secrets, and a love soft enough to survive even the harshest arguments. you’ve been his for two years. jake, yours even longer. and maybe he’s patient, maybe he’s understanding—but jealousy doesn’t care about contracts. not when you’re on screen with someone else. not when he can’t even hold your hand in public. or, where jake sim loves you in the dark but dreams of the day he won’t have to.

The dressing room smelled like setting spray and strawberry hair mist, the air thick with the sounds of curling irons hissing, bracelets clinking, and music softly playing from someone’s phone in the background.

You sat in front of the vanity, elbows resting on the edge of the table, posture straight but nerves bubbling quietly under your skin.

Your bangs were clipped to the sides, little butterfly pins holding them back as your makeup artist leaned in, adding the final touch to your eye look—a fine dusting of silvery glitter that made your eyes shimmer every time you blinked.

“Close for me, love,” the makeup artist murmured gently, her voice warm as she brushed the glitter across your lid. You did as told, letting her work as your hairstylist continued curling the last few strands of your hair behind you, humming along to the instrumental playing in the background.

Your phone buzzed faintly in your lap, and you glanced down at it, thumbing through the short monologue you were supposed to say before the group’s special stage started.

“We’re so honored to welcome you back to Music Bank…” you mouthed quietly, blinking at the words, barely noticing the way your white dress fluttered every time you moved—a doll-like piece with puffed sleeves, cinched waist, and a subtle shimmer that caught the light.

It looked like something from a fairytale. It felt like something out of a dream.

Chaewon appeared in the mirror’s reflection behind you, arms crossed with a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Our (Y/N) is so pretty,” she said proudly, voice filled with genuine affection.

You turned your head slightly, blinking in surprise. “What? Unnie, no—don’t start—”

“I’m serious!” she cut you off, stepping closer to pat your shoulder. “You look like a human perfume ad.”

From the couch, Eunchae gasped through a mouthful of sushi, turning to Yunjin beside her. “Visual unnie behavior,” she declared dramatically. “She’s not even trying!”

Yunjin snorted. “I’ve been saying it! Give her a crown already.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks as the makeup artist chuckled, grabbing a tube of gloss.

“I agree with them,” she said, holding your chin gently. “Now don’t talk for a second, pretty girl.”

She applied the gloss with delicate precision, layering it over your lips until they looked like they were dipped in honey. The soft, glossy sheen caught the light perfectly.

“There,” she said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Stage-ready and stunning.”

You smiled shyly, eyes flicking between your reflection and your members behind you, who were all now staring at you like proud older sisters.

“I haven’t even said my lines yet,” you mumbled.

“You don’t need to,” Yunjin grinned. “They’re already gonna fall for you the second the camera pans.”

“I second that,” Eunchae chimed, holding up her chopsticks like a mic. “On god.”

Just then, Sakura stepped into frame beside Chaewon, eyes widening as she looked at you through the mirror.

“Wah,” she gasped, clasping her hands together like she was seeing a fairy come to life. “Our (Y/N) is glowing!”

The door creaked open again—and in walked Kazuha, still pulling off her practice hoodie, a water bottle in hand. Her eyes flicked across the room and landed on you, then widened with a teasing smirk as she pointed your way.

“Oh wow,” she said, dramatically fanning herself. “This is so far from your usual bed hair and oversized hoodie combo at the dorms.”

“Leave me alone,” you laughed, leaning forward on the vanity as the hairstylist curled another piece of hair. “I’m delicate today.”

“I’m just saying,” Kazuha chuckled as she sat on the armrest beside Yunjin. “This right here is idol (Y/N). Dorm (Y/N) wears mismatched socks and drinks banana milk at 2 a.m.”

“Cut the cameras,” you said immediately, turning to the filming staff quietly documenting everything behind you. You pointed at the camcorder and pleaded, “Cut this part out, please. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The PD behind the camera just laughed, offering a thumbs-up but clearly still recording.

You gave them a sheepish look as you turned back to the mirror, just in time for your hairstylist to unclip the last butterfly pin from your bangs.

She gently combed them into place, letting the strands fall to frame your face perfectly—soft and effortless, the kind of look that took three people and an hour to make look ‘natural.’

“There,” she smiled, stepping back and admiring her work. “Gorgeous.”

The makeup artist returned for one last touch, gently brushing the final sweep of highlighter across the high point of your cheekbone. “Okay, (Y/N),” she said with a wink. “You’re good to go.”

You gave them both a grateful nod, voice soft. “Thank you, unnie.”

They smiled and moved on to the next member as the glam team cleared out around you, leaving you alone at the vanity.

The lights lining the mirror still glowed warmly, casting a soft halo around your figure. Your fingers found your script again, thumbing the screen as you read through the line for what felt like the hundredth time.

You exhaled, finger hovering over the power button to finally shut it off.

But before you could press it—Buzz.

A new notification blinked at the top of your screen.

jakey jakey 🐶🤎 [2:05 P.M.]: done getting ready yet, baby? they’re calling us to line up soon for the next round

Your heart stuttered.

The corner of your lips lifted automatically, even as you glanced around to make sure no one was looking over your shoulder. You dimmed your screen brightness a little, thumbs quickly moving over the keyboard.

you [2:05 P.M.]: yeah… just finished 😵‍💫 how’d u know?

The reply came almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for it.

jakey jakey 🐶🤎 [2:06 P.M.]: i just know, that’s how good of a boyfriend i am 😌

You bit down on your smile, feeling it creep up faster than you could stop it.

Even now—after months of hidden calls, late-night snack runs, and quietly stolen glances across music show hallways—it still didn’t feel real. That he was real.

That Jake—Sim Jaeyun, your Jaeyun—was texting you like this. Calling you baby. Checking in like you were the only person that mattered in the world.

How you’d managed to pull one of the top rising boy group members in the industry was still beyond you.

It made no sense.

You weren’t the ‘it girl.’ Or at least, you never felt like one.

People had started calling you that lately—“the next It Girl,” some even comparing you to IVE’s Wonyoung in fan posts and industry articles.

And every time you saw it, your face would flush red as you waved it off, denying it before the words could even sink in.

You were just… you.

Just someone who happened to get picked. Who stumbled through monthly evaluations and somehow got slotted into the final debut lineup, something you still chalked up to pure luck.

Your thoughts were swirling, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt when your phone buzzed again—snapping you back to the present.

jakey jakey 🐶🤎 [2:07 P.M.]: come see me for a bit?

You stared at the screen, your thumb hesitating just above the keyboard.

You had to line up soon. Cameras were already rolling. Stylists were scrambling for last-minute touch-ups. You shouldn’t.

You were just about to type out a soft “maybe after filming” when another message popped up.

jakey jakey 🐶🤎 [2:07 P.M.]: just a few minutes pls 😭 promise i won’t get you in trouble

God, he could be so cute when he wanted to be.

Impossible to say no to.

Infuriatingly charming.

You chewed on your bottom lip before quickly typing back.

you [2:07 P.M.]: fine… where?

jakey jakey 🐶🤎 [2:07 P.M.]: 2nd floor, hallway near the stairs. no one ever comes there

You shut off your screen with a sigh, heart already starting to race as you glanced around the room. Sakura and Chaewon were distracted talking to the coordi-noonas about the next filming sequence, and Eunchae had her head tilted back on the couch, humming along to the music playing softly overhead.

Perfect.

You slipped your phone into your dress pocket and stood, smoothing your skirt and turning to your manager.

“Unnie, I’ll just use the bathroom real quick,” you said casually, flashing a quick smile.

She barely glanced up from her clipboard. “Make it fast, okay?”

“Yup!” You slipped out the door before anyone else could say anything, the soft clack of your heels echoing against the studio hallway floor as the door clicked shut behind you.

Your steps quickened slightly the closer you got to the stairs. You passed a few staff members on the way—some holding clipboards, others pushing racks of outfits for later stages—but no one paid you much attention. Just another idol going about their schedule.

When you reached the second floor, the hallway stretched out quiet and empty, dimmer than the main corridors, the buzz of activity replaced by a soft hum of overhead lights.

You turned the corner near the stairwell, and there—leaning casually against the wall in his white button-up shirt, a soft gray vest layered neatly over it, paired with crisp white pants—stood Jake.

His silver-dyed hair was styled to perfection, not a strand out of place, catching the hallway light just right like he walked straight off a photoshoot.

He looked up the second he heard your footsteps.

And smiled.

“Baby!”

He didn’t wait for you to reach him.

The second your eyes met, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you in just a few long strides, slipping his arms around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He pulled you into him without hesitation, swaying you just a little as he buried his face into your hair.

His hand splayed softly across the small of your back, the other curling gently near your ribs as he held you closer—closer than anyone was ever allowed to see.

You felt his chest rise and fall against yours as he let out a quiet breath, the kind that always made your heart flutter.

His nose nudged your temple as he murmured, “God, you smell like strawberries. I missed you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, arms finding their way around his shoulders as you melted into him. “You saw me literally five hours ago.”

“Five too long,” he mumbled, voice low and warm as it vibrated against your cheek.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, but he didn’t let you go far—his hands still snug around your waist, keeping you close like he was scared you’d vanish.

When your eyes finally met, Jake was already looking at you.

He was staring—like you’d hung the stars yourself and forgot to mention it. That boyish, smile spread across his face, eyes sparkling in the soft hallway light.

“Wow,” he whispered, blinking like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You look…”

You raised a brow, playfully. “What?”

“Unreal.” He shook his head slowly, grin widening. “I’m serious, (Y/N). You look like a dream. Like…” He paused, then laughed softly. “I don’t know, like if a doll and a goddess had a baby and it became a K-pop idol.”

You burst out laughing, lightly smacking his arm. “That is such a weird compliment.”

Jake leaned in, the grin on his face softening just a little as he let his forehead gently rest against yours.

The hallway was quiet, the faint hum of distant chatter fading behind closed doors. It was just the two of you—breathing the same space.

You were suddenly so grateful your stylist had given you heels today. For once, you weren’t craning your neck to meet him.

“I mean it,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your lips. “You look breathtaking.”

You flushed, lips twitching. “Stop teasing, Jaeyun.”

That made him smirk. “Oh? I’m Jaeyun now?” he teased, cocking his head slightly. “What happened to Jakey?”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you playfully tried to shove him back. “Don’t make me block you in front of the cameras.”

He only laughed, catching your wrist gently and leaning in—pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips. Barely there, but enough to make your stomach twist and your eyes flutter shut for half a second too long.

When you opened them again, he was already watching you with that look again.

The one that made you feel like nothing else in the world existed.

“Want me to show you just how breathtaking you are?” he murmured, voice lower now. Rougher. Dangerous in the way it made your knees feel a little weak.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “Huh?”

Jake’s smile turned slow, boyish with a flicker of something not-so-innocent underneath. “Come here.”

Before you could react, he gently tugged you by the hand, leading you just a few steps farther down the hallway—toward a small, staff-only restroom tucked near the stairwell.

“Wait, what are you—”

Jake pushed open the door, glanced around once to make sure it was empty, then pulled you in with him, shutting it behind you.

The click of the lock sounded way louder than it should’ve.

You turned to him, breath caught in your throat, eyes wide. “Jake—”

He was already stepping toward you, slow and sure.

“I told you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over every inch of you, that gray vest still perfectly in place as he backed you gently against the cool tile wall. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

Without warning, Jake crashed his lips to yours.

You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing you like he needed it—like he’d been holding back for too long, and now that he had you alone, there was no reason to pretend.

Your back met the cold wall with a soft thud as he pressed you against it, one arm snaking tightly around your waist, the other sliding up behind your head, fingers curling into your hair to keep you close.

Your lip gloss smeared instantly, not that he cared—if anything, he groaned softly at the taste of it.

You melted into him, your hands finding his neck, then sliding up into his silver-styled hair. Your fingertips brushed against the back of his nape, playing with the soft strands—and Jake smirked into the kiss like it drove him insane.

“Mmhm, baby…” he whispered between kisses, mouth barely parting from yours, “you always do that when you want me to lose it.”

You giggled, but it died in your throat the moment he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, nipping gently at your bottom lip.

He pulled away just enough to breathe, only to drag you in again—lips moving slower this time, more deliberate, more hungry.

Then his tongue traced your lower lip, slick and teasing.

You gasped softly.

Jake murmured low, voice dipped in heat, “Can I…?”

You barely nodded before parting your lips slightly, just enough—giving him access.

And the moment he had it, he kissed you deeper.

Tongue sliding against yours, slow and hot, your body flush against his as his hand traveled from your waist to your lower back, guiding you closer, keeping you there like he couldn’t get enough.

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair as your knees weakened beneath you.

Jake broke away just slightly, panting softly against your lips, forehead resting against yours. “God, I missed this,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “Missed you.”

Your eyes fluttered open—barely.

“Jake…” you breathed, not knowing what you were asking for, but knowing you wanted.

But your voice broke slightly as you tried to pull yourself back to reality. “Jake—we can’t. We need to be on stage in a few minutes.”

He stilled for a beat, then leaned his forehead against yours again, eyes fluttering shut with a sigh. “I know,” he muttered, lips brushing yours, disappointed. “I know, baby.”

But then—he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to the curve of your jaw.

Then another. Just below your ear.

And another—down the slope of your neck, slow and hot.

You whimpered, your back arching slightly against the wall. “J-Jake…”

“Shh,” he whispered, mouth against your throat, his breath making your skin feel too hot, “Just a few more. Let me be annoying.”

“Don’t leave marks,” you warned between shaky breaths, already knowing how easily his lips could turn soft pinks into deep purples.

Jake chuckled against your skin, a deep, knowing sound. “You’re no fun, baby.”

Still, he listened.

His kisses stayed soft. Gentle. Featherlight brushes of affection along your pulse point, down to the dip of your collarbone, like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again—even with so little time.

One of his hands stayed planted firmly around your waist as the other wandered.

His fingers slid slowly down your side, finding the ruffled hem of your short white dress—the one that made him look at you like you were something from another world.

He played with the edge of it, toying at the frilly fabric. Then, dangerously slow, his hand traced along the hem of your safety shorts, knuckles brushing the soft skin of your thigh.

You gasped quietly, your hand flying up to grip his wrist.

“Jake—”

He looked up, his eyes hooded, lips swollen and glistening from your gloss, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me to stop.”

You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your forehead to his again, eyes closed, breath shaky.

“I hate you,” you mumbled breathlessly.

Jake smiled against your lips. “No you don’t.”

You barely had time to breathe before his hand drifted again—fingers grazing the hem of your safety shorts, teasing the edge with that same maddening slowness. You sucked in a breath, your hand gripping his arm.

“Jake,” you warned, voice barely a whisper, “you can’t start this if you’re not going to finish it.”

His lips ghosted over your cheek, nose brushing your jaw as he murmured, “Yeah? Try me.”

And then—with that cocky, devastating smile on his lips—his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts.

You gasped softly as he tugged them down just enough, letting them settle mid-thigh, leaving you exposed in the soft light. His touch was featherlight, dragging along the top of your thighs, then up—

Until his fingers traced the delicate band of your lacy underwear.

Jake paused and smirked.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, half-lidded and dark with amusement. “Who are you wearing this for, huh?”

Your breath hitched.

You tried to play it off, but your cheeks were already warm. “We… we do have a date after this, don’t we?”

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, dipping his head closer. “Oh,” he said, voice low and teasing, “so you were expecting something.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the way your body jolted at the heat in his tone. “Jake,” you gasped when his palm pressed gently against your core, “stop teasing…”

His hand stilled—just enough pressure to make your knees threaten to buckle. He exhaled through his nose, lips brushing your temple.

“I’m not teasing, baby,” he whispered, fingers curling slightly against you. “I’m getting you ready.”

You gasped, head falling back lightly against the tile wall, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his vest as his hand moved lower—confident, deliberate.

His touch slipped past the delicate lace, and when his fingers found your clit, he paused, humming low in his throat.

“So wet already?” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear, his voice full of pride and want. “You’re really not gonna survive our date tonight, huh?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the whimper that bubbled in your throat as he began to move—his touch gliding slowly, maddeningly, up and down, with the kind of rhythm that made your legs tremble.

“J-Jake,” you breathed, clutching his shirt tighter, burying your face into his shoulder as your knees buckled just slightly.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, hand on your waist steadying you, lips brushing along your cheekbone between each breath. “Always got you.”

His fingers kept working, unrelenting, and just as your breathing hitched again, his other hand tilted your chin so he could see your face—so he could watch the way your lashes fluttered and your lips parted, soundless but pleading.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “I wanna see what I do to you.”

Your lashes fluttered open, eyes glazed with need, lips parted in a shaky breath as your gaze met his—and Jake swore, soft and low, like the sight of you completely undone was too much and not enough all at once.

His touch deepened, hand still steady at your waist as he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours, trying to keep you grounded while your body trembled beneath his.

“You feel that?” he murmured, breath hitching as his fingers moved with devastating slowness. “That’s all you, baby. Just you falling apart for me.”

You let out a soft whimper, your hands tightening in his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric near his chest as your knees nearly gave out.

Jake’s free hand held you closer, thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So good for me. Always so good.”

You gasped his name again—barely a whisper on your lips.

He shushed you gently, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice now low and urgent. “I know. I know. But you’ve got to keep quiet for me, yeah?”

You nodded desperately, lip caught between your teeth as your whole body burned in his arms.

Jake leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he breathed, “I can’t wait to get you alone tonight. Really show you how much I missed you.”

And then—his hand moved again.

You sucked in a sharp breath, body jolting as his fingers found that spot deep inside you that made your thighs tremble. That made your breath catch and your vision blur. He knew it was there. Knew how to find it like second nature.

“Right there,” he whispered, voice thick with heat as he watched you unravel. “There it is, baby.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t think.

All you could do was cling to him—hands gripping the front of his vest, forehead pressed to his shoulder, trying so hard to stay quiet even though your body screamed.

Jake pressed his lips to your temple, curling his fingers again—slow, precise, relentless.

Your knees buckled.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered, kissing just below your ear. “That’s it. Let go.”

You melted against him, gasping softly into the crook of his neck, your whole body trembling in his arms as he held you close, steady, protected.

For a moment, the world stopped. Just you, clinging to him, heart pounding, skin flushed, lungs searching for air.

Jake didn’t move right away.

He pressed soft kisses to your cheek, to your jaw, to your temple—fingers slipping away gently, carefully, as he helped you stand, your legs still weak.

He brought those same fingers to his mouth, lips parting as he slowly dragged his tongue across the tips, eyes never leaving yours.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice all smoke and mischief. “Just like I remembered.”

You stared at him, still dazed, still catching your breath.

“Jake,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re insane.”

He grinned, fixing your dress back in place like nothing had happened. “Only for you.”

Before you could even fully recover, he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips—slow and indulgent, like a reward. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second, but they flew open again the moment you tasted yourself on his mouth.

Your face flushed all over again.

“Jake—” you breathed, voice half-scandalized, half-melting.

He pulled away with that same infuriating smile, licking the corner of his lips just to mess with you. “What?” he teased, fixing the strand of your hair he’d messed up earlier. “Just making sure you remember how good you taste.”

You stared at him, mouth open, half-ready to fight him and kiss him again.

But he was already glancing toward the door, stepping back with a lazy stretch. “Come on, baby,” he said, voice low and playful.

“We need to go. You still have to interview our group in a few minutes, yeah?”

You groaned, letting your head fall dramatically against his chest. “I hate you.”

He laughed, arms wrapping around you for a second, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “No, you don’t.”

You pouted, pulling away just enough to give him a playful punch to the chest. “I can’t look at you on camera after this.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Jake grinned. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t test me.”

He winked as he unlocked the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But as he stepped out into the hallway first, head down, hand casually brushing against yours for a split second, you knew one thing for sure:

This boy was going to drive you insane today.

There were only a few seconds left before the red light on the camera blinked to life.

You stood beside Jungwon, fidgeting slightly with the cue card in your hand, your mind half-focused on the line you were supposed to read, and half still floating somewhere in that hallway where Jake had—

“(Y/N)-noona,” Jungwon said softly, nudging your elbow, “don’t be so nervous.”

You blinked, snapped back to the present, looking down at the young leader beside you.

He smiled up at you earnestly, shifting a little in his crisp white outfit. “Can I call you noona?” he asked, wide-eyed and sweet.

You laughed—grateful for the distraction. “Of course you can, Jungwon. You’re too cute not to.”

His grin widened as he straightened up beside you, clearly pleased.

Across the small, softly lit interview space, you heard someone burst into laughter. Your head turned just in time to see Jisung from NCT—your co-MC for today—pointing at a wild strand of Heeseung’s hair that stuck up despite all the hairspray in the world.

“Bro, how are you one of the the visuals and still end up looking like a coconut?” Jisung teased.

Heeseung swatted at him with a smile, adjusting his mic pack as the crew giggled behind the cameras.

Your eyes drifted slightly to the left.

Jake was leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, face glowing under the soft studio lights—his silver hair still styled to perfection, though his lips twitched upward the second your gazes met.

You gave him the smallest smile back, heart doing somersaults inside your chest, cheeks still slightly warm from earlier.

Beside you, Jungwon glanced between the two of you, raising a brow. “Is it just me,” he said under his breath, “or does hyung look like he knows something I don’t?”

You gave him the smallest smile back, heart doing somersaults inside your chest, cheeks still slightly warm from earlier.

The red light on the camera blinked on.

“Three,” the PD whispered from behind the lens, “two… one…”

The red light blinked on.

You and Jungwon straightened at once, microphones lifted, smiles flashing effortlessly into place.

“This is Live Broadcasting Music Bank,” you both said in sync, your voices clear and bright.

You turned slightly toward the boys in front of you, your cue card still trembling just a little in your hands.

“With Jisung and me, (Y/N),” you continued smoothly, “yes! Congratulations on your comeback, ENHYPEN!”

Behind the camera, staff clapped along as the seven boys bowed slightly, clapping and smiling as cheers erupted from them.

“Thank you!” they chimed in together.

Jisung, beside you, laughed. “Look at them—they’re glowing. Seriously. Like, did you all eat fairy dust before coming here?”

That earned a few chuckles, especially from Sunghoon and Ni-ki who immediately started whispering something to each other off-mic.

Jungwon stepped up confidently, smile wide as he lifted his mic again. “Allow us to say hi,” he said with the poise of someone born for it. “One, two—”

The members immediately followed his lead.

“Connect! Annyeonghaseyo, ENHYPEN-imnida!” they chorused, bowing in unison with practiced energy.

You nodded with a grin, trying very hard not to let your eyes drift back to Jake—who, for the record, still had that soft smile on his lips. The one that made your stomach twist far too warmly for a live broadcast.

Before the moment could linger any longer, Jisung cleared his throat loudly and stepped into frame, dramatically walking over to where you and Jungwon were standing.

“Knock knock,” he said, knocking his knuckles on the air beside your shoulder. “Excuse me, but it looks like you guys are having fun without me.”

The crew laughed behind the cameras, and a few of the ENHYPEN members chuckled too—Sunoo even letting out a dramatic gasp like Jisung had just uncovered a betrayal.

You turned with an apologetic smile, falling easily into the teasing banter. “Ah, I’m sorry, Jisung-ssi,” you said sweetly, bowing slightly. “It seems I forgot about my very handsome partner.”

The crowd oohed playfully.

Jisung tilted his head, feigning deep consideration before letting out a theatrical sigh. “It’s okay, (Y/N)-ssi. I’ll let you off the hook for your behavior—just this once. I mean, everyone is excited about ENHYPEN’s comeback.”

Then he grinned, cheeky and playful as ever. “Plus, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”

The room burst into another wave of laughter—crew members chuckling behind the camera, Sunoo letting out a soft “Yah,” while Ni-ki whistled dramatically.

Jisung gave you a playful nudge to the ribs with his elbow, causing you to giggle into the mic, momentarily hiding your face with the cue card.

“Jisung-ssi, you’re so unserious,” you laughed, voice light but a little breathless.

Somewhere behind the bright lights and staged smiles, Jake’s jaw flexed.

He kept the curve on his lips, nodding along to the banter like the good-natured idol he was supposed to be—but his eyes? His eyes flicked toward the script in your hands a little too sharply. He raised a brow, glancing at the cue card as if it had personally offended him.

Was it hot in here? Or was it just the slow boil of jealousy he was trying so hard to choke down?

‘She’s yours’, he told himself.

But logic was a lot less convincing when you were laughing like that because of someone else—even if it was innocent. Even if it was scripted.

You cleared your throat softly and turned back to the group, shifting your cue card into view. “Well then!” you said brightly, eyes sweeping toward ENHYPEN’s line.

“Let’s talk about your latest release. Could you tell us a little bit about your album?”

There was a half-beat of silence before Jake stepped forward, the mic already in hand, perfectly timed and poised.

“Our new album, ‘MANIFESTO: DAY 1’,” he began smoothly, “is kind of our declaration. It expresses our thoughts and how we want to move forward, break free from expectations, and really tell the world who we are.”

His voice was steady. His eyes were locked onto the camera.

But you knew Jake.

You knew every version of him—the way his dimples were deeper when the smile was real, the way his tone got a little softer when he was truly proud of something. The way he’d glance at you mid-sentence when he was feeling playful or confident.

But he wasn’t doing any of those things.

You stared a second too long. Long enough to wonder if maybe he was upset. Maybe because of Jisung? No—Jake wasn’t the petty type.

But you had seen that look before. Reserved. Slightly colder than usual. The type he gave when he was trying to bury something that was bubbling too close to the surface.

You were so caught in your thoughts you didn’t notice the shift until Sunoo, ever cheerful and poised, stepped slightly forward with his mic raised and a dazzling smile on his face.

“Among many tracks in the album,” he began, his voice light and confident, “there is our title song called ‘Future-Perfect (Pass the MIC).’”

The other members straightened slightly, nodding as Sunoo continued. “This song has a story that’s really meaningful to us. It’s about choosing our own path—keeping to our way and finding happiness in this chaotic world.”

He turned to the camera as he spoke, his smile full and genuine, expression bright. “We hope it gives strength to everyone listening. That it reminds you to take back your voice.”

A soft wave of cheers and approving nods followed from both the staff and the crew. Sunghoon even clapped once behind the mic, proud of how well Sunoo delivered it.

You smiled gently, eyes flicking to Sunoo with warmth—he always had such a natural way with words.

“Beautifully said, Sunoo-ssi,” you replied, voice as steady as you could manage, though your mind was still tugging at Jake’s unusual stillness. “It’s definitely a song that hits hard. I think a lot of people will find comfort in it.”

Jisung chimed in with a thumbs up, “No, seriously. I listened to it this morning and almost cried.”

That earned more laughter.

Sunghoon smiled as the laughter faded, stepping forward with that calm, composed tone of his. “Well said, Sunoo,” he nodded.

“Additionally, our powerful performance of this song is the main point to pay attention to,” he added, gaze steady on the camera. “We worked really hard on it. Please look forward to it.”

Then he turned to his left with a teasing smile. “Isn’t that right, Ni-ki?”

Ni-ki blinked, caught slightly off-guard. “Huh—oh!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, yes! Definitely. Please don’t miss out on our visuals,” he added with a cheeky grin, “which, I believe, have only become better and nicer.”

“Ah yes!” Jisung cut in dramatically, stepping a little closer to you. “Just like my partner here—who looks as radiant as a fairy today!”

You nearly choked on your laugh, quickly covering your mouth with the cue card as the staff giggled and someone behind the camera shouted, “Facts!”

You turned to Jisung with playful eyes, raising a brow. “What about you?” you teased. “You look like an absolute prince today.”

The boys from both groups chuckled, Ni-ki and Sunghoon even letting out exaggerated sighs.

“Please stop flirting on camera,” Sunoo joked, fanning himself with his hand. “Some of us are still single.”

The room erupted again, a wave of laughter bouncing off the walls as even the PD behind the camera chuckled.

Jake only smiled as he tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes flickering to Jisung, then to you, then back to the camera—as if he wasn’t very much thinking about the way Jisung leaned a little too close or how your laugh was a little too flustered.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool, eyes flicking briefly toward the cue card you could barely focus on.

“Alright,” you said with a soft laugh, eyes back on the camera, “I’ll try not to forget you guys’ visuals on stage.”

Another round of light chuckles.

You lifted your mic again, flashing a bright smile. “Now, tell us about the next stage!”

Heeseung stepped forward, mic already in hand, posture easy and confident. “Enhypen’s stage, composed of a refreshing summer season song—‘TFW (That Feeling When)’—will be coming up soon.”

Then Jay followed up without missing a beat. “But before that,” he added smoothly, “let’s check out a fresh and cool comeback stage by Park Hyunseo.”

You and Jisung took two synchronized steps forward, standing center once again under the bright studio lights.

“This has been your pretty fairy, (Y/N),” you chirped sweetly, giving a small curtsy toward the camera.

“And your handsome fairy prince, Jisung,” he added with a playful bow, making the crew giggle again.

You both pointed to the camera and said in sync, “Music—cue!”

The studio lights dipped, and the camera panned smoothly away as the stage direction changed.

The second the red ‘LIVE’ light on the camera blinked off, signaling a cut—you could feel Jake’s stare land on you like a heatwave.

Almost immediately, the room shifted. The pressure of live broadcasting lifted, replaced with soft sighs of relief and congratulatory pats on the back.

Behind you, the boys cheered among themselves, voices overlapping.

“We survived!” Sunghoon grinned.

“Hyunseo’s up next, right?” Jay asked, already walking toward the back exit with a stylist trailing him.

You turned slightly, cue cards still in hand, just in time to catch Sunoo flashing you a bright thumbs up. “Good job, noona!” he beamed. “You looked really nice today!”

Your heart softened at his energy. You smiled back, bowing your head a little. “Thanks, Sunoo. You were amazing up there.”

Then came another voice—quieter, lower.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Good job.”

You turned.

His voice was calm. But not warm.

He wasn’t looking at you like the others were—he wasn’t smiling with his eyes like he usually did. Instead, he was adjusting the mic pack clipped to the back of his vest, jaw tight as he looked at you just a moment too long.

Your smile faltered the tiniest bit.

“…Thanks,” you said slowly, eyes searching his face.

He didn’t say anything else.

Just turned to follow the others, giving a quiet nod to one of the stylists as they waved him toward the backstage hallway.

The other members began to trail behind, Ni-ki throwing his arm around Jungwon while Sunghoon laughed at something Jay said. It was noisy and light—except for Jake.

He walked slower.

Back straighter.

Like something was still buzzing under his skin.

You bit the inside of your cheek, cue cards still in your hand, heart thumping a little harder than before.

The night air hit different after hours under studio lights.

You sat on the edge of one of the cold metal benches near the building’s back exit, the area dimly lit by a single flickering lamp overhead.

Your legs, still bare from the knee down, pressed tightly together as you tried to conserve warmth. The white fluttery dress you wore for the broadcast looked like a dream under stage lighting—but out here, it clung to your skin like ice.

You curled in on yourself, rubbing your arms as you muttered under your breath, “God, why didn’t I bring a coat…”

Just minutes ago, your group’s manager and a few members had asked you, “Are you sure you’re not riding back with us?”

You shook your head with a smile, keeping your voice even. “It’s okay—I have someone from high school picking me up. Just a friend.”

Chaewon had raised a brow. “From high school?”

Eunchae tilted her head like a confused puppy. “Like… someone we know?”

You shook your head again, trying to sound breezy. “Nah, you guys wouldn’t know him. Just—he offered to drop me home, that’s all.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Yunjin squinted at you suspiciously. “You sure it’s not, like… your boy plus friend?”

You laughed, a little too quickly. “If it was, I’d be bragging. Swear.”

That made them laugh, eventually letting it go after your manager double-checked your drop-off point. “Text us when you get home,” she said firmly. “And take care. Seriously.”

“I will,” you promised. “Thanks, unnie.”

Now here you were—just waiting.

You let out a breath, watching it fog briefly in the cold air. The bench beneath you creaked softly as you moved, tugging your dress down even though it barely helped. You sat there, hugging your arms, debating whether to finally pull out your phone and text him when—

A sudden weight landed across your shoulders.

You turned, startled.

Jake stood right behind you, both hands gently adjusting the coat now draped over you—his coat. It smelled like him. Faint cologne, traces of mint, and the soft warmth of his skin embedded in the fabric.

His expression was unreadable. Not cold, but not his usual sunshine either. Tight-lipped, composed. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the softness in his touch and the tension in his voice, but nodded anyway.

He didn’t say anything more. Just slipped one hand to the small of your back and gently guided you across the parking lot, toward one of the many identical black HYBE vans waiting along the curb.

His hand didn’t leave your back—not even once. Even when a few lingering staff passed by with cameras around their necks, he kept walking with you calmly, his pace steady and protective.

When you reached the van, Jake opened the door for you himself, greeting his manager with a simple, “Hyung.”

The older man looked up from his phone and gave you both a small smile. “Good job today, you two.”

You bowed your head politely as you climbed inside, brushing the hem of your dress down as best as you could before settling into the plush leather seats.

“Where to?” his manager asked, glancing at Jake.

Jake climbed in beside you, hand resting briefly on the door handle. “To our dorms,” he said shortly—his voice calm, but cold, leaving no room for negotiation.

Then, he pulled the door shut immediately, instinctively—like muscle memory after years of avoiding scandals and blurred camera flashes.

Just like that, the world outside disappeared.

The street noise, the freezing wind, the weight of being someone else’s image—all gone the moment the door sealed.

You leaned back into the seat with a quiet sigh, pulling Jake’s coat tighter around yourself as the heater hummed to life.

The leather seats were warm beneath your bare thighs, finally giving you a moment of comfort after hours under stage lights and cold air.

Jake sat beside you silently, one hand braced against the side panel as he looked out the darkened window. His jaw was clenched just slightly. You didn’t have to look to know.

You could feel it.

Still, despite the stiffness in the air, his other hand reached across your lap—not saying a word—and adjusted the seatbelt over your body gently before clicking it in place.

Then he sat back, both hands resting on his thighs. Silent.

You looked down at your lap, then back at him. “Jaeyun…”

He didn’t look at you.

Just knocked twice on the partition glass between you and the driver. “Hyung, can you raise it?”

His manager hummed in acknowledgment. “Mhm.”

The soft mechanical whir began, the glass slowly sliding up and sealing you both in the quietest, most private part of the van.

Once it clicked shut, you turned to face him again.

His expression was calm—but you knew him too well.

“…You’re upset,” you whispered.

Jake finally turned to you, his silver hair slightly tousled, that same tight-lipped smile still in place.

“Define upset,” he muttered.

Your brows furrowed at the coolness in his tone, your heart tugging just a little. But you didn’t push. Not now. Not when everything still felt this fragile.

You leaned back into the seat quietly, tucking yourself deeper into his coat, eyes focused on the dark blur of buildings passing through the tinted windows.

The silence was heavy. Louder than any words either of you could say.

Until Jake sighed—deep, long, from the chest.

His hand found your thigh, warm and grounding even through the layers of fabric, fingers splayed across your skin like he didn’t even realize he needed to touch you to breathe right.

His other hand dragged back through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he turned toward you fully.

“Look,” he started, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “I’m not mad at you, okay?”

You turned your head just slightly, eyes flickering to him without fully meeting his gaze.

“I’m upset at myself.” His jaw clenched as he looked away again. “And probably Jisung. And maybe the damn scriptwriters.”

That pulled the corner of your lip up—just barely.

He laughed under his breath, tired and half-defeated. “God, I sound stupid.”

You shook your head, whispering, “No, you don’t.”

Jake looked at you again, and this time, his eyes softened. The frustration behind them melted into something quieter—regret, maybe. Longing. Love.

“I watched you laugh with him,” he admitted, fingers tightening slightly against your thigh. “And I know it’s a job. I know. But I couldn’t stop thinking—why wasn’t it me standing next to you?”

You blinked, stunned by how small his voice had gotten.

He smiled again, softer this time. “You’re wearing my coat, but I still feel like I don’t have enough of you.”

That’s when your heart cracked wide open.

You shifted in your seat, reaching up to brush your fingers lightly across his jaw. “Jaeyun, you already have all of me.”

Jake didn’t say anything right away, just leaned into your palm like it was the only thing keeping him sane in that moment. His hand came up, gently wrapping around yours as he held it between both of his.

“Sometimes…” he murmured, eyes locked on your fingers, “I wish other people knew.”

His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even bitter. Just quietly aching.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wish I could hold your hand after a show. Pull you in after interviews. Take dumb pictures with you at the beach and not have to hide your face with a damn emoji.”

Your heart clenched.

Then—softly, sweetly—he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Then another. And another.

You didn’t speak, just leaned into his warmth as he scooted closer to you on the leather seat, closing what little space had remained between you.

He rested a hand on your thigh again, familiar and gentle, then leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full. Quiet. Safe.

His chin rested against the top of your head, the rhythm of his breathing slowly syncing with yours. One of your hands played with his fingers, tracing the lines in his palm, the subtle scar near his knuckle, the calluses he always pretended weren’t from dancing.

Then—your voice broke the stillness.

“So…” you said, lips quirking up just slightly. “How much did you pay your manager to not say anything about us?”

Jake laughed, the sound vibrating against your back as he pulled you even closer into his side. “What makes you think I had to pay him?”

You tilted your head up. “You didn’t?”

“Nah.” He grinned. “He trusts me not to mess up.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Big risk, honestly.”

Jake gasped dramatically. “Wow. Is that how low you think of me?”

You snorted, leaning into his chest. “Just honesty, baby.”

He chuckled, then went quiet for a moment. His hand moved again—this time to your waist, fingers curling just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Then, with his cheek resting against your temple, he whispered,

“Stay for the night.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I said,” he repeated, quieter, “stay tonight. At the dorms.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Jake—”

He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, voice soft but sure.

“They won’t be home until eleven,” he said. “They’re celebrating our win tonight—probably stuffing themselves with fried chicken and tteokbokki somewhere downtown.”

You blinked, brows raising. “And you’re not with them… why, exactly, Sim Jaeyun?”

Jake grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Because,” he said, scooting even closer, “I have to make it up to my girlfriend. Who I know misses me.”

You tried to stay annoyed—tried—but the smile broke through before you could stop it.

“Misses you?” you teased. “You’re that confident, huh?”

Jake leaned forward until your noses almost touched, his hand curling around your waist again.

“Baby,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “You always miss me.”

You laughed, hand coming up to shove lightly at his chest. “Shut up.”

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “So is that a yes?”

You gave him a mock-suspicious look. “You better not make me climb in through the window.”

Jake gasped. “What do you take me for? A criminal?”

“A very determined one,” you muttered under your breath, earning a snort from him.

You paused for a second, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Jake lit up like someone had just handed him a win bigger than any trophy. “Really?”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his silver hair.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just promise you won’t let me get caught. Or killed.”

“No promises on the second part,” he joked, helping you buckle your seatbelt again. “But the first? Swear on my next win.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder as the van started moving again, whispering into the warm fabric of his shirt,

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned down at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Fortunately,” he corrected.

Jake was the first to unbuckle his seatbelt, already moving to slide the van door open before the car had even fully stopped.

“Come on, baby,” he said, holding a hand out for you.

You took it with a smile, hopping down carefully onto the pavement. “Thank you.”

He grinned, helping you steady yourself as you adjusted your short white dress and heels, his hand firm but warm in yours. You turned to bow slightly toward the driver’s seat.

“Thanks for today, manager-nim!”

Jake added, “Drive safe, hyung!”

The van rolled off the driveway and disappeared around the bend just as the two of you made your way up the steps of the dorm building.

The moment the door clicked open, you both instinctively slipped off your shoes, trying to make as little noise as possible.

You cradled your heels in one hand, Jake’s fingers still loosely linked with yours as he nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

“Ugh,” you sighed in relief, flexing your toes once your feet touched the cool wooden floor. “I swear those heels are from the devil.”

Jake laughed quietly, reaching out to take them from you.

“Give me those, princess. You’ll twist an ankle just walking to my room.”

“Wow,” you blinked, lips twitching. “I didn’t know I was dating someone who cared so deeply about foot health.”

“You’re dating someone who wants you in one piece,” he quipped, and carefully set your heels near the door before shrugging off his coat and yours—hanging it neatly on the rack.

“Also,” he turned back to you with a cheeky glint in his eye, “who wants you to last long enough to go for round two later.”

“Jaeyun!” you hissed, smacking his arm playfully.

He laughed, that dimpled grin so blinding it made your heart lurch.

“What?” he said innocently, following you into the hallway. “Just saying.”

You didn’t reply—just threw him a look over your shoulder as you both passed the dimly lit living room, quiet except for the hum of the fridge.

“So?” Jake asked, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “What do you want for dinner, my lady?”

“I want,” you replied, pushing his arm playfully, “us to change first before we even think about dinner.”

Jake clicked his tongue but nodded. “Fair.”

He reached for the doorknob of his room, opening it for you like always, and you were immediately greeted by the faint hum of the air conditioner and a familiar, calming scent that drifted out with it—fresh linen, hints of vanilla, and something uniquely Jake.

You stepped in, letting your shoulders sag a little in relief, smiling when the cold air hit your skin. Jake walked over to the remote and clicked the aircon a notch higher.

“Better?” he asked, glancing back at you.

“Much.” You flopped down onto the edge of his bed, dress fanning out around your thighs. The mattress dipped beneath you as you leaned back on your hands, watching as he walked over to his closet.

“Have you been using those candles I gave you?” you asked casually, nose crinkling as you inhaled. “Smells like the linen one.”

Jake grinned. “Of course I’ve been using them.”

He pulled out a pair of white sweatpants and a black oversized shirt from the shelf—familiar pieces that smelled like home, and walked over, placing them gently on your lap. The shirt was soft and worn, the kind you always stole after practice or filming.

“Here. These should fit my fairy,” he teased, before holding up a separate set in his other hand for himself.

You looked down at the clothes with a soft smile. “Still using the lavender vanilla one too?”

Jake rolled his eyes affectionately as he turned toward his dresser. “Yeah. And Sunghoon keeps asking where I got them.”

You laughed. “Let me guess—you’re gatekeeping it?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled off his vest and tossed it into the laundry bin. “Told him I bought it at some random underground boutique in France.”

You snorted. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” he corrected smugly, tugging his shirt off and tossing it over the desk chair. “At keeping you to myself.”

Your heart stuttered at that—but the way he said it was so casual, so sure, like it wasn’t a confession but a truth carved in stone.

You bit your lip, clutching the soft shirt he gave you a little tighter.

“…Then I guess I’ll let you keep being the best,” you whispered.

Jake turned to look at you then—bare-chested, smile crooked, silver hair messy from undressing—and his gaze softened even more.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded.

He crossed the room to press a kiss to your temple, eyes closing for a second longer than usual.

“Then let me keep you for a long, long time,” he whispered.

You hummed lazily, lips brushing against the slope of his shoulder. “Mmm, you’re so cheesy.”

Jake laughed—soft and low—and pulled away just enough to finish changing, shrugging off his dress pants and swapping them out for a familiar pair of gray sweatpants that hung loose on his hips.

You watched him for a second, dazed and full of quiet admiration, before unzipping your own dress and letting the fabric slide down your frame.

You pulled his oversized black shirt over your head, its scent already calming you, and stepped into the white sweatpants he gave earlier—cool, soft, and warm all at once.

You sighed contentedly, fingers tugging the waistband up as you padded across the floor toward where Jake was now placing his rings gently back into a clear Tiffany & Co. display case near his dresser.

Without saying anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, cheek resting against the bare skin of his back.

Jake paused, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Stealing my warmth already?” he teased.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “And your rings.”

Jake let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for your hand as he gently slid the rings off your fingers one by one.

“These belong to me,” he said playfully, placing them into a small black velvet pouch and tying it shut with care.

“You do know I was just borrowing them,” you joked, watching as he turned around slowly, fingers reaching up to the heavy silver chain still clasped around your neck.

“Too heavy,” he murmured, his voice gentle, as he unhooked it and let it drop into his palm. “You’ll get a line.”

He reached next for your earrings, carefully removing each one before placing them on the tray near his nightstand.

“All done,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him and leaned in to press a soft, thankful kiss to his cheek.

Jake smiled. His eyes softened.

Then he grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle tug. “C’mon, pretty. Let’s wash up first before we even think about eating.”

He peeked out of the room like a spy in a movie, checking both sides of the hallway with unnecessary caution. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Jaeyun,” you giggled, tugging at his arm, “we literally have the place to ourselves. Calm down, Jakey.”

He snorted. “You never know. Heeseung-hyung has this weird habit of forgetting his wallet and coming back at the worst times.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as he led you to the bathroom, flicking the light on with one hand while still keeping the other loosely laced with yours.

The familiar space was already warm and a little foggy from earlier showers—soft light bouncing off the white tiles and mirror.

You opened one of the lower drawers to grab your wipes, while Jake reached for the cleanser and the matching bottle of serum you both liked to share—one he originally gatekept until you caught him using it behind your back.

“I still can’t believe you let me use this now,” you teased, tugging out a wipe and gently starting on your eye makeup.

Jake raised a brow. “Let you? I only let you because you caught me and guilted me into it with that cute pout.”

You grinned. “You love the pout.”

“…Unfortunately,” he muttered with a fake grumble, though the curve of his lips betrayed him.

After both of you finished wiping your makeup off, you leaned over the sink, pumping the cleanser into your hands and working it into a soft foam.

The cold water hit your skin as you washed in slow circles, only for you to suddenly pull back with a sharp, annoyed sigh.

Jake turned mid-serum application, worry flickering across his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to bring a hair tie,” you grumbled, blinking as a bit of foam ran dangerously close to your eyes.

Without missing a beat, Jake gently stepped behind you, lifting your hair and holding it back with one hand while his other rested lightly on your shoulder.

“There,” he murmured. “Pretty face, clear and safe.”

You peeked at him through the mirror, cheeks flushing. “Thanks, Jakey.”

“I accept tips,” he whispered cheekily, leaning down to press a kiss just behind your ear.

When you were both done—skin fresh, damp, and glowing—you padded out of the bathroom with matching oversized shirts and sweats, your hair in a lazy towel wrap and Jake’s slightly damp from rinsing.

You flopped down onto the plush couch in the living room, letting your limbs melt into the cushions as he turned on the TV.

Jake joined you a second later, slumping beside you with a soft groan.

“You act like we ran a marathon,” you said, giggling.

“We basically did,” he mumbled. “Hours of performing, pretending not to be jealous on live television, and acting like I’m not obsessed with my girlfriend? That’s a full-time job.”

You laughed, curling into his side as he grabbed the remote and scrolled through Netflix. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you love it,” he replied, draping an arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer.

You rested your head on his chest, smiling softly as the sound of your favorite show’s intro filled the room. Your legs tangled together without a second thought, his fingers lazily tracing shapes on your arm.

Then Jake shifted a little and pulled his phone from the pocket of his gray sweats, wordlessly offering it to you.

His eyes never left the TV screen as he scrolled through Netflix with the remote, looking for something the both of you could watch—something with minimal heartbreak and lots of food scenes, per your usual shared preference.

You took his phone with a tiny smile, unlocking it easily with your birthday—something he never changed, even when you teased him about how predictable it was.

Your smile widened at the homescreen.

It was a candid photo of you, holding Layla in your lap at his parents’ house back in Korea. Your hair was tied messily, and you were mid-laugh, Layla’s head tilted up as if smiling with you.

“You and Layla are tied for the love of my life,” and you’d almost dropped her from laughing too hard.

Your chest warmed as you opened the food delivery app and tapped in your usual go-tos: tteokbokki, kimchi jeon, kimbap, and some japchae. All comfort food, all your favorites. You placed the order with practiced ease before glancing over at him.

“Do you want me to cook some ramyeon, too?” you asked, thumb hovering over the app to cancel the last item if needed.

Jake looked over at you with a lazy, tired smile, still slouched on the couch. “If it’s not too much, yeah. Your ramen always tastes better than mine.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “It’s never too much for you.”

He exhaled softly, watching you with a look in his eyes that felt like warm sunbeams filtering through sheer curtains.

His gaze followed you as you stood up and padded toward the kitchen in his oversized shirt and sweats, the towel from your hair now resting on your shoulders.

Jake shook his head slightly, that soft, smitten smile creeping up on his lips again as he muttered to himself, “I’m really lucky.”

He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud.

From the kitchen, your voice floated back playfully, “I heard that, Jakey.”

He grinned, sinking deeper into the couch with a chuckle. “Yeah? Good.”

Heeseung sighed as he slipped his key into the dorm door, brows furrowing at the already unlocked knob.

“Seriously, Jaeyun…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “One day you’re gonna get us all robbed.”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the soft hum of the TV greeting him like background noise. A low-volume English movie was playing, the kind you’d only keep on if you weren’t really paying attention—comfort noise, more than anything. The apartment was dim, bathed in the glow of the television.

Behind him, the rest of the members began piling out of the black van, voices low and tired but still carrying the hum of post-performance energy.

“Thanks, hyung!” Sunoo chirped to their manager.

“We’ll wash up and crash soon,” Jungwon added with a nod, stretching his arms over his head.

“Finally,” Ni-ki groaned. “My feet are legally dead.”

Heeseung waved them in without looking. “Door’s already open. Guess someone forgot again.”

“Jake,” Jay muttered immediately. “Definitely Jake.”

The boys shuffled down the short hallway one by one as Heeseung veered off into the living room. His steps were slow, calm—until he caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks.

The first thing he noticed were the empty plates. Neatly stacked and pushed aside on the coffee table. Two bowls—two—with traces of spicy ramen clinging to the sides. A small dipping tray with leftover tteokbokki sauce. And a blanket crumpled up near the floor.

That in itself wasn’t suspicious. Until—Heeseung did a double take.

There, curled up on the couch, was Jake. Nothing unusual, except the unmistakable figure curled up against him. Long hair splayed against his chest, smaller frame tucked into his side, legs tangled under the blanket.

Your figure.

Heeseung’s jaw dropped open. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Sunghoon yawned, stepping in behind him. “Hyung, why are you—”

“Shhh!” Heeseung threw an arm out to block him, still staring like he was witnessing a crime scene.

“What the hell?” Jay whispered, peering over his shoulder. “No way.”

Footsteps shuffled behind them as Jungwon finally caught up, Ni-ki at his side. The leader leaned in to see and froze.

“…I don’t know if I should be happy,” Jungwon whispered slowly, “or angry.”

Ni-ki blinked once, then twice. “What the f—”

“Language,” Jay muttered automatically, slapping a hand across Ni-ki’s chest.

Ni-ki raised both hands in surrender, lips pressed in a thin line. “Sorry. But seriously. What the hell.”

“Jesus,” Jungwon mumbled, clearly rethinking every single interaction he’d seen between the two of you over the past few months.

Sunoo peeked from behind the cluster of members, voice hushed and scandalized. “Is that really (Y/N)-noona?”

Sungoon rolled his eyes. “Do you know any other (Y/N)’s?”

“…Point made,” Sunoo muttered.

Heeseung, still standing stiffly near the couch, finally exhaled and bent down, motioning for Jay to help. “Come on. Let’s at least clean this mess before one of them wakes up and dies from embarrassment.”

Jay stepped forward wordlessly, carefully stacking the empty bowls while glancing nervously at Jake—who, despite the movement, didn’t budge.

Sunghoon led the others toward the kitchen, everyone walking on the balls of their feet like they were performing.

Jungwon clutched the fridge door like a lifeline, staring back toward the couch every few seconds with wide eyes.

He let out a long, almost silent sigh. “Well… there goes the no dating policy.”

Jay and Heeseung—now quietly rinsing the dishes in the sink, shared a glance.

Heeseung scoffed under his breath and mumbled, “Can’t believe Jake got a girlfriend before me.”

Jay snorted softly. “You? I’m more shocked he didn’t fumble it.”

Heeseung gave him a look.

Sungoon, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter beside Sunoo, chuckled into the back of his hand. “So,” he whispered to Jungwon, “what are we gonna do about this?”

Ni-ki popped his head over from where he was crouched behind the kitchen island. “Pray,” he deadpanned, “that Jungwon-hyung doesn’t kill Jake-hyung in the morning.”

Jungwon finally opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water just for something to hold. “In addition to that,” he muttered, eyes narrowed, “interrogate the two of them. Thoroughly.”

Heeseung let out a quiet breath, drying his hands on a nearby towel as he leaned against the counter. “Well… whatever happens tomorrow, they’re both adults,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm.

“And whatever happens, happens. We’re still one group either way.”

The room fell silent for a beat—quiet acceptance settling like dust in the air—as the others nodded.

Jay, now finished rinsing the last bowl, placed it gently into the drying rack and closed the dishwasher with a soft click. “He’s right,” he muttered. “We’d be idiots to make this a bigger deal than it is.”

Sunoo, standing beside him, hummed in agreement. “Still… I can’t believe it.” He rested his elbows on the counter, chin in his hand. “(Y/N)-noona’s so nice and pretty and cool—how the hell did Jake-hyung pull her?”

Sunghoon snorted from where he sat swinging his feet from the counter. “He probably whined his way into her heart.”

Jay laughed under his breath. “No, seriously, he must’ve begged.”

Ni-ki raised a brow. “Didn’t he used to say he wasn’t gonna date till his thirties?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo added, incredulous. “Now look at him. Cuddled up like a human-sized golden retriever.”

Jungwon, still holding his water bottle, glanced over his shoulder toward the living room again. His lips pressed together before he sighed for what felt like the tenth time that night.

“Alright,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Come on. Let’s clean ourselves up too.”

He made one last glance toward the couch—his leader instincts kicking in even now—watching Jake’s chest rise and fall in sync with yours.

The blanket had slipped a little, and your cheek was pressed against his collarbone, his arm protectively wrapped around you like he’d never learned how to let go.

Jungwon blinked, then turned away without a word and disappeared into the hallway toward the shared bathroom.

Jake stirred under the blanket with a low groan, his arms instinctively wrapping tighter around your waist as if to keep you glued to him. “Mmm… five more minutes,” he murmured sleepily, face nuzzling into your neck.

You blinked once—twice.

Sunlight was already pouring into the room from the slightly parted curtains, casting golden streaks over the wooden floors and across Jake’s bare arm.

The soft sizzle of something on a pan echoed in the quiet, paired with the sound of light humming and—

“—I’m just saying! I saw this clip last night of (Y/N)-noona saying she loves strawberries on pancakes, so I brought these!” Sunoo’s voice, cheerful and light, rang through the dorm as he held up a bowl full of washed strawberries.

You froze.

You lifted your head just slightly and—right there in the kitchen, plain as day, stood Jay flipping pancakes like a pro, while Sunoo babbled beside him like a happy fox with a mission.

You panicked internally, turning to Jake and whispering urgently, “Jake. Jake, wake up.”

“Mmf,” came the lazy reply.

You poked his side. “Jake, wake up. Now.”

He groaned again, brows furrowing in protest as he slowly opened his eyes. “Huh…? Wha—”

And then it hit him.

He blinked once—twice.

His eyes widened. “Wait. Morning?”

You nodded grimly.

He sat up so fast the blanket slipped from his shoulders, revealing his messy bed hair and oversized shirt. “Holy shit—”

“Language!” Jay called out from the kitchen, not even looking.

Jake whipped his head around. “They’re here?!”

“Have been,” you muttered, quickly fixing your hair and glancing down at your slightly wrinkled sweatpants. “We’re dead.”

Jay finally turned around from the stove, flipping another perfect pancake onto a plate, a smirk curling on his lips. “Nice of you two to finally wake up.”

Sunoo beamed as he placed the strawberries on the counter. “Good morning, lovebirds!”

Jake groaned and covered his face. “Kill me now.”

You elbowed him gently, cheeks red. “You promised to avoid scandals. This is not how you do it.”

Ni-ki popped out of his room at the exact worst time, a controller in each hand and bed hair still flattened on one side. “Yo, hyung, rematch now or you’re—”

He trailed off the second he saw you and Jake on the couch, eyes slowly widening in comedic horror. “Oh, hey.”

Behind him, Heeseung strolled out casually with a yawn, only to stop dead in his tracks, blinking at the sight in front of him. “…So it wasn’t a dream.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sunghoon muttered, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel slung over his shoulder. He gave the two a deadpan glare. “Put the controllers down. We have a guest. Have some shame.”

Your face burned hotter than ever as you buried half your face into the couch pillow, praying for the leather cushions to open up and swallow you whole. The embarrassment was suffocating.

Jake sighed beside you, wiping a hand over his face and trying to contain his own grin. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” the rest of the guys chorused back—way too casual, way too smug.

Heeseung leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, sending Jake a pointed, knowing look like the older brother who knew exactly what went down. “Hope the ramen was worth it.”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Hyung,” he muttered under his breath, but he was already standing, fingers slipping around yours as he gently tugged you up from the couch. “C’mon. Let’s get you freshened up.”

You followed reluctantly, clutching the sleeves of your borrowed black shirt, whispering, “They all saw me. Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down.”

Jake let out a soft laugh, spinning to face you halfway down the hall, his hand still around yours. “Hey,” he said gently, “you look really cute in my clothes, for the record.”

You pouted, eyes still wide from humiliation. “Sim Jaeyun. I am suffering.”

He only grinned wider before tugging you into his arms, his chin resting atop your head. “You’ll survive, baby. Promise.”

“Are you sure?” you mumbled into his chest.

“Positive.” He kissed the crown of your head. “And if not… I’ll bribe Sunoo with skincare to never mention it again.”

You giggled despite yourself as he finally pulled you down the hall again, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Now hurry,” he teased. “Before they start asking graphic questions.”

You gasped. “They wouldn’t.”

Jake snorted. “Oh, they would.”

And unfortunately, you knew he was absolutely right.

After a quick but cozy skincare session—him washing the foam off your cheeks with a towel while mumbling, “you missed a spot, baby,” and you dabbing toner on his face while he scrunched his nose—you finally took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, bracing yourself.

As you stepped into the hallway together, Jake right at your side, the sound of chatter and the smell of pancakes still filled the dorm.

You barely made it three steps into the kitchen when you were immediately ambushed.

“Noona!”

Sunoo popped right in front of you, face lit up like a puppy that just saw a treat. “Good morning! I made extra strawberries because I heard you like them,” he beamed, holding up a plate already sliced perfectly into little hearts.

“Also—does that mud mask Jake hyung uses actually work? Because your skin is glowing right now and I need answers.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heart melting at his sweet energy. “Sunoo, you’re seriously the cutest,” you giggled, letting him gently tug you toward the dining table like a proud little brother showing off. “And yes, it does work. I’ll make you a list later, okay?”

“Yes!” he cheered, pulling out a chair for you right beside him like a gentleman. “I’m gonna be flawless by next comeback.”

Jake watched from across the table, resting his chin on his palm, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

His eyes never left you—especially not as you teased Sunoo about the heart-shaped strawberries or pointed out a bit of whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

“Someone’s soft,” Jay muttered from beside him, but Jake didn’t even deny it.

You glanced up for a second and met Jake’s gaze. He gave you a tiny wink.

“Alright,” Jungwon finally spoke, sitting at the table with his arms crossed and a suspicious smile tugging at his lips. “So… (Y/N)-noona, huh?”

Jake paused mid-chew.

The table went quiet, everyone turning to look at him like they were waiting for a big reveal on a drama show.

You felt your palms begin to sweat under the table as your gaze flickered toward Jungwon—the second youngest but also the most responsible. He sighed, running a hand through his slightly messy red hair, the weight of the silence pressing down on his shoulders.

“…Since when?” he finally asked, tone calm but serious.

You bit your lip, glancing at Jake who only gave you a small nod of reassurance before you turned back to Jungwon and quietly said,

“Almost seven months.”

The collective reaction was immediate.

“Seven months?!” Sunoo turned to you with wide eyes, nearly dropping his chopsticks. “That long?!”

“Wow,” Heeseung muttered from the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as a teasing grin tugged at his lips. “It’s that serious, huh?”

Jake didn’t hesitate.

“Well… yeah,” he said, setting down his fork as he leaned forward a bit, voice more sincere than ever. “She’s my first girlfriend and everything.”

You blinked at the weight of those words.

“Actually,” Jake added with a small, shy smile, “she’s already met my family.”

Ni-ki, who had been stuffing a strawberry into his mouth, paused mid-bite and turned. “Even Layla?”

You grinned, placing your chin in your palm. “Yeah. Even Layla.”

Jake beamed at the memory, clearly fond. “Layla liked her more than she likes me now. Traitor.”

The table laughed again, lighter this time, the tension slowly lifting.

“Well,” you added with a soft shrug, “he also met mine. So… fair game.”

Jay raised a brow. “Met the parents on both sides? Damn.”

Jake shrugged, a sheepish but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Well… it was getting serious after the promos for the Dimension album,” he said, fiddling with the fork on his plate, eyes flicking up to yours for a second. “And I guess we just… decided to really commit from there.”

You looked at him, heart tugging a little at how sincere he still managed to sound—even surrounded by teasing members and leftover pancake crumbs. You gave him a small, knowing smile before turning your gaze back to the boys.

“And now I’m here,” you said lightly, gesturing to the dorm with an exaggerated flair. “In my sunbaenim’s dorm. How romantic.”

That made Jungwon actually laugh—like, full-on, head-thrown-back laugh that caught even him off guard. He set his drink down and wiped at his eyes.

“Oh, come on,” he chuckled, voice a little higher from amusement. “We bump into each other at HYBE all the time.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “That’s different than seeing me asleep next to your member in pajama pants, leader-nim.”

The table burst into laughter again.

“She got you there,” Sunghoon muttered, smirking behind his cup.

“Yeah,” Ni-ki added with a cackle, pointing between you and Jake. “Waking up to your hyung spooning a girl is wild.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, okay—can everyone stop visualizing it now?”

Sunoo burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling into crescents as he placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Well, no more secrets from you, hyung. You need to share Noona now.”

Before you could even respond, the sunshine boy flung his arms around you in a warm hug.

You laughed, surprised but happy, returning the hug just as tightly. “Sunoo-yah, you’re such a baby,” you giggled.

Jake rolled his eyes with a groan, pointing his fork toward the two of you. “That—that right there—is exactly what I was afraid of.”

Ni-ki snorted mid-chew. “Better get used to it, hyung.”

“You all are so dramatic,” you laughed, ruffling Sunoo’s hair before he settled back down, still beaming. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Heeseung raised a mug toward you, smirking over the rim. “Well, welcome to the family, (Y/N). Officially.”

Jake muttered under his breath, “This was not how I planned the soft launch.”

Jay raised a brow. “Soft launch? Bro, we caught you two asleep on the couch like a married couple.”

Jungwon, now finally relaxed, let out a real laugh. “Well, at least you both look happy.”

You glanced at Jake, who was still playing with his fork but met your eyes with a soft, genuine smile—the kind that said you were worth the risk.

You smiled right back, heart full. “We are.”

The waiting room was buzzing with staff, idols, and camera crews, but you were barely focused on any of it.

Your stylist clipped a small mic to the neckline of your basketball jersey—matching Eunchae’s, except instead of shorts, you had a pleated tennis skirt hugging your hips. Your hair was pulled back with soft clips, giving you that preppy-athletic vibe.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt and turned to Eunchae. “Is it really okay for me to be here? Like… co-hosting?”

“Yes, unnie!” Eunchae beamed, tugging lightly at your hand like an excited puppy. “You’re my member and my unofficial emotional support girlie. Now make it official!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess that makes me your co-host for the day?”

“Exactly.” Eunchae turned the handheld camera toward the two of you. “Hello everyone! Welcome to Eunchae’s Star Diary!” she said brightly, waving into the lens.

“Today is super special because—” she paused dramatically and pointed to you, “I’m with one of my unnies from Le Sserafim! A co-host, perhaps.”

You smiled and waved, voice light. “Hi everyone! I was dragged into this but I’m actually really excited. I’ve never done something like this before.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Eunchae encouraged, slinging an arm around your shoulder as the two of you began walking through the Music Bank hallway.

“And for the first time, we’re going to be interviewing seniors from our very own company.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, already sensing where this was going. “I already have a feeling I know who…”

You didn’t even finish the thought when a blur of white streaked past the corner of your vision.

All brown hair, soft puppy eyes, and that unmistakable white stage outfit with silver trimming—Jake.

He zoomed right past you and Eunchae like a cartoon character, nearly colliding with a passing staff member before yanking open a door just a few feet ahead.

‘ENHYPEN’s Waiting Room,’ the label on the placard read clearly.

The door slammed shut behind him with a thud.

You and Eunchae both stood there blinking for a second, eyes wide. Then slowly—almost in sync—you turned to look at each other and burst out laughing.

“Did… did he just—” Eunchae started, breathless from laughing.

“Run for his life?” you finished, still wheezing. “Yes. Yes, he did.”

Eunchae reached out and gently placed her palm under the little hanging nameplate stuck to the dressing room door.

“Yes, our esteemed guests for today… are none other than ENHYPEN-sunbaenim,” she declared in her best announcer voice, even pointing toward their printed group photo that was taped just under the sign.

You stepped beside her, brushing invisible lint off your skirt like a proper MC. “They seem a little… unprepared.”

“That’s our cue!” Eunchae laughed, raising her fist and knocking twice.

A loud, scrambling noise came from inside the room—chairs scooting, someone knocking over what sounded like a bag of chips, someone else hissing “Get your jacket on, now—”

And then, a voice rang out—loud and unmistakably dramatic.

“WAIT—WAIT—WAIT!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. Eunchae doubled over beside you.

“That was Sunghoon, right?” she whispered.

“Definitely Sunghoon,” you replied, biting back a grin.

Another voice chimed in from inside, this one suspiciously Jake-sounding: “Hyung, it’s just them!”

“No, no—give me like ten more seconds, I swear I can fix my hair!”

You and Eunchae looked at the camera, fully breaking the fourth wall.

“Yeah… they’re our stars for today,” you announced with a playful sigh, gesturing grandly to the now panic-filled room behind the door.

You knocked again, this time more gently. “Can we come in now…?” you called through the door.

A beat of silence. Then Jungwon’s voice came through, a bit too composed.

“Yes! You can come in now.”

You opened the door.

And immediately closed it again.

They were all staring at you—you turned to Eunchae, wide-eyed. “Wait. I’m nervous.”

Eunchae gave you a shove toward the door. “You literally know all of them!”

You hissed, “Yeah, that’s the problem!”

Still, you opened it again with a sheepish smile as the cameras followed you two in. “Hello!” you both chorused, bowing politely. “We’re from Le Sserafim—thank you for having us today.”

The boys all bowed back, slightly out of sync, still recovering from the earlier chaos.

Eunchae brightened up, turning to them. “What were you guys doing before we barged in?”

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “We were about to eat, actually.”

You gasped softly. “Ah, we’re so sorry—did we come too early?”

Sunoo waved a hand. “It’s okay! We weren’t really eating yet.”

“Only planning to,” Jay added with a soft chuckle.

Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Jake stood up from the couch then, brushing themselves off as you and Eunchae gently motioned for them to follow toward the set for the interview.

The walk to the next room was filled with a strange tension—one part professional courtesy, one part trying to ignore the very real fact that you had three ENHYPEN members you’d been close with for two years, walking beside you like you were strangers on camera. You fiddled with your mic pack to distract yourself.

It was Sunghoon who finally broke the silence. “We’re usually not this quiet,” he said, glancing at you and Eunchae with a crooked smile.

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Jake gave a breathy laugh beside him and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry for the awkward vibes… We’re just not used to being interviewed by someone we—uh, we’re familiar with.”

You all chuckled at that as you entered the interview room. It was cozy, almost sleepover-like—blankets, pillows, fairy lights on the walls, and small cushions set up on the floor around a low table.

“Oooh, this is cute,” Eunchae said, making her way to one of the cushions.

You took your place beside her, the designated MCs for today, as the members began settling down on the opposite side—Jake sitting directly across from you with the smallest smile, like he was trying not to break into a full grin.

Eunchae, ever the bubbly host, clapped her hands once. “Okay! Let’s start with introductions! We have three very handsome guests today, so… one by one, please?”

Heeseung leaned forward, voice smooth. “Hello everyone, I’m Heeseung from ENHYPEN.”

Sunghoon followed right after. “Hi, I’m Sunghoon. It’s nice to be here!”

Jake smiled with his eyes. “And I’m Jake. Thanks for having us today.”

You nodded along, doing your best to stay composed despite the fact that your boyfriend was sitting across from you looking far too boyfriend-coded.

“It’s honestly fun having guests on the show,” Eunchae chimed. “Especially today—because I’m not alone in the waiting room for once. Usually I just film solo with a tripod and a camera.”

You giggled, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve seen those. You really hold it down on your own.”

Sunghoon grinned. “I get it, though. I used to be an MC here before you, (Y/N). There were days I’d just sit alone waiting for filming to start. Felt like I was talking to myself half the time.”

“Exactly!” you said, laughing. “There are days I miss my members a lot—when it’s just you and your thoughts before cameras roll.”

Eunchae let out a dramatic sigh and scooted closer to your side, plopping her head gently on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m so happy you’re here today, unnie.”

“Aww,” you whispered with a soft smile, nudging her affectionately.

But before you could say more, a voice from behind the camera called out—one of the PDs, teasing and half-laughing.

“But (Y/N)’s not alone anymore, right?”

You blinked, confused. “Huh?”

Another staff member added, “Don’t you share a waiting room with Jisung from NCT now?”

The entire room changed in atmosphere.

You let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of your neck as you glanced toward the camera. “Ah… well, technically, yes. I mean—we’re just co-MCs.”

Heeseung tried to chuckle along with you, but it came out more awkward than anything. “Yeah, yeah… they’re, uh, a funny duo.”

Sunghoon raised a brow and tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between you and Jake.

Jake didn’t laugh.

He didn’t speak either—his expression unreadable for a split second before he dipped his head down, pretending to fiddle with the mic clipped to his shirt.

Eunchae, ever the angel, picked up on the shift and quickly added, “Well, either way—it’s more fun having all of you here now! Especially since we get to interview sunbaes from the same company!”

Jake cleared his throat, voice low as he shifted in his seat. “So… what are we doing today?” he asked, looking straight at you, eyes unreadable despite the slight upward tug of his lips.

You matched his expression with a tight smile of your own, schooling your features before glancing at the cue card in your hand.

“Well,” you began, keeping your tone light, “it’s finally here. You had your comeback after what—ten months, right?”

All three boys nodded, and Sunghoon added with a laugh, “Yeah, it feels like it’s been forever.”

“It really has,” Heeseung said. “We’ve been preparing for months. We’re so happy to finally show everyone what we’ve worked on.”

You nodded, stealing a side glance at Jake. He was quiet, fingers laced together in his lap, gaze trained on you but not quite meeting your eyes.

“So tell us about the album,” you continued, tapping the cue card with your finger. “Dark Blood—sounds intense.”

“It is,” Jake finally answered, voice more even now. “It’s our third mini album, and probably one of our most emotionally driven ones. It dives into sacrifice, longing, and… a bit of darkness.”

He gave the camera a practiced smile. “The concept really pushed us, and we’re proud of it.”

Eunchae clapped lightly. “Ooooh! What are your favorite tracks from it?”

“I really love ‘Bills,’” Heeseung answered immediately. “It was the first track we recorded for this album, and I think it set the tone.”

Sunghoon followed right after. “Same here. ‘Bills’ just… hits. The melody’s addictive and it’s fun to perform on stage.”

Eunchae beamed. “Ooh, I like that one too!”

Jake, seated between them, shifted slightly, then leaned forward just enough for his voice to carry with a smoother tone. “I’d say my favorite is ‘Sacrifice (Eat Me Up).’”

He didn’t look at the camera.

He looked at you.

And he kept looking at you as he added, “It’s about giving every part of yourself—body, soul, emotions—until there’s nothing left. It’s intense, a little dangerous.”

He smiled, almost too casually, fingers clasped together in his lap. “It shows what devotion really means.”

The air shifted.

Your hand twitched over your cue card.

Eunchae nodded enthusiastically, completely missing the way your back stiffened. “That one’s my favorite too! Especially the chorus—so catchy!”

You cleared your throat, gripping your cue cards tighter. “Well,” you began, casting a brief glance Jake’s way before quickly looking down again, “I have to agree with Jake. ‘Sacrifice’ really stood out to me too.”

Eunchae turned to you and clapped her hands excitedly. “See? Great minds think alike!”

Your lips curved into a smile, even as your heart stuttered in your chest. Jake’s expression didn’t change—still calm, still composed—but his eyes held something deeper. Something territorial.

Was he still hung up on Jisung? Or was he just reminding everyone who knew you were his?

You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or worried.

You stood near the side of the waiting room, arms crossed as you watched Jake quietly sling his bag over his shoulder.

Not a word was said, but you could feel it—the subtle shift in his energy. Polite, detached, not cold exactly, just a little too quiet for Jake.

“Hyung, see you later!” Ni-ki called while tying the laces of his sneakers.

“Bye, Jake-hyung! Bye, (Y/N)-noona!” Sunoo added, waving at you with both hands from the makeup chair, eyes crinkling as the stylist gently wiped off the remainder of his eyeliner.

You smiled and waved back, offering a soft, “Bye, Sunoo.”

Heeseung gave you a small nod and a knowing look—like he already sensed the storm brewing.

Jake only muttered, “Bye, guys,” under his breath before reaching for your hand and leading you out the door.

His grip was firm. Not rough, not rushed. But definitely, deliberate.

You said nothing as the two of you walked through the quieter halls of the building, only the soft thuds of your footsteps filling the space.

When you reached the back exit, your van was already waiting—your manager at the wheel, scrolling through her phone with one hand on the steering wheel.

She gave Jake a polite smile. “Evening, Jake.”

“Evening, noona,” he replied, opening the heavy side door for you.

You climbed in without a word, the plush leather seats greeting you with too much silence. Jake followed right after and closed the door behind him—shutting out the world with one solid thud.

The partition was already up.

And still, neither of you spoke.

Jake slid into the seat next to you, his thigh brushing against yours for a second too long before he leaned back and finally said, “So… we’re doing this again, huh?”

You turned to him slowly. “Doing what again?”

He looked at you now, properly, his expression unreadable. “Pretending everything’s fine until we’re alone.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t pretending.”

He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. So the tight smile wasn’t pretending. Or dodging every glance I threw at you.”

“Jake—” you started, your voice sharper than you intended.

He snapped.

“I know, okay?” he said, a little louder than before. “I know! How long do I have to pretend like everything’s fine? Like I’m just… okay with it?”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You think I like this too?” you fired back, the words slipping out in English before you could stop yourself.

Jake blinked. His jaw tightened as the shift in language pulled a cord in him, like you had just lit the match.

“Oh, we’re doing this in English now?” he said with a breathy laugh—cold, incredulous. “Fine.”

He turned fully to face you, fire sparking in his eyes. “At least I act like some concerned jealous boyfriend and not like—like some co-worker trying to keep it professional with their own girlfriend.”

“That’s the problem, Jake!” you hissed, fingers clenched into fists in your lap.

“You are my boyfriend. And I can’t have you risk your entire career just because you’re jealous!”

He scoffed. “This isn’t about my career—this is about you! You don’t even look at me when the cameras are on. Like I’m… some stranger you just happen to be standing next to.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is me having to sit across from you pretending like I’m not completely in love with someone who’s acting like I don’t even exist!”

Your breath caught.

The van was too quiet now—your hearts beating louder than the hum of the tires on the road.

“I want to show people,” Jake said, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. “But I want you to want that too. Not because I’m insecure, or jealous, or whatever—but because this?” He pointed between you two. “This matters to me. You matter to me.”

You swallowed hard, voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t want that? That I don’t want to scream that you’re mine?”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m scared!” you blurted. “I’m scared, Jake! Of the backlash. Of the fans. Of you losing everything because of me.”

He stared at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And then, softer, “I’d rather lose everything than keep pretending I don’t love you.”

His words hung in the air like a loaded confession, too heavy to move past.

Jake let out a cold, bitter laugh, dragging his hands through his dark locks, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, the tension crackling between you both like static.

“It’s been two years, (Y/N),” he muttered, voice laced with exhaustion and disbelief. “Two years of sneaking around, pretending like we’re strangers just because we’re bound by a contract.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning your head back against the leather headrest as your gaze drifted to the tinted window. The soft thrum of the tires against asphalt was the only thing grounding you in that moment.

You glanced at him from your peripheral, voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… two years.”

Two years of midnight meetups. Of erased call logs. Of longing glances across crowded hallways. Of holding back every instinct to reach for him in public.

Jake turned to you, eyes rimmed with something more vulnerable now—less anger, more ache. “I know why we did it. I know why you’re still scared. But at some point, I just—I need to live, (Y/N). I need us to breathe.”

Your lips parted like you wanted to say something—anything—but you swallowed the words, throat too tight.

“Don’t you want that too?” he asked, softer now, like he was begging you. “To stop pretending every second we’re out in the world?”

You looked at him fully now, finally, eyes glassy but steady.

“I do,” you whispered. “More than anything.”

He nodded slowly, lips pressing into a line. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one willing to fight for it?”

You blinked, stung by the quiet truth in his tone.

“I’m not asking you to shout it from rooftops,” he said. “I’m just asking you to stand with me.”

Silence again—thick, trembling.

“…And if I do?” you finally said. “If I stand with you?”

Jake’s eyes softened completely, a flicker of hope cutting through his frustration.

“Then we figure it out together,” he murmured, fingers brushing over yours like a silent plea, and then—finally—grasping your hand tightly, like he couldn’t bear to let go again.

But for a second, he did.

Just long enough to reach into his bag, pulling out something wrapped in velvet blue, that signature Tiffany & Co. teal peeking from beneath his palm.

You blinked. “Jake…?”

He didn’t look at you at first. He was too busy fiddling with the box, thumb brushing the edges, jaw tight like he wasn’t sure if he should be doing this. But then he looked up—really looked up—and your heart stuttered at the storm in his eyes.

When he opened the lid, your breath caught in your throat.

Two silver bands.

One was simple, sleek, polished to a soft gleam. The other had a small diamond in the center—nothing flashy, but delicate, elegant. Like it was made for you.

“…Is this you proposing?” you asked, trying to break the moment with a shaky laugh. “You know I prefer gold.”

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “I know. But I also know you’ll love it either way.” He plucked the smaller ring from the box carefully and reached for your hand again.

“This isn’t a proposal, not yet,” he whispered. “It’s a promise. That I’m yours, no matter what. That when the timing is right—when the world stops getting in the way—I’ll ask for forever the right way. The real way.”

You blinked furiously, tears threatening to spill. Jake just smiled—soft, shaky—and slid the ring onto your finger like he’d rehearsed this a hundred times in his head.

“I don’t care if fans notice. If people connect the dots,” he murmured. “Let them. I just need you to know—I need to know—that we’re still choosing each other.”

You stared down at the silver band, the tiny diamond catching the dim van light. Your lip quivered as you reached for the other ring and slipped it onto his finger without a word.

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. Then he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the promise he’d just made permanent.

“I don’t need the world to understand,” he said against your knuckles. “I just need you to believe me.”

“I do,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as tears finally slid down your cheeks. “I always have.”

He didn’t speak after that. Just leaned forward, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a soft, slow kiss to your lips—one that wasn’t rushed, one that said everything he couldn’t anymore.

When he pulled away, your eyes were still closed, your fingers still gently curled around his. You opened them slowly, just in time for the soft mechanical whir of the partition being lowered.

“We’re here,” your manager said from the driver’s seat, not turning around. “You two better fix whatever was going on before, hmm?”

You blinked, surprised.

“Thank you, unnie,” you said sheepishly, cheeks burning as you fiddled with your fingers, trying to hide the glint of the new ring.

She sighed, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “It’s not any of my business… but you two look cute together. Fix it. Or I’ll have to deal with moping Jaeyun again.”

Jake burst into quiet laughter beside you, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached for the door handle. “No promises,” he teased. “But thanks, hyung-nim.”

“Noona,” your manager corrected, deadpan.

Jake gave her a small salute. “Thanks, noona.”

You both stepped out into the private parking garage, the crisp air biting at your skin as Jake immediately held out your coat from earlier. You slipped into it gratefully, your cheeks still warm from the kiss and the conversation.

“I’ll grab both our bags,” Jake said before you could protest, already slinging yours over his shoulder with his own. “Don’t fight me on this. Promise ring perks, remember?”

You laughed quietly. “What, like a built-in porter?”

“Exactly,” he grinned, nudging you playfully as you walked side by side.

The click of your boots echoed through the quiet hall as you both made your way toward the private elevator.

The metal doors slid open with a soft ding, and Jake waited until you were inside before stepping in and pressing the button to your floor.

The elevator ride was quiet—but not tense this time. Just calm. Like everything unsaid had finally found its voice.

The soft hum of the lift filled the silence as you leaned slightly into Jake’s shoulder, fingers brushing against his as the floor count ticked up.

Ding.

Jake reached out to stop the doors from closing again and gestured like a gentleman. “After you, milady.”

You smiled, pulling out your card key from your bag as you led the way to your unit. The hallway was dimly lit with soft yellow lighting, familiar and comforting. You slid the card into the slot, the beep echoing softly as the green light blinked.

Jake held out his arm, and you instinctively held onto it for balance as you leaned down to take off your shoes, laughing softly as your heel got stuck on the rug. “Ugh. Why do I always struggle with this?”

“Because you’re stubborn,” Jake chuckled, easily slipping out of his sneakers without using his hands, smug. “No hands, see?”

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered playfully, finally stepping out of your heels and standing upright, twisting the knob to open the door fully—

Only to be met with two pairs of unimpressed eyes.

Standing just inside the entryway, arms crossed and glasses perched threateningly on their noses like two strict moms, were Yunjin and Sakura.

They didn’t say a word.

Not at first.

Just stared. Especially at Jake.

You blinked. Froze.

Jake straightened up immediately beside you, like a student caught sneaking into class late.

“…Hi,” you said nervously, offering a sheepish wave. “How are you two doing tonight…?”

Sakura didn’t even blink. She raised a perfectly shaped brow, arms still crossed, expression cool. “Just fine. Until we realized you said you’d be back in an hour, little missy.”

You gulped. Oh no.

Yunjin sighed dramatically. “I told you she was acting weird this morning. Didn’t I say she took extra long getting ready? That’s always the sign.”

“I thought she was just going through one of her Pinterest-girl phases again,” Sakura muttered. “But no. It’s boyfriend time.”

Jake coughed awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…Hi. I’m, uh, Jake.”

“We know,” both girls deadpanned in unison.

You looked between them, then at Jake, then back at them. “Okay. Okay. Let’s all breathe.”

Yunjin took a deep breath.

Sakura didn’t.

“…Is this the part where you interrogate us?” Jake asked hesitantly.

“No,” Yunjin said. “This is the part where we ask if you’re staying for dinner.”

Jake blinked. “Wait—what?”

You gawked. “Wait what?!”

Sakura shrugged, walking past you both toward the kitchen. “He’s here. You clearly love him. The least he can do is help us chop garlic.”

Yunjin was already pulling her hair back into a ponytail, heading toward the fridge. “We were going to cook anyway. Might as well feed the mystery boyfriend who’s apparently been around for two years.”

Jake looked at you, eyes wide with disbelief—and relief.

You just laughed. A little too high-pitched. A little too stunned.

“Welcome to my life,” you whispered to him.

Jake leaned down, grinning as he brushed a kiss to your temple. “I like it here already.”

“Hey!” Yunjin’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Stop kissing my daughter, Sim! Get changed and help us here.”

You snorted, hand slapping over your mouth to stifle the laugh. “I’m her daughter now?”

Jake laughed too, already being dragged by the wrist down the hallway toward your room. “Should I be honored or terrified?”

The both of you had barely made it to your bedroom door when Kazuha poked her head out from the kitchen, a mixing bowl in her hands and her hair in a messy bun. “Wait… is that Jake-sunbaenim?!”

You gave her a sheepish grin, not even trying to defend yourself anymore. “He’s real, Zuha. In the flesh.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered, eyes widening, disappearing back into the kitchen like she’d just seen a ghost.

You both burst into laughter as you finally made it into your room, the familiar scent of your linen spray and vanilla candles comforting as ever.

Jake shut the door behind him and immediately made a beeline for your dresser. “Let me guess,” he said as he tugged open the second drawer, “this is your ‘stolen boyfriend item’ storage?”

You said nothing. Just watched as he pulled out a very familiar gray hoodie.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “So this is where my sweatshirt’s been hiding.”

You shrugged with faux innocence, perching on the edge of your bed. “Finders, keepers.”

He huffed out a laugh, already tugging his shirt off over his head—his toned chest flashing for a brief moment before he slipped the hoodie over his head. It was baggy and worn, the fabric clearly well-loved. “I was wondering why my laundry pile’s been suspiciously light.”

You giggled. “You gave me that one to sleep in when I got sick after your birthday, remember?”

Jake paused. “Yeah, you were shivering even under three blankets.”

His voice was fond. Soft. Almost too much to handle.

He reached into your bottom drawer next, pulling out the navy sweatpants he’d once told you to “just keep.” He held them up and raised a brow. “These too?”

You grinned. “Never know when I might need it.”

He chuckled under his breath, slipping into them quickly and ruffling his damp bangs out of his eyes. “Well, I guess I should’ve known you’d turn into a serial hoodie thief.”

You stood up and walked over, resting your hands on his shoulders as you looked him up and down. “To be fair… you wear oversized really well.”

Jake leaned in, hands brushing your waist. “And you wear stolen boyfriend clothes even better.”

Before he could kiss you again, Yunjin’s voice rang from down the hall: “Sim Jaeyun, if you don’t get in here and start slicing strawberries, I’m feeding your girl dinner myself!”

Jake groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “God, she’s scary.”

You giggled. “She’s just being protective.”

“She’s doing a great job,” he muttered.

You snorted and tugged him gently by the wrist. “C’mon,” you said, pulling him back out into the hallway. “Time to earn your dinner.”

As you both entered the kitchen, Eunchae perked up immediately, grabbing a plastic container from the counter and placing it in Jake’s hands, along with a cutting board and a knife.

“I literally just interviewed you like two hours ago,” she said dramatically, staring at him in disbelief. “And now you’re cutting strawberries in our dorm kitchen? This is wild.”

Jake gave her a sheepish grin. “Surreal for me too.”

Kazuha, who was already perched on one of the stools by the counter, let out a loud laugh, nearly dropping her phone in the process. “This is insane. Do you just teleport from music shows to our house now?”

You giggled and plopped onto the stool beside her, reaching for a slice of mango from the tray in the center. “He’s an all-rounder, what can I say?”

Jake rolled his eyes fondly as he started slicing the strawberries with surprising focus, the sleeves of his hoodie tugged up to his elbows. “Your kitchen… is very pink,” he muttered, glancing around.

“We like our color coordination,” Sakura replied dryly from the other side of the kitchen island, sipping water from her glass.

She turned to Yunjin, who was standing at the stove whisking something. “So, what’s the plan? Crepes later?”

“Yeah,” Yunjin said without looking away from the pan. “I’ve got a few more strawberries in the fridge. Might as well make it a treat—Chaewon-unnie and (Y/N) would love it. Though, Chaewon-unnie’s knocked out cold right now.”.”

Jake, still cutting with a level of concentration that made everyone a little amused, added casually, “(Y/N) likes snacking on strawberries before dinner. Like… religiously.”

You blinked and turned to him slowly. “You make me sound like I survive solely off berries.”

Sakura didn’t miss a beat. “And she wonders why her appetite’s always ruined.”

Kazuha let out a very loud, “Exactly,” while pointing her spoon at you accusingly.

You gasped with mock offense. “Why is everyone attacking me?!”

Jake chuckled softly, looking over his shoulder at you as he placed another neatly sliced strawberry on the growing pile. “They’re not wrong, babe. You eat them like popcorn.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who steals all the dried mangoes and thinks I don’t notice,” you fired back, arms crossed.

Jake only smirked as he grabbed one of the small ceramic bowls from the rack, neatly dividing the freshly sliced strawberries. He slid one half over to you across the counter with practiced ease. “For my berry thief,” he teased.

“Thanks,” you murmured with a small smile, taking a bite just as Yunjin set down a steaming dish on the dining table behind you.

She wiped her hands on a towel tucked into her waistband, eyeing the two of you with an unreadable expression before heading back to the stove and grabbing a ladle. She poured broth into a pan with calculated calm, then turned slightly over her shoulder.

“Jake,” she called, tone almost too light. “What do you want with (Y/N)?”

You nearly choked on your strawberry.

“Unnie,” you protested, voice cracking as your eyes darted between your members. “Really?”

Jake, unbothered, leaned his elbows on the counter and met Yunjin’s gaze head-on. “What do I want with her?” he repeated, almost playfully. “Let’s see…”

He turned to you with a quick wink before looking back at Yunjin. “I’ve known her for three years,” he said smoothly. “Dated her for two.”

Jake chuckled nervously. “Yeah… we started seeing each other around the Dimension era. Kept it under wraps, obviously.”

You stared at your hands, cheeks flushing as the kitchen filled with stunned silence.

⤷ read part 2 here !

⤷ permanent tagllist — @m1kkso

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[slvbum]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 07⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: toxic!rafe, psychological abuse, mentions of miscarriage.

For the first time in years, Y/N decided to do something for herself. She waited until Rafe left for work, his lunch packed, grilled salmon, quinoa salad, a slice of lavender cheesecake wrapped in parchment. She watched his car vanish down the drive, and felt a surge of resolve. She chose a white yoga set and braided her hair loosely, letting a few strands frame her face. Her heart raced as she walked to the country club, the salty breeze carrying a whisper of freedom.

The country club hummed with privilege: women in designer athleisure, men in crisp polos, their whispers trailing Y/N as she stepped inside. She felt like an outsider, their eyes recognizing her as Rafe Cameron’s wife, the princess kept under lock and key. She smiled through the stares, her cheeks warm, and found the pilates studio. She took a spot next to a pregnant woman, her belly softly rounded, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She was maybe twenty-four, elegant in black leggings and a loose tank top, her face glowing with a quiet confidence Y/N envied.

This had to be the buzzcut man’s wife, Y/N thought.

The class was a revelation—stretching, breathing, moving her body in ways that felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. Afterward, the woman introduced herself, her smile warm as they settled at the club’s café, sipping matcha lattes. They talked easily. She shared stories of her garden, roses that refused to bloom, her triumph over a stubborn lavender bush. Y/N opened up about her baking, how she’d perfected her lavender shortbread but overbaked her last batch.

“My son, Theo, would devour those,” The woman laughed, her eyes crinkling. “He’s four, obsessed with dinosaurs and anything sweet.”

Y/N smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her, the first in months.

The conversation deepened, the woman independence a quiet marvel to Y/N. She spoke of her work with her father with art and museums and how she balanced it with Theo’s school schedule.

“But of course, our nanny is a godsend,” The woman said, sipping her latte. “She’s been with us since Theo was born, but she’s itching to study—wants to be a teacher. I’ve been helping her research online university programs.” Y/N’s breath caught, the word teacher stirring a dream she’d buried under Rafe’s rules. “She’s so good with kids,” The woman continued, “and I want her to have that chance, you know? She needs to chase her dreams... I think teaching can be handful, a lot of kids, must be wild! Ever thought about teaching?”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass, her heart racing.

“I used to,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I wanted to be a teacher, before…” She trailed off, the weight of Rafe’s control unspoken. The woman’s eyes softened, and when Y/N let slip, almost absently, that she had to get home because “Rafe doesn’t let me out much,” The woman’s face tightened, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

“Well that’s silly, he’s your husband... not your father,” The woman said, but soon she notice the discomfort in YN’s face and she urged with a gentle but insistent tone, like she was afraid she must go and not come back ever again. “Let’s order something to eat and talk a bit more, you deserve a moment for yourself.” She reached into her bag, pulling out two pamphlets. “These are for my nanny’s university programs—online courses, teaching credentials, that sort of thing. I grabbed extras from the coordinator. Maybe they’d interest you too.”

Y/N’s hands trembled as she took them, the glossy paper feeling like a forbidden key.

Study from home. Flexible schedules. Become an educator.

She asked if she could keep them, her voice barely above a whisper. The woman handed them over with a smile, and they talked longer; about Theo’s love for T-rex models, Y/N’s secret recipe for lemon curd, the way the woman’s pregnancy made her crave mangoes at midnight. Y/N laughed, a sound she’d forgotten she could make, and didn’t notice the time until her phone read 3:00 PM.

Panic spiked; she’d stayed too long.

She walked home, fast and urgent steps while her mind alight with possibility. After a quick bath, she changed into a soft sweater and leggings, curling up in the living room with the pamphlets. Online teaching programs. Start your career. The words were a lifeline, a dream she could almost touch. Her stomach twisted with excitement and fear, like she held a secret too big for the mansion’s walls.

Could she do this? Could she be more than Rafe’s wife?

The front door slammed, shattering her thoughts. Rafe was home early, his footsteps heavy, his presence a storm sucking the air from the room. His face was twisted with rage, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle tick. He loomed over her on the couch, his eyes dark, venomous.

“Where the fuck were you today?” he spat. “Your doctor called me... you missed the appointment for our baby.”

Her face drained of colour, her heart plummeting. She’d forgotten, Rafe was close to her doctor, his control extending to her calendar, a detail she’d missed in her fog of grief. She hadn’t told him about the miscarriage, couldn’t find the courage to confess the loss she was still grappling with. Her hands clutched the pamphlets, crumpling them, her voice trembling. “Rafe, I—”

He cut her off, his voice rising to a roar that shook her bones.

“Don’t give me excuses!” he bellowed, stepping closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re out there, what, prancing around like some clueless bitch, while our child’s at risk? You’re so fucking pathetic, can’t even do the one thing you’re supposed to!” His words were a barrage, each one a blow that shrank her, twisting her guilt into something unbearable. “What kind of mother are you?” he sneered, his face inches from hers. “Negligent, selfish, too stupid to keep a damn appointment.”

Her chest tightened, tears burning her eyes as she fought to hold them back. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t keep her facade anymore. She couldn’t keep lying to herself.

“There’s no baby,” she yelled, her voice cracking, a desperate outburst that silenced the room. “I—I lost it, Rafe. It’s gone.”

His rage faltered, his face shifting, not to grief, not to compassion, but to something darker. His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a vicious sneer as he processed her words. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his silence a weapon sharper than his screams.

“What?—This is your fault,” he said, each word a blade carving into her heart. “You killed our baby. Too busy playing house, baking your fucking cakes instead of taking care of what was mine. This is on you.”

The accusation was a gut punch, stealing her breath.

She stared at him, her husband, the man she’d loved, but in that moment, he was a void, a black spot where her Rafe should have been. His words weaponized her deepest fears, turning the miscarriage into her failure. She swallowed her tears, her throat raw, her body trembling as she searched for a defense, but nothing came.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She stood, her legs unsteady, and walked past him, her eyes fixed on the floor. She didn’t look back as she climbed the stairs to the guest room, locking the door behind her.

She wasn’t going to be his punching bag tonight.

Rafe’s words had shattered her, but they’d also cracked something open... a realization that she wasn’t just his to break. Curled up in the dark with the mansion’s silence swallowing her, Y/N clutched the edge of the mattress, whispering to herself that she was going to be okay.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act III : Chapter six

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

The sun hadn’t fully burned off the morning fog, and already the parking lot of Wiskayok High School was buzzing, converse thumping on pavement, freshmen tripping over backpack straps, someone blasting Sublime out of a too-loud stereo.

But none of that mattered in the moment Lottie Matthews’ car rolled to a stop at a red light two blocks from school, Mary J. Blige spilling out of the windows like a declaration.

“All night long…”

Lottie was singing—no, belting off-key but fearlessly, hands drumming on the steering wheel, curls still damp from her shower, and pulled into a half-hearted pigtails. You sat in the passenger seat, laughing as you joined in, mouth full of melody, one sneaker propped up on the dashboard in total disregard for Lottie’s clean car policy.

It was the song. The kind you scream into the wind on the first day of senior year when everything feels too bright, too sharp, too terrifying to name. And then, mid-chorus, mid-laugh, you leaned over and kissed her.

It wasn’t long. Just a kiss. But it landed like a thunderclap in the center of Lottie’s chest.

Lottie grinned like she’d just won something. “This is gonna be so fucking hard to keep lowkey.”

You, smug, leaned back against the headrest. “Why’s that?”

Lottie rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You can’t kiss me like that and then ask me why. You know why. That’s just mean.”

You snorted. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll stop.”

“You better not,” Lottie muttered, turning up the volume as the light turned green. But beneath the teasing, the grin faltered just for a second. She wished they didn’t have to be lowkey. She wished they could walk into school with this song still playing, holding hands, not caring who saw. But you both knew better. The world didn’t make space for girls like them, not here, not yet.

So when she pulled into the back lot, you went quiet. You grabbed your bag. Lottie adjusted her purple cardigan like armor. They exchanged one last glance, charged, unspoken, and then parted ways.

You ducked into the side entrance near the east end. Lottie merged with the other athletes, laughing at something Allie said as if her morning hadn’t just rearranged her heartbeat. No one suspected a thing.

The senior hallway still smelled like waxed floors and stale air conditioning, the kind of institutional limbo that somehow never changed no matter how many years passed. Jackie and Shauna leaned against the lockers like they'd never left, fresh coffees in hand, sweaters tied around their waists like it was still early September and not already creeping toward the last weeks of summer heat.

Shauna was in the middle of a story, something chaotic and half-true about her neighbor’s lost cat, when she added, almost too casually, “Oh, and that’s when Y/N called me from North Carolina.”

Jackie blinked. “What?”

Shauna took a slow sip of her coffee, not looking at her. “Yeah. Just to talk. Her Grandparents were driving her up the wall.”

“She called you?” Jackie repeated, sharper this time. “From her grandparents’?”

Shauna shrugged. “Well, if you hadn’t been so busy sucking Jeff’s face off all summer, maybe you would’ve gotten a call too.”

Jackie barked out a laugh, too loud, almost genuine. But there was something clipped about it, something that made Shauna glance sideways. She couldn’t tell what kind of laugh it was. Was it mocking, surprised, or defensive? Regardless, it was the first day of senior year, it wasn’t worth analyzing. So she decided to let it go.

Jackie didn’t.

Something hardened behind her eyes, a decision forming mid-sip of her latte. Senior year was supposed to be hers. Her year. Clean slate, varsity captain, top of the food chain. She had done the family vacation. She had made up with Jeff. She was going to nationals. She had a plan.

And that also meant whatever had happened with you, whatever brief, reckless, raw moment existed between them, it didn’t fit. So it didn’t exist. It never happened.

She decided that the moment you came around the corner, backpack slung over one shoulder, keys still dangling from your belt loop, heading to your locker, the one, unfortunately, still right next to Shauna’s.

You paused when you saw them. Jackie didn’t.

“Hey!” Jackie said brightly, like you hadn’t gone three months without speaking. Like she hadn’t kissed you in a haze of smoke and music. Like she hadn’t treated you like you were invisible the very next day.

You blinked, thrown by the sudden normalcy. Your eyes darted to Shauna, who looked apologetic, maybe. Like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know if now was the right time. Or if there even was a right time.

“Hey,” you said back, slow and guarded, pulling open your locker like it might protect you.

Jackie just kept smiling, as if the tension wasn’t there. As if she couldn’t feel it buzzing under the fluorescent lights.

Shauna, bless her, picked up the dead conversation and breathed life back into it. “Y/N was just telling me about the food in North Carolina. Fried everything.”

“Sounds on brand,” Jackie offered, leaning on her locker like she didn’t notice you stiffen.

You nodded, “Yeah, my grandma is obsessed with her fried peanuts.”

Jackie's face scrunched into confusion, nose wiggling. You tried to ignore your heart fluttering at the cuteness. “Fried what?” She asks in a mix of pure confusion and pure disgust.

You chuckle despite yourself. “Dude, it’s so weird. It literally deep-fried peanuts. I hate it, but she SWEARS by it.” You explain, grabbing your books from your locker.

Jackie gives you a grossed-out look, and Shauna laughs at her reaction. “No offense, Smalls, you’re not making me want to take a trip to North Carolina anytime soon,” Jackie says with all sincerity.

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, trust neither do I. It was just a small visit for Max. I think unless you like Billy Graham and Racing, there's not much to do.”

Shauna scoffs, “Billy Graham and Racing is such a random combo?”

“Exactly.” You agree with a snicker.

“You have successfully convinced me. Never moving over there.” Jackie says with a nod, like it's all been decided.

She held your gaze for a moment, and it was tender. You almost felt the same magnetic pull that always comes with being around Jackie. Your breath hitches the longer you hold eye contact with her. The way her eyes are soft and so sure. So sure you were still her, Smalls.

You clear your throat. “Well, gotta get to uh Math. See ya later.” You say quickly, slamming your locker and rushing past them.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t ask why you and Jackie were suddenly pretending it was all fine. Like she didn’t say a word to you all summer. Like you didn’t dial her number three different times when you were visiting your grandparents. Because she was the only one who knew, who could truly understand and say something that’d really help. Like you didn’t stop yourself because you knew she wouldn’t answer.

No, we were pretending it’s fine. Yet the more you walked away. You felt a weird sense of gratefulness. Because in truth, you didn’t want to talk about it.

You weren’t ready to talk about it. Hell, even Lottie didn’t know about it. Maybe they would never talk about it. Whatever that night was, it shouldn’t have happened. And pretending was safer for everyone involved.

So we are pretending. And it was like a secret pact amongst the three of them, no one would say the truth out loud. You were fine with it. Besides…you did miss Jackie. In some fucked up way.

You could forget it happened…

The cafeteria buzzed with first-week energy, tray clatter, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the familiar scrape of sneakers against floors. The senior table had claimed its usual corner, the one by the windows where the sun poured in too bright.

Van had her boots kicked up on the bench, Tai was halfway through a carton of orange juice, and Lottie was picking the crust off her sandwich without much interest. You sat near the end, beside Shauna, quiet but present.

You were getting better at that at blending in without fading away. Tai leaned in suddenly, eyes flicking between you and Jackie her across the room. “So… you and Jackie making up now? Saw you two talking this morning.”

You didn’t look up from your tater tots. “Uh, yeah. We kinda have. She’s just… Jackie being Jackie, you know?”

It was neutral. Careful. True enough.

Lottie stilled beside her. Just a flicker of tension, the kind you’d only notice if you were watching closely.

“Figures,” Lottie muttered, a little too sharp, like something bitter stuck to the back of her throat. She peeled another bit of crust, dropped it on her tray. “Jackie Taylor is always full of surprises.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. The air between them dipped slightly one beat too long, one glance too brief. But Lottie caught herself. She didn’t have the luxury of looking jealous. So she pivoted, tone flipping on a dime, eyes lighting up like she’d been waiting for a better topic.

“Anyway, has anyone noticed Travis Martinez literally can’t stop staring at Natalie during practice recently?”

Van snorted into her iced tea. “Oh my god, yes. He almost walked into a goalpost yesterday.”

Tai leaned forward, grinning. “That was because Natalie told him she liked his stupid barbed wire tattoo.”

“She said it looked like something out of Buffy,” Van said, laughing. “And he thought it was a compliment.”

The table erupted in familiar, easy noise, everyone tossing jokes, leaning on elbows, slipping into the rhythm that had always existed between them. You smiled faintly. Lottie finally relaxed. You didn’t look at each other. But both felt the space between them settle again, uneasy but unspoken. The secret they shared folding back into the folds of a sunny afternoon.

Shauna was halfway through her fruit cup when she dropped her spoon and leaned dramatically across the table. “You guys, Coach is losing it. Like, full-on pacing the sidelines muttering about ‘legacy’ and ‘discipline’ like we’re in the damn military.”

Van nodded through a mouthful of fries, looking at you. “He made us run suicides for twenty minutes yesterday because Jackie sneezed during drills.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Oh shit. Really?”

“That’s not even an exaggeration,” Shauna added. “I thought Jackie was going to cry.”

You snorted. “Honestly, I’d pay money to see that.”

Lottie smirked but said nothing, her foot brushing yours under the table like it always did now. Her foot tapped gently once, a signal you understood but didn’t return. Not here. Not yet.

Van shifted her focus to you again. “We seriously miss you at practices. You should come by today. Bring the camera. Make us look heroic and sweaty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I just don’t want to stand outside for hours watching you guys kick a ball around. I did that enough last year.”

Van scoffed. “That’s literally the whole point of your job.”

You shrugged, deadpan. “So? I can’t still hate that part of my job?”

Shauna leaned in with a grin. “Come on. The lighting at golden hour’s good today, right? Make us look like a Nike commercial.”

Even Lottie chimed in, voice smooth and teasing, “It’s not like you have anything better to do. You already said no to getting slurpees with Megan after school.”

You shot her a look dangerously close to one that said you’re pushing it, but Lottie only smiled wider, all false innocence and dimples. You immediately regretted telling her that earlier today. You only divulged that piece of information so you could stay with Lottie’s car to get burger king.

“Fine,” You sighed dramatically, tossing a chip into your mouth. “But only if I get to leave halfway through.”

Van smacked the table. “Hell yeah. See? I guilt-tripped her, and it worked.”

As you pulled out your planner (courtesy of Mr. Weaver) to write down the practice time, you added dryly, “Just don’t tell the lacrosse team about this. Ben Grimes has been sending me all types of bribes to get me to go to their practices. One more Hot Fries bag taped to my locker and I’m calling the cops.”

Lottie’s smile faltered for a millisecond-just a flicker, but she recovered quickly. “Gross,” she said lightly, sipping her drink. “Maybe tell him bribery isn’t flattering when it smells like gym socks and MSG.”

You snorted. “I’ll add that to my yearbook quote.”

Shauna reached for your fries. “As long as you bring the big lens. I need an action shot for my grandma.”

You nodded, a grin stretching on your lips. “Only if she frames it.”

The bell rang before Lottie could say anything else, and as the group gathered their trays, she lingered just a second behind. Watching you laugh with Shauna and Tai, easy and alive. She didn’t like that you and Jackie are buddies again. And she DEFINITELY doesn’t like Ben Grimes. Lottie didn’t like anyone liking you.

But that was a problem for later.

[the-queen-of-geese]

this but it’s rivals to lovers

- “look at that, you changed your hair and you still look disgusting”

- “tf were you upset about earlier? weak” (actually extremely concerned)

- “you didn’t text back. fucking [insert whatever endearing insult] got me worried for a hot minute”

- “are you cold? seriously? here, take my jacket, I can handle a little cold cause I’m not fucking weak”

Almost getting jealous but they’re obviously NOT jealous because SHUT UP, I HATE YOU

- “who was that?”

- “oh, you’re still hanging out with that loser. birds of a feather ig”

- “interesting that you never cancel on them. do you really think I’m that far beneath you?”

Finding excuses to be around each other

- “you’re the only one that knows anything about this subject so I really have no choice but to study with you”

- “ugh. why do I bump into you everywhere?” (because they’ve been running into the other one on purpose, not quite consciously doing it, but doing it anyway)

- “you forgot this, you fucking idiot” (single pen)

All the friends know

- “you’re literally in love with them”

- “that was not an argument. you guys were flirting.”

- “you made them fucking SOUP. that is NOT something you do for your enemy. wake up and get married already”

- “you literally rant about them all the time that is not natural and not something you do for someone you just hate. shut up and ask them out already or imma start charging rent”

Almost figuring it out

- glaring across the room at them, seeing them laugh and getting a weird warm feeling in their chest

- seeing them cry and panicking and wanting to fix it because this isn’t right, they never cry, what happened to that confident bastard

- being caught off guard while bantering and actually blushing, which surprises the other one and they both end up blushing

- thinking, Goddam, why do they have to be hot

- and then thinking huh, that was weird and continuing as usual

Genuinely making each other better

- comforting each other after a loss (they both pretend it doesn’t happen)

- getting SO PISSED when someone else hurts them because FUCK YOU, ONLY I CAN DO THAT (yes I know it’s a common trope but this is one of the best parts of rivals to lovers)

- pushing themselves to improve because fuck it, I gotta beat them

- when faced with a problem that their usual style doesn’t fix, they immediately think what would they do

- actually being an excellent team because although they do argue half the time, they know each other. they don’t need to spend time figuring out what do you do and what do I do because they know each other well enough to just. do their thing. and it works.

When it finally hits

- angsty flashbacks

- lots and lots of internal screaming and anger

- “FUCK NO”

- “OH MY GOD.”

- “was it ALWAYS this way??? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN???”

- “WAIT YOU ALL KNEW????”

Writing characters who don’t know they’re in love

(PS: but literally everyone else does and is so tired)

These characters aren’t clueless, no, they’re not walking around like, “love? never heard of her.” They know something’s going on, they just won’t admit it (not to themselves, not to anyone.) Maybe they’re scared of messing it up, or maybe they think the other person doesn’t feel the same. Maybe they’ve stuffed the feeling so deep even a NASA rover couldn’t dig it out.

Whatever the reason, they’re not avoiding the truth as much as they’re…rebranding it. Calling it “friendship” while giving each other their only jacket and dreaming about each other’s voices like it’s totally normal behavior.

ꕤ They don’t realize it’s love, but they notice everything else. They clock every mood shift, every absence, every little thing. They definitely  know when something’s off.

⇢ “You changed your hair.” ⇢ “You looked upset earlier.” ⇢ “You didn’t text me back and I panicked.” ⇢ “You weren’t at lunch and it felt weird.” ⇢ “Are you cold?” hands over jacket without a second thought

They don’t say “I love you,” but their actions scream it constantly.

ꕤ they get weird when someone else gets close They’re not jealous. No, how dare you think something like that… they’re just keeping an eye out. For safety... Or whatever."

⇢ “Who was that?” ⇢ “Oh, you’re hanging out with them again?” ⇢ “I just think it’s interesting how you never cancel on them.”

They don’t say it, but they hate the idea of being replaced. It stings more than they’re ready to admit.

ꕤ they make excuses to be around each other.

Literally inventing reasons to be in the same space.

⇢ “Wanna study together? I’m struggling with this topic.” (They’re not.) ⇢ “Oh, I was just in the area.” (They weren’t.) ⇢ “You forgot this.” (It’s a single pen.)

They’d rather lie badly than admit, “I just wanted to see you.”

ꕤ  Their friends are so over it Everyone around them is either rooting for them or trying not to scream.

⇢ “You’re in love with them.” ⇢ “That’s not friendship, and you know it.” ⇢ “You made them soup. FUCKING SOUP. Just say you’re married already.” ⇢ “If I have to hear you talk about them one more time, I’m charging rent.”

Friends are the Greek chorus of this situation, like, brutally honest and endlessly tired.

ꕤ  There’s always a moment they almost figure it out That one soft, unspoken beat where the truth almost breaks through.

⇢ Watching them laugh like it’s the first time. ⇢ Seeing them cry and wanting to fix it more than anything. ⇢ Realizing no one else makes them feel like this. ⇢ Thinking, God, they’re beautiful.

Then they blink, panic a little, and go, “Huh. Weird.” And move on. Like absolute fools.

ꕤ  When it finally hits, it’s not cute, it’s catastrophic. Suddenly everything makes sense and feels like too much.

⇢ Flashbacks. ⇢ Internal screaming. ⇢ “Oh no.” ⇢ “OH MY GOD.” ⇢ “Has it always been this obvious??” ⇢ “Wait. Everyone knew?!”

Yes. Everyone. The friends, the neighbor’s cat. You were the only two who didn’t get the memo...

[thissying]

Jimmy Broadbent in the Road to Succes Podcast, about racing Max:

"Do you remember your first race against Max? Or even meeting in the virtual world?"

"Yeah, it was I think 2018 or 2019 and it was driving F3 cars at the Canadian GP circuit and it was actually in Redline like I mentioned. […] Max for some reason started behind me. I forget why. And then made a mistake and spun at the hairpin and you know: 'I don't care if he spun or not. That's an overtake.' I went by: 'I've overtaken Max Verstappen! Oh my god!' And then a couple of corners later he just applies the pressure and I folded straight away. 'Cause I was just a little sim-baby then.

This seems a little mystical and odd but I think some drivers have like an aura around them, have like this feeling around them. I guess it's like Dale Earnhardt Sr.: the Intimidator, right? He had that to him. Max is one of these people. Even in sim, you drive against him, you know he's coming and you think: 'oh god. okay. what am i gonna do?' And you always drive differently as you would to anyone else."

"Do you make more mistakes?"

"Yeah. 100%. Because you're worried about the guy in the mirror. Even when you're like-- I've driven against him inthe DNLS series which is the digital Nürburgring series and he was in a class above me so I'm not even racing him. And even when he comes on my relative, I think: 'oh god, I need to make sure I get out of the way properly here.' But I genuinely believe that he is the greatest driver of all time. Because racing drivers up until now have had only one discipline to be good in, F1 or whatever series. He is good at everything. You put him in a sim, he'll be in the top 1%. In any sim! All sims are a bit different, different flavours, you know. And he's consistently the fastest in everything. I think he's one of the fastest iRacers on the planet which is super impressive if you're a sim guy. Again, I think that's the harder achievement than being a fast racing driver. And it's not because he feels the need to do it. It's because he wants to do it. He's wired to do those things. And I just find that impressive to see. I'm impressed by Max Verstappen. The rest of the drivers on the grid, in F1 for example… Not taking away, they're all very fast and very fast in the sim as well but they're not Max. Max has an extra 2% and it really separates him, I think."

[…]

"But that's like leaving the door open for Max, isn't it? He's just gonna go for a gap that, like, barely exists and lunges."

"He's definitely controversial. There's a lot of moves he's made where I was like: 'uh, I don't know about that one.' The most recent one with Russell at the Spanish GP. I was watching that and I just laughed. I'm like, yeah, that's Max right there because he wants it. He's a scrapper. Every chance he'll take, he'll just take it, whether it's on or not. He'll just have an opportunity, rather have a go and then it maybe work than not have a go at all, you know."

[dulcecherub]

Sugar! Honey! Love!

Summary: Rafe’s point of view of Sofia. (My version of it at least)

Author’s note: I know this man is delusional as fuck. So I will be writing him as such. This does not reflect how I see him. Or what I think. We know this boy thinks highly of himself. Or at least he tries to justify everything he does. I consider him to be an unreliable narrator.So I am writing him as such. That man is twisted. So his narrative to me has always been twisted as well.

So sweet to me/ So sweet to me

He remembered the first ever time he’d seen her. He had done a double take, taken aback by her beauty. His heart lurched, his glass still pressed onto his lips. She spoke amicably to her co-worker. Her beautiful eyes fell onto him and he felt his world stop. She was so beautiful; fuck…

He was never the shy type. Once he knew he wanted someone, he didn’t wait to go and get them. He remembered their conversation, the way she fluttered her lashes at him. The way a surge of pride spread across him. He felt for once he was truly seen. Someone who could possibly genuinely care.

Maybe they’d done things too fast. But she had been so kind to him. So damn sweet. He couldn’t help not showing up as himself. As his true self. The one that no one ever got to see. The one that wasn’t labeled a monster. To Sofia, he wasn’t a monster. He was different. He wasn’t like the other Kooks. He was someone worth caring for.

Woop, there's another one, who could I ever trust

Anger; red hot and icy traveled down his body. He could only clench his jaw as he hung up on her. His leg kicking at any nearby object can find.

“Fuck!” Tears were pricking his eyes, obscuring his view. He wiped violently at his face. His hands shook into fist, “Fuck!”

He’d promised himself; he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him the way others have. He had kept too many promises he clearly couldn’t keep.

And neither could she.

He felt so foolish. He’d given her his mother’s ring, for crying out loud! He had made sure to reassure her that she was the only one he wanted. That she was who he wanted to be with. There was no one else. So why did she stab him in the back? Letting him feel crossed. He zoomed faster on the bike. His anger festering, becoming an ugly thing.

Woop, there's another one, who, tell me who can I trust?

He sat away from the others as they spoke amongst themselves. His attention briefly going to Kiara. Another person who’d betrayed him too. That one didn’t sting. He shouldn’t have been so trusting then. But it did hurt when he thought back to it. He’d done her a solid and she completely tucked the rug out of his feet. But she was one of them. So of course—

Did that mean Sofia was—

He wiped away at his eyes, lying to himself that it was only sweat from the heat. They were on their way back home. Defeated. Unsure where Groff was. And the only thing Rafe really cared about; was Sofia. He couldn’t wrap his head around why she’d hurt him. What had he done to make her do that to him? He closed his eyes and hoped an answer would come up somehow. He knew it wouldn’t.

Woop, there's another one, swear at this point, I've seen it all/So nothin' shocks me anymore

Barry let out a belly laugh as Rafe told him what happened. Rafe could only glare at him, humiliation pooling in his stomach.

“Holy shit, country club. She did you dirty.”

“Shut up Barry.”

Barry just continued to laugh. He stared at Barry, another person who had betrayed him. For what, money? Just like Sofia had. Fate had an odd relationship with him. This was always the outcome to anyone he’d ever gotten close to. Anyway, he bared his soul too.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a lot of things, country club.”

That was the end of that. Rafe left Barry to sit outside of his trailer.

Sick and tired of betrayal, tell me, who can I trust?

And I did all my time/ for a crime that wasn’t mine

He had to be cursed. Maybe he should have heeded Barry’s warnings when they’d melted the cross. His greed is was a hungry thing. He wanted to prove to everyone that he could do it. Be the man of the family. That was what had so important to him. Nothing else mattered. He wanted to prove to his dad he could do it. Be the leader. Be the one he relied on.

His dad was gone now.

It all felt so trivial now. Why did it matter so much? Why did he risk so much to get absolutely nothing back. Was this what being a man was truly like? Give, give, give. Then everyone else just took, took, took. He wasn’t sure if he was even thinking straight anymore.

He had to be cursed. His fate was sealed the day he’d— he’d killed Peterkin. But he had a reason! He wasn’t doing it just to do it. He had a reason. She was going to kill his dad. But he wasn’t so sure anymore. He couldn’t remember past the cocaine haze. His brain had been going faster than a minute. He couldn’t think straight.

Made it out alive, now I'm letting the sun/Shine on me and my sweet sugar honey love

She was something special. The moment he had met her, he knew that to be true. His eyes met hers and it was like he was stucked in. No one else mattered.

He would do anything for her. Give her anything she wanted if she asked. So why, what the hell did he do to deserve what he got from her?

Things had been so good between them. What was the straw that broke the camels back?

And I, I had almost given up hope/Till I met a love so pure and true/Day I met you, babe, freed me from the fear, you put the blood back in my heart

He wanted answers and he was going to get them. A weird part of him knew he could never get rid of her. Not in his heart nor his soul. He wanted answers and he was going to get them. She’d imprinted herself onto his heart and he was going to keep it like that. No matter how much it hurt. Despite the pain. Despite the betrayal. Call it toxic for all he cares.

She was still his.

Every day was gray, you put color back to my world/Sugar honey, you gave me so much more to live for

[mai505]

Now playing|| Friday I’m in love by The Cure

Favourite Fruit

or: Simon finding comfort through a sweet nurse

The dying cigarette hung from his nimble fingers. Breath cold as he puffed out the acid smoke his lung stinging from the after burn. His eyes flickered as the glass door cracked open with a screech yet he did not bother easing his head at the intruder of his peaceful silence.

“Oh pardon”

The soft voice displayed genuine apologies. This made him turn blocking in her direction he took in the character of his new companion.

Rosy cheeks even rosier lips a black jacket covering the out of place scrubs adoring her body. “ No worries” he coughed out. “ I don’t own this place do I”

His eyes connected once again with trees before him the grey concrete hospital behind it detouring the purity of the nature. Rustling from his left side turned him out as he lifted his head to her. She held a paper cup in her hands he assumed coffee. Caffeine the apparent solution for two hours of sleep between 12 hour shifts.

“Are you a patient” she asked breaking the oh so distant silence he craved right now. Her gaze suspiciously eyed the cigarette hanging between his lips. “ No” he uttered. “Oh you’re visiting?” She questioned cocking her head to the side. He puffed out the smoke filling his lungs as he took his time answering. “Friend got hurt I’m just here to check on him” he explained hoping this would ease her desire for interrogation. “Oh are they fine?” Her eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly. He furrowed his brows only chuckling darkly” he��s a big boy he can handle himself” the childish nickname laced in sarcasm.

She licked her lips only taking a daring sip of the brewing brought before once again placing it next to her, her tongue officially burned now. “ You’d be surprised how many “big boys” make a fuss over a simple injection.”

Her light laugh was enough for him to turn his attention to her. Her laugh was enthralling almost mesmerising. She was pretty. He knew that just like how any red blooded man would objectively judged her appearance. “ Well you must handle them quite well” he grunted out. Interested in the conversation yet not exactly making an effort to show said interest. “ Oh yeah” she huffed” tall strong men just like you coming in yet as soon as they see one syringe they start begging for a different option.” He grinned slightly “ hate to break it to you love but one small needle is not enough to scare me”

She gave him a look. Yet he wasn’t too sure ,if the slight sultry tint in her dark eyes was only his wishing imagination for attention from a beautiful woman or actually just her eyes. “That’s what they all say” she said barely under breath. “So what happend to your friend” she asked. Back to the questions he thought. He liked her more when she was insulting the male ego. “ got shot” he replied bluntly. While he was fully aware she was a civilian yet judging by the pale blue scrubs she clearly was a nurse so dealing with every day horrors were a Tuesday afternoon for her. Just like he suspected she barely showed any reaction” So just men being stupid men” she phrased sarcastically. “ Do you find pleasure in making men seem idiotic” he said this time the one asking the dubious questions. “You do it yourself I just hold up the mirror” she shrugged taking a sip out of the paper cup.

“ He got shot in the line of duty” he added. Finally she reacted yet not the way he hoped. “ what are you police or something” her eyes flickered to his. “ You sure have a lot of questions” he budged. “I’m a curious person what can I say and who knows maybe I’m just trying to socialise” He scoffed at the irony nothing this woman had said in the nimble minded conversation was serious. He knew she wouldn’t let him go the question still playing like fire in her eyes. “Military” he told her. “That’s interesting” she said clearly unaware of the topic of military.

Sure she had seen them on TV some stupid parades yet she wasn’t actually familiar with the military. If you asked her on the spot about it she would probably rant about the Second World War ,eventually dwelling into conspiracy theories of secret CIA missions she had found on one of her late night obsession shows searches.

Her absence of an answer irked him. He barely knew her five minutes yet in the talk entirely she had always answers in more than necessary detail. The silence ate her up as she let her mind wander to how the handsome stranger looked in uniform. “So when do you need to go back to ..” she cleared her throat silently racking her brain for answers” the place?” . That let him let out a small laugh” I don’t need to get back to base until Mactavish is better” Deciding against commenting on the name reveal she nodded understandingly. “ so are you like a general or something” she was painfully unaware. “I’m a lieutenant love” he smiled slightly at her curious gaze. “ is that good?” She asked “ good enough” he answered. Silence one again engulfed them.

“ What’s your favourite fruit” she asked. His brows furrowed at the question pondering whether she was serious or not. “ I don’t know” he muttered “Apple?” “ Oh so you’re painfully boring” she declared. “What that supposed to mean” his eye snapped to hers “ Well isn’t Apple a bit… basic” she questioned. “ Didn’t know a fruit could be considered basic” he took another drag of the cigarette. “ oh no but there’s a psychology behind it” she set the cup aside. “Do tell dear” he smiled irony dripping from his tongue.

“ Apple is something everyone had tried had or at least tasted. We will exclude allergies for this hypothesis.” She explains” but if someone tells you their favourite fruit is something you can’t imagine something you never heard of and have never tried or even something you have never had the pleasure of trying that could only mean they are absolutely exiting as a person right ?” She gazes hopefully at him. With every word he had gotten increasingly concerned not only for her but also his sanity. Had his life really fallen that deep that he now sat here listening to a nurse talk about the psychology of favourite fruits. Well sure his toster was broken and yes he hadn’t visited his apartment in the last six months as his will for life was slowly fading along with the growing winters in Moscow where his latest mission had been. But surely he was still so sane. After realising that the woman was still looking at him as if he would grade her “hypothesis” he shook himself out do the thoughts of his dead toaster.

“ Are you sure you studied nursing?” He broke the tension. Her smile fell.” You’re incredibly rude for someone whose favourite fruit is apple” he stuck out the cigarette next to him slipping the butt into the grass. “ Alright missy then what your favourite fruit?” He got incredibly closer. “Mango” she answers not missing a beat. “And I assume that isn’t considered “basic” he cocked a brow. “Oh no try getting mangos during November I wanna see how far you get without the black market” she countered. “ So unavailability makes it superior” he asked. “ well unavailability always makes something better” his eyes swam” I don’t think I follow”

She once again picked up the cup it seeming more of a disliked toy than actual drink” so you know the saying “you always want what you can’t have”

He nodded is head slightly. “ Well I feel like this is one of those saying where you just always say they are rules of life. “ So people always crave what they can’t have ?” He asked automatically. “Well yes I mean no one is actually always completely happy or not ?” She blinked at him” one always craves more it’s the reason for overconsumption and overspending but I mean that a completely different thing” she chuckled lightly. “And what does the unavailability of mango have to do to with being an exiting person” he asked. His brain screaming at him to stop invoking himself into this conversation. It was an absolute lost case maybe this said a lot about his sanity. Yet he knew right then she was probably someone who spent their time reading philosophy books only to end up overthink their every life existence. She shrugged “ easy, an exiting person someone who searches for let’s say adventure. They look for new experiences something that is theoretically not available or even possible in their current situation so they crave the unavailable.”

At the end she smiled innocently as if she hadn’t turned his afternoon into a complicated talk and a drowning headache. Her phone buzzed loudly interrupting her previous grinning time.” Well that my cue” she reached to turn it off “ it was nice meeting you..?” “Simon” he hesitated”My names Simon” “ Mai, nice meeting you” she got up dusting off her clothes slightly before smiling one again him noticing the dimple in her cheek for the first time” wish your friend good health” she said before she turned on her heel leaving Simon with a though filed head and an empty cardboard cup her slight lipstick stain aesthetically echoing against the white lid. He blocked slightly grabbing his packet from beside him leaving aswell.

[sadboyeddie]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 & 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭

Summary: It's time to taste Miles' pies.

Warnings: There's some implied stuff and the tension gets a little heavy but nothing yet.

A/N: I'm on a roll so might as well keep going. I'm thinking about putting some smut in the next chapter idk. Please let me know if you're reading and enjoying this. I'm desperate for praise and feedback.

WC: 2.8K

A small curse leaves your lips as you struggle to open the door, the key fit in the lock fine but the handle is jammed. You knock your shoulder against the hard wood a few times and to your relief the door begrudgingly pushes open. 

You can't help the grimace that covers your face as you take in the colour of the room; it's a lot. You don't let that deter you though as you fully enter, kicking the door closed behind you, and drop your bag on the floor. 

You sit on the side of the bed facing the large mirror on the wall, fingers gliding over the material of the comforter; a little stiff but not the worst you've had to endure this trip. The mattress itself is a bit springy but it's also kind of firm which you like. 

You allow yourself to sit for a moment and just take a breath. 

Falling back against the bed you decide to close your eyes for a few minutes, unaware of the man staring at you from only a few feet away.

-- 

Miles knows this is wrong.

Knows he should be in his little closet sized room doing something else wrong but he just couldn't help himself. Your smile, your laugh, your genuine interest in what he was saying was just too captivating.

It's not like he's filming you, not that the dark thought hadn't crossed his mind, he's only watching. He tries to convince himself what he's doing is not that bad.

It could be worse.

Your soft demeanor seems to have a calming effect on his soul, something he hasn't felt since before he left for war.

He leans down and flicks the switch, the small crackle of the machine adds sound to the quiet hall before your voice fills the space. 

You're humming a tune and it takes him all but a second to realise it's the song that was playing in the lobby. He cant see your face, unfortunately, from the angle that you're laying in but he watches as you bring your hand to your chest and start playing with something; your necklace most likely. 

Although a dirtier more darker part of him wishes it was something else.

Miles takes a step back until he hits the cold concrete wall behind him, bringing his hands to his face to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, he doesn't stop until he starts to see stars behind the lids.

He's never done this before, he's only every come down to observe and watch when he's been told to. When he gets that call. He's normally very respectful of regular guests but there's something about you. Something sweet and alluring. Something the darker part of him wants. Craves

He takes one last look at you before flicking the switch off, your soft voice being cut out, as he quickly leaves the dark hallway. 

When he locks the door behind him he can hear the shrill alarm of the oven going off. 

His pies. He completely forgot.

-- 

After dragging yourself from the bed you had made your way to the shower, relieved to feel the hot water pulsing from the head. You admittedly had spent far longer in there then you intended but it felt far too good to get out, the images of the handsome concierge didn't at all help your situation. Maybe you should've had a cold shower instead? 

Here you sit on your bed now, lacing up your shoes as you finish getting ready to go out and find something to eat. You're still starving, the small bag of peanuts you had before your shower did nothing to help your hunger but you chose the comfort of the warm spray of water over food and now you're slightly regretting the long shower. 

Double checking to make sure you have your room key and purse you head down the covered walkway back to the lobby, a little surprised to see that it's already dark out. You hadn't noticed the time get away from you.

When you enter the lobby the first thing to hit you is the warmth, followed by how dark it is. There's light coming from the dessert display cases, a light behind the bar some small lamps on the tables in the booths here but not much other then that. 

You intend to ask Miles if there's a place around here to eat but just like check-in the man is nowhere to be seen.

As you make your way over to the counter you hear the faint grumblings of President Nixon going on about some such garbage that you don't really care to listen to coming from the small TV set, so you turn and head over to the display case of food on the opposite side of the room. 

You bite your bottom lip in contemplation, there's a few sandwiches; looking a little stale, some sad looking fruit and finally some slices of pie, there's a little paper note on the bottom of each plate labeling each selection in a messy scrawl; apple, strawberry, cherry or mix. 

Interesting.

While you were engrossed in the cases you didn't happen to notice or hear Miles entering, not until he stands several feet behind you and clears his throat. 

You swear you jump several feet in the air as you quickly spin to face the noise, hand tightly clutching your chest, "my god!" your breathing is a little fast as you take in the apologetic smile of Miles, "you're a quiet little thing when you want to be." 

He has the audacity to look sheepish but a little pleased as he once again apologises, "I'm really sorry, I tried to be a bit louder so I wouldn't scare you."

After taking several seconds for your heart to stop racing you let out a small chuckle, "didn't work."

You notice how he's a little more put together then he was this afternoon, not twitching as much and able to actually look you in the eye. 

It's actually a little intense.

"So.." you slightly trail off as you turn back towards the display case, "what would you suggest?"

He walks a bit closer to get a better look at the options and you take the opportunity to be a little creepy and smell him a bit. 

He smells like fruit and washing powder, an odd combination but not at all unpleasant. 

"Well, uh, I baked the pies this afternoon," he looks over at you with a proud grin and you can't help but smile back. He's so cute.

"A concierge and a cook?" You ask, impressed, "a man of many talents."

"I don't know about that," he chuckles a bit, "I never said the pies were good."

"I guess I'll be the judge of that," you turn fully to the case and take your purse from your pocket before you're stopped by Miles. 

"If you're going to rate my desserts you shouldn't have to pay," his smile is small but still there as he makes his way towards the case; ignoring your protest with his key in hand he unlocks the glass door. 

"Trying to butter up the judge?" you playfully ask as he grabs two small plates of sliced pie.

"If I was going to do that I would go and get the ice cream," he grins and makes his way over to a booth, you obediently following behind him. 

"Well now I'm definitely taking a point off for no ice cream," you grumble with a smile as you take a seat.

Miles breathes out a laugh through his nose, an easy smile on his face and heads back over to the display case to get the other two flavours of pie and two forks. 

"So, which is which?" you ask, gently turning the slices of pies to get a better look at their fillings as he sits down and places the forks on the table.

"Apple, strawberry, cherry, mixed," he points to each one as he names it, he takes note of the small confusion as he points to the fourth, "I had extra filling left over so I made a smaller pie," he shrugs.

"Ah, very smart," you praise as you pick up a fork and pull the strawberry pie a little closer to you, "have you tried any yet?" you nod towards the desserts.

"I had some of the cherry before putting it into the oven," he picks up his fork and waits for you to start, "it was good." 

"I'll decide that," you smile, and he laughs a bit, as you cut the tip of the pie off with the side of your fork, making sure to get a decent amount of crust and filling before scooping it into your mouth. 

Miles watches you with baited breath, trying to gauge your reaction. To your credit you try very hard to keep a neutral expression but your facade falls and you let out a small groan.

If you hadn't gone to fork another piece you would have seen the tips of Miles' ears go red and his face flush a deep crimson.

"This is so good!" you praise before taking another bite. Your hunger make itself more evident now that you've had a taste of food.

Your praise snaps him out of his trance and he gives you a warm smile, "yeah?"

"Yes!" you nod, "try some," pushing the plate with little force in his direction, stopping when it's in the middle of the table between you. 

"Okay," it's soft and a little shy but he eagerly digs his fork into the pie, a small thrill runs through you as you watch him share the dessert. The whole thing feeling entirely too intimate but you can't find it in yourself to stop.

You admit that if Miles was a different person, perhaps loud and brash you might not want to spent much time in his presence but he's completely the opposite of that. Gentle and shy, mysterious and intriguing. A soft riddle you want to solve.

You can tell the moment the pie hits his tongue because his eyes widen and light up a bit, "huh," he nods, trying his hardest to stay modest, "not bad."

"'Not bad'," you scoff and playfully roll your eyes, "such a humble chef." 

You go to break off another peace and he follows your lead smiling as he does. 

"Where'd you learn to bake?" you ask the question casually but you notice his shoulders stiffen a bit.

He takes his time chewing the mouthful of pastry before finally answering your question, "my Grandma taught me."

You take in his hesitancy before replying, "I think she'd be proud of this," you point the fork at the crumbs now lingering the empty plate, feeling slightly guilty you ate much more then Miles.

If he cares, he doesn't show it.

"Oh, this wouldn't even compare to hers," his laugh is a tad depreciating, "hers tasted like home," the last part was said much quieter and a with a little sadness.

The look on his face makes you want to climb across the table and hold him; instead you gently place your hand on his, to your relief he doesn't shake it off or remove it. The urge to sooth him is overwhelming and you have to take a second to mentally pull yourself back.

You met this guy this afternoon and have barely been around him for an hour and yet you're ready to risk it all for him. How desperate are you?

He clears his throat and puts on a small smile before pushing the apple pie in your direction, "ready for more?"

Okay, yeah, you're very desperate. 

"Mhm," you hum, not really trusting your voice at the moment. You take note of how cold your hand feels now that it's no longer touching his warm one.

Pull it together!

"Apple," your voice comes out a little rougher then you'd hope, "a classic," you bite your bottom lip as you cut off a piece and bring it up for a taste. 

Your hand stutters slightly as you notice Miles' burning eyes focused solely on your lips. You quickly place the for in your mouth but you're so distracted by Miles you don't really taste it before chewing and swallowing. 

"It's, um, it's very good," you nervously laugh avoiding Miles' gaze as you go in for more. 

He's once again snapped from his trance, letting out a heavy breath as he takes a scoop of the apple and quickly pushes it into his mouth. 

"Your verdict?" you ask, feeling your cheeks heat up watching him swallow. 

What is going on with you?

"You're the judge," his shy smile is back, like it never left, "you tell me."

You playfully laugh as you take another bite, fully intending to actually taste the pie this time. You take a minute after swallowing to answer him.

"Apple isn't my favourite type of pie," you start, "but the cinnamon really brings out the flavour," you complement, "would be nicer with cream though," you joke.

It was meant as a jest but Miles answers like his mouth was faster then his brain. 

"Cream pies are the best," your eyes go wide as he tries to stutter out a response, "cream w-with pies, cream is good on pies," you can see the horror in his eyes as he talks.

The room goes still, awkward tension fills the air but you can't help but add to that. 

"I like cream pies," you wink as you reach over and grab the cherry pie, feeling pretty satisfied when you hear Miles let out a choked cough, "I'll admit cherries are my favourite so you better not have messed this up," you add playfully, like you didn't just send his mind spiraling.

"Mine too," is all he can manage to say after a long pause, his voice is soft but the grip he has on the fork looks like it's enough to bend the metal. 

This time the groan you let out is not all for the taste of the pie, its exaggerated and you close your eyes just for show, "So good, Miles." 

He quickly scoops up what was left of the apple pie into his mouth, something to distract him from the problem he's now facing. 

"I don't know if I want to share this," you open your eyes and give him your most innocent smile, "it's the best one."

After a beat and a small breath he replies.

"There's more in the case," it's his turn for his voice to be rough, "you can have as much as you like."

"Don't tease me," you laugh, "I might just take you up that." 

The pie really is the best of the three, you haven't tried the fourth one yet but you've already picked a clear winner. 

"Here," you cut off a generous portion of the pastry and filling and hold it up, "taste it."

Miles can no longer hold back the small groan that's been lingering at the back of his throat as he eagerly leans forward and wraps his lips around your fork, all the while keeping eye contact. 

All the control you thought you had and all the confidence suddenly vanishes as you watch him slowly eat the pie from your fork. Your breathing is once again coming out heavy as you watch him slowly chew, eyes burning into yours before swallowing.

A small bit of juice has gathered on his bottom lip and before you can lean over and do something about it his tongue darts out, swiping over the sweet liquid, there really isn't that much but just to be sure he make a show of bringing his thumb up and swiping over his lip before sucking the tip into his mouth.

You harshly push the plates to the side and lean up in your seat to kiss him, he follows your lead as you grab handfuls of his white button-up shirt but just before you can crash your lips to his the front door to the lobby opens and a man and woman walk in, loudly chatting between themselves.

You hear Miles let out a small sound, something between a whimper and a groan, which if you weren't annoyed at being interrupted would have definitely done something to you. 

You can't help but pout when he stands up, taking a second to straighten up his now crumpled shirt before heading over to attend the couple that are now ringing the bell at the front desk. 

With the tension gone and the mood ruined you grab the last piece of pie and head back to your room, you would have maybe stayed but you can over hear the man talking about having a few drinks at the bar, and you doubt there's a bartender other the Miles here. 

You briefly make eye contact with Miles as you open the door, his jaw is clenched and his shoulders are straight, you let out a humourless chuckle at the look he sends the woman when she asks for the introductory tour. 

At least he's feeling similarly to you.

[wheels-of-despair]

Objectionable Content Pairing: Mac (Warfare) x Not-So-Single-Mom!Reader Summary: Mac introduces your kid to Caddyshack. Hysterics ensue. Contains: A classic, censorship, a struggle, and a lot of laughter. Words: 1.1k

"Mac, what's your favorite movie?"

"Uh…" Mac blanks, looking up at the ten-year-old who's staring at him instead of the DVD shelf he's been perusing for several minutes. It's movie night, and it's the kid's turn to pick, but he apparently hasn't made a decision yet. "Caddyshack."

Caddyshack seems like a safe bet. Classic comedy, solid cast, has been his standard answer since middle school.

"What's Caddyshack?" Travis asks.

"It's about caddies," Mac answers.

The tiny snark machine raises an eyebrow in question, but before he can formulate a devastating response, Mom comes to the rescue with a translation: "It's an old comedy about people who work on a golf course."

"Have you seen it?" he asks.

"Yeah," she nods. "A long time ago."

"Is it good?"

Mac watches this exchange curiously, realizing that his opinion means next to nothing in the kid's eyes. Hence the appeal to Mom.

"Yeah," she tells him. "It's funny. It's a classic. Don't know if you're old enough to appreciate it yet."

"Yes I am," he argues, still knowing nothing about this movie.

"Objectionable content?" she asks, turning her focus to Mac.

Mac feels his eyes slide out of focus as he mentally replays the movie, searching for anything the kid shouldn't be watching at his age. He watched it for the first time when he was about ten, didn't he? He bought the VHS tape at a neighbor's yard sale. He remembers his mom confiscating Deliverance, but he got to keep Caddyshack.

"I don't think so?"

"So we can watch it, then?" Travis asks.

"We don't have it," she shrugs.

"Do you?" he asks Mac. Mac looks to her, asking if he should confess to having it or not. She shrugs, so he nods. It's in a binder with every other DVD he owns, located in a box at the foot of his bed.

"Excellent," the kid grins. "Can you bring it next week?"

"Sure, bud."

Movie night means pizza and soda and hanging out with your two favorite dudes. You and Mac are on the couch, the kid is in his beanbag chair, and you've just pressed play on Caddyshack.

To some, this might just seem like a movie. But to you, it means that your kid is trying to get to know your boyfriend. And that said boyfriend likes the aforementioned kid enough to share his favorite movie with him. Tonight's going to be a good one. You can feel it.

Mac stretches out and spreads his arms across the back of the couch, and you snuggle into him. He seems tense. He knows he's being judged for this. You give him a quiet kiss on the cheek and a reassuring squeeze to the thigh before getting comfortable.

You watch the kid as much as you watch the movie. He seems determined to remain stoic at first, but you soon spot a chuckle. And then another. And then, before long, he's genuinely laughing. He seems very into that little gopher. Mac eventually loosens up, too. You look at him to make sure he's not asleep, and he grins at you. A brief kiss is necessary.

You spot a flash of boob during the pool scene, and you feel Mac hold his breath, but thankfully, Travis doesn't notice. And then a candy bar enters the picture, and you think your kid is going to die laughing. Mac looks on proudly, having made the right choice in sharing this movie. He's a legend now. No take-backs.

"Wait!" Mac says suddenly. "Remote!"

You fumble around, trying to remember where you put it, and he reaches around you to grab it. But instead of grabbing it, he knocks it off the cushion beside you and to the floor, and you see where this scene is going.

"Cover his eyes!" Mac orders.

"Dammit, Mac!" you yell, throwing yourself at the kid in the beanbag and covering his eyes as requested. Luckily, Travis had turned around to find out what all the commotion on the couch was about, and missed the nudity on the screen in front of him.

"Mom, let me see!" he protests, trying to pry your hand off of his face after you've tackled him to the floor. You've got one arm around his torso and the other over his eyes. He tries to wiggle free, and nearly does, so you're given no choice but to lock your legs around his to hold him still.

"No!"

"Is it boobs?" he asks, still wiggling.

"No!" you laugh.

"It totally is!" he argues. "When do I get to see boobs?"

"When you're 30!" you yell.

You hear a concerning wheeze from the couch, and twist your head to look at Mac. He's laughing so hard, he's crying. He has literal tears pouring down his red cheeks, and he's holding his stomach like all this shaking he's doing is causing him pain. A quick glance to the TV shows that he's fast-forwarded through the racy bits and paused where it's safe.

You release the kid, and he scrambles to his knees and looks at the TV with disappointment.

"Aw, man," he sighs.

Mac laughs even harder, and so do you. Somehow, you manage to pull yourself off the floor and crawl back onto the couch with him, where you both cling to each other through an extremely painful fit of uncontrollable giggles.

"Are you guys done yet?" Travis asks impatiently, arms crossed in annoyance, which makes it impossible to recover. He gets up and marches toward the kitchen. "Kay, I'll just be in here, getting another snack, while you two quit being weird!" he calls over his shoulder.

Eventually, the laughter dies down, and the tears stop flowing, and you're both able to catch your breath. Mostly.

"I'm sorry," Mac wheezes, "I forgot about that."

"It's okay," you grin, summoning every ounce of energy to crawl into his lap. You wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder. "I got there in time, his innocence was spared."

You feel him chuckle again, but you don't have the strength to join him.

"I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard," he confesses.

"Me either," you admit, looking up at him. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," he smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

"Can we finish watching the movie now?" a young voice with a full mouth asks from the doorway. You give him A Look, and he swallows with a comical gulp and smiles innocently.

You look to Mac, and he grins at you. His eyes are still shining from all the tears, and his cheeks are red and glowing. He's always gorgeous, but this? This? This is the stuff fantasies are made of.

You scoot back into your seat and press play, then relinquish the remote to Mac. Just in case.

[rosy-crow]

This chapter was a fucking trauma nightmare so here’s the funniest part to cope

They’re talking about meeting Rosen and of course Sephiroth has never met a kid his age before, so he wonders what to say, but Glenn starts to make a joke and Matt and Lucia freak out….

And Seph does the cutest “confused puppy” head tilt you’ve ever seen

DON’T YOU DARE CORRUPT THE BABY GLENN LODBROK!!!

Ok now back to processing this shit

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it? It's a little problematic. 🤨

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

TRANSCRIPT

Bad: Go to the left, go to the left and–

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right! This way?

Bad: Left. Left left left!

Tubbo: [Shouting over him] SORRY!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Bad: You got it!

Tubbo: Thank you.

Bad: Yippee!

Foolish: [Laughs as he imitates Tubbo] "I don't know my left and right!"

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Foolish: [Chuckling] That was awesome.

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!! I think you're just dumb!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! It literally does.

Bad: No it doesn't!

Tubbo: I feel– Dude, I– [Puts his head in his hands] Mate.

Bad: [Sounding a little less-certain] ...Does it?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Does it actually?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Wait, really???

Tubbo: YEAH!

Foolish: Way to go Bad, now you're just an asshole.

Bad: Aw... :(

Tubbo: That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Foolish: [Laughs]

Fit: [Sarcastic] Yeah, it's not real guys, it's not real.

Bad: No, I feel like he's making this part up!

Foolish: You see how he was mansplaining it to you? He was kinda mansplaining it too...

Tubbo: [Rubbing his temples] Just mansplaining to me dyslexia.

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it?

Bad: No! I'm just asking if he's being serious or not!

Fit: It's a little problematic. 🤨

Bad: So it really isn't obvious, like your words?

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[obaewankenope]

It’s wild because The Narrative was constantly all “Sam is demon-coded and Dean is Angel-coded also Dean is usually right”. Meanwhile Sam is mostly normal like 90% of the time and in the background Dean is stabbing the shit out of passerby like some kind of DnD-style murderhobo. Like, I’m supposed to believe SAM is the one constantly tempted by evil in this family? Because I sure as fuck don’t.

Fjdkrtkot anon I am HOWLING right now because YEAH THAT'S KINDA IT ISN'T IT omfg

The narrative, especially from s4, centred on Sam having 'demon blood' and being judged by the Angels as that, somehow, being The Worst Thing Ever when it wasn't even something Sam CONSENTED TO IN THE FIRST PLACE and he only 'embraced' the changes forced upon him in order to get Dean back (or just get revenge because, honestly, Sam is 10000% incapable of giving a fuck about his own life when Dean died for him and is reckless af) because Sam's whole life has been defined by him being Dean's 'little brother' and Sam is Lost™ without Dean in the world.

And then we get Dean being the 'righteous man' narrative which... If Dean is a righteous man then the moment he broke in Hell he stopped being that and instead chose to be unrighteous (which is somehow completely ignored and glossed over and yeah but he's got an Angel who favours him which means Dean is obviously the Good Brother right???? W R O N G) so, by the same metric that Sam is measured by, Dean is just as 'evil' as his little brother.

Except, of course, we THEN get the whole 'vessels' concept shoved in and for that, then Sam and Dean MUST conform to the Angels they are the vessels for.

Dean must be righteous, good, the perfect son who honours his father and is Noble.

Sam must be capricious, stubborn, disrespectful of his father, the imperfect son, the challenger, the one who will lie and manipulate and arrogantly self-assured and Wrong.

Which then makes the Free Will narrative so much fucking worse imho because Sam... Sam Sam Sam...

Sam does what he's told, follows the Plan set out by his 'father' (because Sam and Lucifer have so many parallels and struggling to submit to the commands of a father they don't understand is literally central to them both) and then wrestles control enough to RUIN EVERYTHING because Sam loves his brother, just like Lucifer loves his own siblings, but where Lucifer will still kill his own, Sam REFUSES TO.

Sam accepts the plan, finally obeys his father, but he again shows that any obedience he performs, any acceptance of his 'place' as according to others means FUCK ALL when situated against the life of Dean.

Sam loves his brother above all else, including himself, and that makes him better than any Angel, any Demon, any being because Sam has no qualms about destroying himself for his big brother.

The narrative gives us these two brothers who grew up together, raising each other, protecting one another, and trying to love and support each other in an imperfect, harsh world where their father was more absent than present. It gave us this and then presented us with a narrative foil in the form of the entire apocalypse and the Angels and God and it showed us that Sam and Dean are exactly what we should strive to be.

It throws at us the question: what matters to you more: adhering to the Will of God or loving that which is your life?

Sam and Dean are each others world. They are life to each other. One cannot exist without the other. And the show, the narrative, gives us this amazing gift of showing us that loving those who love us matters most and then it fuckin tramples on it.

Dean faces several moral quandries throughout the show, quandries that Sam faced in different ways and different scenarios, and it does Dean such a disservice because it constantly throws Dean back to the metaphorical Square One.

Dean, as the elder brother, is presented as being dutiful, as the obedient one who listens to their father and does what John expected of them. Dean is the one that, eventually, John expected to take Sam out if John wasn't there to (and isn't that fucked up, to expect a son to kill his brother and to always be both his protector and potential killer, what a way to fuck up a kid) and that sort of... expectation, that exceptionally painful obligation and duty is a horrible, cruel thing to levy upon an elder brother that loves his younger brother.

The narrative gives us that and it makes us look at it and at what John expected and it, rightly, makes us as uncomfortable as it did Dean. Then it throws some characters, like fuckin Gordon, to try and... soothe it? The whole "if our sibling becomes a monster, we have no choice, it's the merciful thing to do" when, ya know, it isn't really because, as the show then points out later: FREE WILL.

Except. Except the growth that Dean gets to experience in the narrative is shoved backwards again and again. He gets to take steps forward, to being able to exist outside the confines of what John raised him to be (a soldier, John raised a soldier, not a son, a general like Michael, a brother who he expected to be able to kill his sibling like Cain) but that growth is set in a juxtaposition with the Angels and apocalypse storyline that tries to shove Sam and Dean into the narrow constraints that the Angels have for the vessels of the two major players in Gods 'plan'.

Dean gets thrown back over and over to the starting point, to season 1 Dean who still does what dad taught 'em, thinks like dad conditioned 'em, and re-enacts how dad raised' em, because the Dean back then at least had some illusion of agency. He thought he had some control, some free will that wasn't curtailed by other, more powerful things.

The Dean of season 1 had faith in his dad and love for his brother.

Season 1 Dean was comfortable hunting monsters and ganking them because back then, it really was that simple. Monster hunts humans? Bad. Something isn't human? Monster. Simple.

As easy as basic addition.

Except.

Except it's not that simple anymore. Not after season 4. Not when Angels — the supposed good guys, the pinnacle of morality and righteousness and goodness — are shown to be flawed, damaged, even evil. Dean doesn't have an unbroken faith in his father — burned into him by the One Time he didn't listen and Sammy nearly died and sorry dad, I'll do better next time, I'll listen, I'm sorry, Sammy I'm so sorry! — and everything is messy and complicated and getting more and more complicated the longer it goes on.

So Dean falls back to a time when it wasn't complicated. When things could be and were simply black-and-white to him.

Hunting monsters. Protecting people. The family business.

And because of this, the show and the narrative make Sam and Dean look... So, so different.

Season 6 Sam, the soulless Sam, is the one that (ironically) was most like Dean and it's horrifying. It's monstrous. Because that Sam didn't care about morality, didn't care about nuance, didn't care for shades of grey. That Sam is exactly the Sam that John Winchester feared (and likely secretly wished for at times because Sam's compassion made it harder for John, and eventually Dean, to possibly 'put him down' if needed).

We get to see Dean who tries to go back to the past, to when things seemed so much simpler to him, with a Sam that emulates the things Dean wishes for and we are shown — and so is Dean — that it's not that easy. That to go back to the beginning mentality is, in itself, the most monstrous thing of all.

And then- then we get Sam with a soul back. We get Dean losing Cas who he came to care for, love, trust, have faith in because Cas is there for Dean in ways Sam can't be. And the trade off is... Messy. It's unfair. And for Dean it's harder still.

He gets his brother back and loses Cas. It's an unfair trade off and it's out of Dean's control.

So, he doubles down on trying to find control again. He does what he knows best and the softness in him, the vulnerability that only Sam — and later Cas, in his own way — was able to draw out gets locked up in a cage more secure than the one in hell. Dean makes himself colder and harsher and lets pain and trauma and grief cloak him just like their father.

Eventually, he literally gets demonified which is a hysterical bit of role-reversal for the brothers (and I'd have loved to see Sam get angelified as an extra bit of 'fuck you' because it'd have been even more poetic imho) and we see how much closer to a demon Dean has always been.

Because... Sam. Sam will do horrible things for those he loves and he'll own the consequences. He'll destroy himself for those he loves and for Dean most of all. Sam will do monstrous things and will become a monster because of his great capacity to love. It, in an ironic way, is closer to the way Angels love than anything else we see in the show because Sam extends compassion, kindness, and forgiveness to everyone (even when he doesn't personally want to). He gives so many chances to people. Heck, he even gave Lilth a choice, a chance, and although she didn't take it, he still offered it.

Dean, in contrast, is more selective and selfish in how he loves and who. He hoards his loved ones close, but he also can be so so cruel and toxic to them because he wants to keep them close and control everything so nothing can harm them. He is exacting and dictatorial in a variety of ways because Dean's love is just as bountiful as Sam's but it makes him selfish. Dean will condemn the world to avoid hurting Sam. He won't say yes no matter what because he will not be the one who kills Sam (not like that, not that way).

Dean and Sam both show how powerful love is and how, in different ways, it is also destructive.

Dean always falls back on what he knows works, time-tested, familiar patterns of behaviour and emotional expression, drilled into him by John. John who was damaged and broken by grief and rage and loss and the thirst for vengeance, revenge, and the need to understand. John who, whilst loving both his sons, resented the youngest because his wife died because of him. Logically John may have known it wasn't ever Sam's fault (and in fact, we later learn it was Mary and John's fault really, the deal that led to everything), but logic is not emotion. And that emotion absolutely affected the dynamics of their family.

Dean was Sam's pseudo-parent because John couldn't be Sam's dad the same way he was Dean's because emotionally, John couldn't move past the loss Sam's existence led to (Mary). It affected all of them and it's why, in a way, the behaviour we see from Dean post s4 is so... painful.

Because Dean starts to emulate their dad and the way John behaved and it is disgustingly obvious how toxic that behaviour was when the one doing it is Dean. And, because the show is a fuckin mess, the behaviour never really stops. Dean is so damaged, so traumatised by everything he's gone through, that he falls back on the behaviour that he grew up with and that behaviour held Sam at a distance.

It's why Sam seems so well-adjusted compared to Dean — which, tbf, Sam got to socialise with 'normal' people for a while at Stanford and Dean also raised Sam to have as many 'normal' interactions and opportunities as possible so yeah, Sam is more well-adjusted compared to Dean but it's a kinda low bar tbqh — and is partly what makes Dean reverting back to the black-and-white 'gank all monsters' mentality of John Winchester and s1 Dean so... tragic.

The show tried to portray Sam and Dean as two sides of the same coin — Sam as the rebellious, tainted younger brother: Dean as the dutiful, righteous elder brother — but the narrative itself kind of wrecked that dynamic and instead gives us two very, very damaged young men who are never given the chance to breathe, to think, to try and really heal from any of the seemingly endless amount of emotional, psychological, and spiritual wounds they gain over the duration of the sow.

The narrative, if anything, shows us that Dean was always the one most at risk of becoming a 'monster' because Dean carried upon his shoulders so much expectation, duty, and obligation, so much responsibility, that the moment he stumbled it crushed him.

Sam, in comparison, is shown to be the one who carries his own weights and shame, the guilt and the knowledge that he is the 'perfect' vessel for the devil, and who keeps shouldering more and more like Atlas because Sam... Sam is stronger than Dean. Sam is stronger because Dean put his faith in their father and had it shaken to the core of him, where Sam put his faith in Dean's love for Sam which, even at the worst points in their lives, is something Sam has always had to bolster himself with.

It's also why Dean is the only one who can (and has) hurt Sam so deeply as to leave him feeling broken. Because Sam is a little brother and all Sam ever really wanted was his big brother's approval and love — which, ironically, is what makes Sam and Lucifer perfect mirrors of each other, because Lucifer wanted the same and didn't want to be be made to love anything else more than his family, and Sam cannot love anything more than he loves Dean and doesn't pretend to, but where Sam can still love others to an endless degree, Lucifer's ability to love is a finite thing and it's why Sam, in the end, could wrestle control from a frickin archangel and throw himself into the cage because Sam loves his brother most of all.

The narrative tried so hard to make us see Sam as the dangerous one, the monster-in-waiting and Dean as the one who would do as duty demands but it failed so hard because it, as you say, made Dean seem the most unhinged of the two of them.

Ironically, if it intended to that, it did it brilliantly, but I doubt the writers were thinking that far ahead (unfortunately).

[calamitys-child]

Actually having Sophie be the first person to out loud refer to being polyamorous in levred is if anything just about hilarious enough I can pretend for 5 minutes to look past everything else they've done to fuck up potentially the best non-monogamous relationship I've ever seen on screen. That's genuinely the kind of move I would pull as showrunner if I wanted to be infuriating, which I always do, and on this one I have to say, game recognises game

[silly-moth-123]

HELP I've been laughing at "I'm in love with a creeper" (the Danny Gonzalez song) for the past few hours and every time I try to stop my brain goes "I'm in love, with a creeper" and just starts singing it again.....

[tubbytarchia]

I think it's really tragic that this has below 10k views for how much it made me laugh so I'm sharing it. Please watch this please