#Jake

[okwonyo]

DREAMIN’ ★ 𝗂’𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

💌 make–out session with your boyfriend

of. enhypen kissing fem ! rea ◜ᴗ⁠◝⁠ fluff established relationship ❤︎ skinship kissing ╱ 사랑｡

분지 ܃ i’m normal

REBLOG FOR A MWAH ！

HEESEUNG ｡｡ “you are so pretty baby,” after trailing kisses all over your neck, he admires your face held in his hands as he says so. he chuckle at the pink taint that appears on your cheeks at the compliment. there is a smirk on his face that makes your heart stutter, before his lips are back on yours again to continue your passionate makeout session.

he hold your face in his hands as his mouth moves against yours. surely, he makes your back hit the wall behind you. there is something that flutters in your stomach and you are too drunk on his tongue in your mouth to think properly; therefore, he takes the lead.

he holds your jaw and tilts your head to side to have a better access to your mouth. you hold onto his shirt for dear life. his lips are warm against your and the way he kisses is as perfect as your boyfriend. his body presses against your more as the kisses goes on, he doesn’t stop until your lips are sore.

JAY ｡｡ he knows he shouldn’t stare at you for too long. he knows that whenever you get ready to go out, whenever you wear a pretty dress like that, whenever you put on those pretty jewels of yours that makes your skin glow, whenever you are high on heels— he shouldn’t look at you too much.

unfortunately for the both of you, he never understands the lesson. he always ends up staring. he always end up ruining your lip combo. “i’m sorry, princess,” he whispers against your mouth as he walks backwards. he looks up at you with a desperate gaze. his mind is blurred by the smell of your perfume, of the soft, peachy scent of your conditioner.

your knees digs in the sofa, next to his thighs after he makes you sit on his laps. he slips his hand on your naked skin, the one that isn’t cover by your dress. his parts his lips, humming, allowing your tongue to slip in. dear god, your friends are going to kill you for being so late.

JAKE ｡｡he is gentle as he makes you both fall on the mattress. he plants his hands on either side of your head. you gasp when he plants a kiss on your cheek, then a soft peck on your forehead, on your nose, on the corner of your mouth. his focus quickly shifts to your lips where he rests his lips for a delicate kiss.

he stops to take a lingering look at your face from above you, “holy shit,” he breathes out, shakily. he leans in and when his lips brush yours, right before giving you another kiss, he speaks again, “you are so gorgeous.”

he doesn’t give you time to answer. he is all over you within seconds. he bites your lower hip to make him part your lips, to slide his tongue in between them. his kiss is more passionate that the ones he was giving you a few moments prior. his hands are wandering everywhere. it makes your knees weak although you are laying in your back, your mind goes blank and he takes your breath away.

SUNGHOON ｡｡ his heartbeat stopped for a few seconds when you entered the kitchen. freshly showered, with your skin glowing as you value a good nightly skincare routine, the scent of your soap clinging on your body as well as your conditioner’s. his eyes dragged over your body enveloped in those cute pajamas that drive him insane.

he corned you between the kitchen counter and himself in mere seconds. his body moved on it’s own— even him was shocked at how fast he reached you. the cute surprised expression made him kiss you immediately. he hummed into your mouth as your fingers ran through his hair, his lips tasting the chapstick on yours.

he curses under his breath as he lifts you of the floor, “fuck,” he whines into your mouth, making you sit on the kitchen counter to have an easier access to your mouth. you can’t tell what has gotten into him, but you love it.

SUNOO ｡｡ in all honesty, he knew how it was going to end from the beginning. he knew that at some point, the movie night was going to transform into something more passionate. he wanted to kiss you as soon as you sat next to him on the sofa and even more when you rested your cheek on his chest.

the movie was long forgotten by him. the sound of the characters talking in the television didn’t reach his ears, no. he was too focused on you and your hands cupping his face. you maintain him on the sofa with your body on top of his. he holds you by the hips, get drunk on the taste of your lips.

he is always hungry for kisses, for yours especially. the moment it starts, the moment your pretty lips sucks his lower one, he can’t think of stopping. he feels dizzy and lightheaded for not pulling away to breath but he wants more. his leans in yours whenever you want to pull away. he needs kisses.

JUNGWON ｡｡ your boyfriend is always so helplessly greedy when it comes to kissing. as if his mouth is empty without yours against his. he holds onto your waist possessively, for dear life. you think that he fears you might disappear into thin air if he doesn’t have your body close. but you won’t, because his greediness might have contaminated you.

his mouth his firm yet soft as he takes your breath away. with your arms wrapped around his neck and your body being so close to his, you could feel the shared thud of your heartbeats. only wet sounds of your lips smashing together fills the room as you make out in the middle of it.

you run your fingers through his soft hair while his lips cover your own. your body goes progressively limp when you taste each other’s want more and more. if not wasn’t for his strong grip on you, your entire body would concede on you under the gentle pressure of his tongue in your mouth.

RIKI ｡｡kissing always makes him go a little go stupid, a little bit too empty in the head. when he gets the flavor of your lipgloss on his tongue, he doesn’t know where he is anymore. he only knows you, your mouth, your hands all over him and your hot body so close to his. “i need to go,” he whispers between two kisses, although he is the one who goes right back into kissing.

he is so passionate, like in everything he does. it always makes you giggle—“okay,” is the only thing you can say when he is so eager to give you a taste of his tongue. warmth blossoms in your chest as you smell the cologne he put on his skin while he was getting ready to go out. his mouth moves on yours so perfectly, it makes you dizzy.

you think that he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be doing that right now. he was already late before leaving and now that he is lifting you off the floor to make you reach his height— or even a little taller— it isn’t better. as he is busy kissing you open your eyes slightly and catch the flush on his cheeks. it makes you smile. the next hour is going to be passionate.

taglist ( open )

[shy9-29]

Love, Lies, and Sim Jake

심재윤 x reader - enhypen campus series

You were the quiet girl with the not-so-quiet crush on Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, smooth talker, and everything you should’ve stayed away from. But when a bet turns your name into a game, the rules change fast. He didn’t expect to fall for you… and you didn’t expect to find out. Now it’s your move—and this time, you’re not playing nice.

wc. 16.4k

a/n. This took me so long istg but lwk wanted then to be endgame @sheseung

masterlist | req open

It wasn’t supposed to be obvious. You were careful—or at least you thought you were.

Sure, maybe you stared a little too long when Jake walked into class late, hair still damp from a rushed shower, backpack half-zipped like he couldn’t be bothered. Maybe you laughed a little too loud when he made a joke, even if it wasn’t that funny. Maybe your friends caught you scrolling through his Instagram more times than you could count—but you had never said it out loud.

But somehow… everybody knew.

It started small. You remember the moment it all began to slip. One afternoon in the library, your best friend nudged your arm and whispered, “You’re staring again,” followed by the most annoying smirk you’d ever seen. You blinked, cheeks warming, then looked away quickly as Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching in that way he had to know showed off his arms.

“It’s not like that,” you’d mumbled. Lie. Straight lie. But it was your go-to line.

Then came the whispers. The way people started looking at you just a little differently whenever Jake was around. In the dining hall, one of his teammates nudged him and said something under his breath, both of them turning your way right after. You pretended not to notice. But you felt it—the heat in your face, the tightening in your stomach. You hated it.

It was like high school all over again. Like a crush you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried to play it cool.

And the worst part? Jake noticed.

He started looking at you a little longer in the hallways. Smirking when you’d pass by. Saying “hey” like he hadn’t ignored you for two semesters straight. You weren’t sure if he was just being polite—or playing with you. Still, every time your name left his lips, something fluttered in your chest and you hated that you let it.

Then, one night at a party, it all came out.

You were standing by the kitchen, holding a red solo cup you barely sipped from, when you heard it—your name. Jake’s voice.

“She’s cute,” he said casually, too casually, and the room seemed to go quieter around you. “And I’m pretty sure she’s into me.”

Laughter. Someone said, “Bro, everyone knows she is.”

Another voice chimed in, “You’re the first thing on her mind when she walks into class.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as your stomach flipped.

They were talking about you like you were an object, like your feelings didn’t matter.

You tried to shrink back into the corner of the room, hoping no one noticed your face burning hotter by the second. But Jake didn’t miss a beat.

He didn’t stop them. Didn’t correct them. Didn’t even seem surprised.

You were supposed to be doing your sociology reading. That was the whole plan. Laptop open, textbook to the side, highlighter in hand—every prop perfectly in place. But instead of notes, your screen was filled with him.

Jake Sim’s Instagram page.

His latest post? A blurry mirror selfie at the gym, captioned something dumb like “light work.” His abs were obnoxiously sharp, his hair pushed back by a sweatband, and there was a cocky little smirk tugging at the edge of his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing. You didn’t even like gym pics—and yet there you were, zooming in like a creep and biting your lip like an idiot.

You were halfway through stalking his tagged photos when Yuna burst into your room.

“Oh my god,” she said, before even setting her bag down. “Are you stalking him again?” You jumped, slamming your laptop shut like it was something illegal. “No.” She raised a brow. “You literally jumped like I caught you watching illegal shit.”

“I was doing research,” you muttered, trying to sound convincing.

“Research on what? His jawline?” Yuna flopped onto your bed, grinning. “Girl, you need help.”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “I know. It’s so bad. I can’t stop.”

“Yeah, no kidding. This is like… phase five of a full-blown Jake Sim spiral.” You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you think he knows?” Yuna blinked at you. “Girl. Everyone knows.” You groaned again, louder this time, flopping back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m so pathetic.”

“Not pathetic,” Yuna said sweetly. “Just tragically whipped.” She laughed and tossed a pillow at you, and you couldn’t help but smile through the embarrassment. Because yeah—you were absolutely whipped.

And the worst part? You hadn’t even had a real conversation with him yet.

Yuna stayed sprawled on your bed, scrolling through her phone while you reopened your laptop—this time pretending you were actually going to study, even though your fingers hovered dangerously close to Jake’s profile again.

“I swear, he’s getting hotter by the day,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to her.

“Don’t do it,” Yuna warned without even looking up. “Don’t go back to his highlights. You already watched his Europe trip twice last night.”

“I just like the aesthetic,” you defended weakly.

“You like his face.”

You sighed, resting your chin in your palm, eyes drifting back to his latest Story. Just a casual boomerang of him walking into a party, surrounded by people, drink in hand, that same effortless confidence radiating off of him. He looked like he belonged there—like the world bent to him just slightly wherever he went.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t even bend your willpower long enough to not stalk him for one damn night.

“He’s at that rooftop bar again,” you murmured. “That one near campus.”

Yuna glanced at your screen. “With the LED lights and overpriced drinks? Ugh. Of course he is. He’s always out. Does he even do homework?”

“He’s passing econ somehow.”

“Probably because he flirts with the TA.”

You snorted. “I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Yuna tossed her phone aside and sat up. “Okay, real question. What are you actually gonna do about this?”

“Do?”

“Yes, do. You’ve been drooling over him for months. Either shoot your shot or block his page and join a monastery. This in-between spiral is destroying you.”

You hesitated. The idea of talking to Jake—really talking to him—made your heart race in a way that was more panic than excitement. He was just so… untouchable. Like a poster boy for bad decisions wrapped in designer cologne and half-smiles. And you were just—you.

“I don’t even think he knows my name,” you said quietly.

Yuna gave you a look. “Oh, he knows.”

You blinked. “What?”

She just smirked, grabbing her bag. “I’m gonna leave that there. You think about it.”

And with that, she disappeared out the door, leaving your heart racing in the quiet. Because if Jake did know your name… what did that mean?

You sat frozen for a solid thirty seconds after Yuna left, her last words echoing in your head like a fire alarm.

“He knows.”

She had to be messing with you, right? Yuna loved a good dramatic exit. She lived for chaos. There was no way Jake Sim—resident heartbreaker, campus lenend, the guy with a rotation of girls longer than your Spotify playlist—actually knew who you were.

…Right?

You glanced back at your laptop. His story was still up.

Tap.

Next slide—him laughing at something, dimples on full display, head tilted back like life was just that easy for him. You paused on it, your stomach twisting in that way it always did when you saw him smile. It was gross. You hated how much you liked it.

You shut the laptop again. This was getting out of hand.

Grabbing your phone, you opened your group chat with Yuna and your other two friends.

You:

i hate you why would u say that

Yuna:

what did i do NOW

You:

“he knows” ??? why would u say that and then LEAVE like some cryptic little drama gremlin

Kazuha:

HELP what’d she do

Minju:

this is about jake isn’t it

Yuna:

ok first of all. i am a drama gremlin. second of all. i didn’t lie.

You:

YUNA.

Yuna:

look he asked about you once okay?? don’t freak out

You stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, heart thudding so loud you almost didn’t hear the buzz of another message.

You:

he what.

Yuna:

like two weeks ago. after class. he was talking to beomgyu and i walked up and he was like “hey that girl you always hang with, she’s in my stats class right?”

and i said yeah. and he nodded.

that’s it.

Minju:

girl that’s not nothing

Kazuha:

he definitely knows. also why do i feel like he’s been looking at her lately???

You:

guys stop

i’m sweating wtf

this is too much

You dropped your phone on the bed and covered your face with your hands again, half-screaming into your palms. This couldn’t be real. Jake noticed you? He remembered you existed?

You thought about the times he held your gaze a second too long in class, the lazy way he said “hey” when passing you on campus, the smirk you always thought was meant for someone else.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up. That was dangerous. That was how people got hurt. But still…

Just maybe…

This crush wasn’t as one-sided as you thought.

Jake leaned back against the bench, legs stretched out and sunglasses pushed up into his hair as the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees. The quad buzzed with weekend energy—students lounging on the grass, music playing from someone’s speaker, that kind of lazy chaos that only ever happened when no one felt like doing real work.

Jay sat beside him, twirling a straw around in his iced coffee, eyes scanning the crowd like he was picking out a movie to watch.

“You know what I was thinking?” Jay said suddenly, eyes still tracking something in the distance.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a terrifying sentence.”

Jay smirked. “We’ve never been in a real relationship. Like ever.”

Jake scoffed. “And your point?”

“My point is,” Jay said, sitting up, “we should see who can actually do it. Lock in. Longest relationship wins.”

Jake blinked, amused. “That’s the dumbest bet you’ve ever made—and you once bet Beomgyu fifty bucks you could throw a slice of pizza on the dorm ceiling and make it stick.”

“It did stick,” Jay pointed out.

“Yeah, and the RA made you clean it off.”

Sunghoon, who’d been quietly watching some random soccer game in the distance, sighed like he was already regretting his life choices. “This is so stupid. Why would you guys want to date someone just for the sake of it?”

“Because we suck at it,” Jay shrugged. “We’re trash at commitment. Might as well make it fun.”

Jake tilted his head, thinking for a second. “So what, we just pick someone and… date them?”

“Exactly,” Jay grinned. “No hookups, no games. Real dating. See who lasts longer.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “You guys are hopeless. Seriously.”

Jake was about to respond when Sunghoon suddenly nodded toward a group of girls laughing across the lawn.

“What about her?” he said, jerking his chin in that direction.

Jake followed his gaze—and immediately shook his head, a tight, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Heeseung would kill me.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press it. Sunghoon just shrugged like it wasn’t his problem.

Jake leaned back again, lips pressing into a thin line. His thoughts drifted, uninvited, to you.

He didn’t know why, but your name floated to the surface, soft and unspoken. He pictured your face for a split second—how you always seemed to be laughing with that same small circle of friends, always just there on the edge of his world.

He said nothing.

Instead, Jake pushed himself off the bench, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.

“Where you going?” Jay asked, glancing up.

Jake just smirked and threw a lazy wave over his shoulder.

“Nowhere. Just remembered something.”

Jake shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked off, head down just enough to avoid the glare of the sun but not enough to miss the way people turned to greet him as he passed. He gave the usual half-smile, a couple nods, but didn’t stop.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just didn’t feel like sitting there talking about bets and fake relationships when his mind was suddenly, annoyingly, stuck on you.

Not in a romantic way—God, no. Jake Sim didn’t catch feelings like that. Especially not for girls he barely talked to. That wasn’t how he operated. That wasn’t how this worked.

You weren’t the hottest girl on campus or the loudest or the one constantly throwing yourself into his orbit. If anything, you stayed out of it. And yet… you’d started showing up in his peripheral vision more often than he liked to admit.

Every time you passed by him in class, you did that little thing—tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes flicking to him for half a second before you looked away like you’d been caught doing something wrong. You weren’t subtle. And Jake wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed.

It was kind of… cute.

He kicked a rock off the sidewalk, watching it bounce onto the grass.

He didn’t know why you popped into his head when Sunghoon pointed out that girl. Maybe it was because you felt like the opposite of a challenge—someone easy to talk to, someone safe. Not messy. Not loud. Not tied up in anyone else’s drama.

And maybe, he thought, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to win a bet.

He stopped walking.

But then again… this was stupid. It was Jay’s idea. It wasn’t that deep. And you? You were just a thought. A maybe. An option.

Nothing more.

Jake smirked to himself and kept walking, brushing the idea off like it was dust on his sleeve.

No feelings. No strings.

Just a game.

Jake didn’t think about it again—at least, that’s what he told himself.

The next day, he walked into stats like he always did: five minutes late, iced americano in one hand, phone in the other, no apology in sight. He dropped into his seat near the back, legs stretched out under the desk, and immediately tuned out the professor’s monotone voice.

But then he saw you.

You were in your usual spot, two rows ahead and just slightly to the right. Laughing at something Kazuha whispered to you, pen twirling between your fingers, that same focused-but-not-really expression on your face.

Jake leaned back, tapping his pen against his lip.

You looked soft. Not in the cheesy romcom way—just… not sharp like most people. You weren’t trying to be noticed. You weren’t dressed to impress. You just were. And Jake had a strange moment of clarity where he realized: that might be why he’d thought of you in the first place.

Predictable. Low drama. Quiet.

Someone he could control the narrative with.

Jay’s dumb idea floated back into his head again: “Real dating. See who lasts longer.”

Jake exhaled slowly, like it would push the hesitation out of his lungs.

This wasn’t about feelings. He didn’t like you. He didn’t want to text you goodnight or hold your hand at parties or any of that romcom garbage. But maybe you were safe enough to play the part. Someone who wouldn’t make things messy. Someone who already had a soft spot for him.

He glanced at you again, just as you looked down to write something in your notebook, your brows furrowed in concentration.

He could do it. Just a few weeks, some dates, a little effort. Easy.

Jake grinned to himself, resting his chin on his hand.

He didn’t realize he was already watching you too closely.

Didn’t realize he was starting to wonder how you’d react if he actually said hi.

He just thought,

Yeah. This’ll be easy.

Jake caught himself watching you again.

It wasn’t even on purpose—at least, that’s what he told himself. You weren’t doing anything special. Just taking notes, occasionally glancing at the board, the corners of your mouth twitching every time Kazuha leaned over and whispered something dumb. But for some reason, he couldn’t look away for long.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of it.

Jay:

pick someone yet or u backing out?

Jake smirked, thumbs tapping quickly.

Jake:

working on it

Jay:

clock’s ticking

Jake rolled his eyes, tossing the phone facedown on the desk.

The truth was, he already knew. He’d made up his mind the second he walked into class and saw you laughing like you didn’t have a single clue how close you were to becoming part of something you didn’t sign up for.

But he wasn’t going to tell Jay yet. He wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe because part of him felt like once he said it out loud, it would make it real. More real than it needed to be. And despite how casual he was pretending to be, this wasn’t like hooking up with some girl from a party. This wasn’t sneaking out of someone’s dorm room at 2 a.m. before things got too serious.

This was… a role. A performance. One he’d have to keep up if he wanted to win.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes drifting toward you again.

You didn’t even know he existed—at least, not really. Sure, you might’ve looked at him a few times, maybe had that little crush people liked to tease about, but you didn’t know him. Not the version he showed at parties, not the bored one in class, not the one who smiled when he needed something.

You were still clean.

Jake wondered how long that would last.

When class ended, he stood and slung his backpack over one shoulder, lingering by the exit just long enough to watch you gather your things. You laughed at something Kazuha said again, then turned to wave goodbye to Minju.

And for half a second, your eyes met his.

He gave you a slow, easy smile—one he’d used a thousand times before—and this time, you didn’t look away so quickly.

Jake walked out of the room, his smirk growing.

You couldn’t focus the rest of the day.

Jake Sim had smiled at you.

Not just a polite, passing one. Not the half-distracted, probably-at-someone-behind-you kind. No. It was at you—slow, smooth, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he meant it.

And stupidly, pathetically, you’d smiled back.

Your stomach was still fluttering from it hours later. Even as you sat at your usual café table with Yuna, Kazuha, and Minju, pretending to listen to their convo, all you could think about was that look. That damn smile. The way his eyes had lingered just long enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Yuna caught you zoning out and kicked your foot under the table. “Earth to lover girl.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been checked out since class,” Minju said, sipping her iced latte like she wasn’t stirring chaos.

“Let me guess,” Kazuha added, leaning forward with a smirk. “Jake smiled at you?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but Yuna cut in with a dramatic gasp. “He did?! Wait—you smiled back?!”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I don’t know what it was, okay? He looked at me and—ugh, I probably imagined the whole thing.”

“You didn’t,” Minju said casually. “He looked at you. I saw it.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Was it like… a weird look? Or just, like, a normal thing?”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow. “Does Jake Sim ever look at someone normally?”

Yuna leaned her chin on her palm, suddenly serious. “Okay, but real talk. If he did look at you, like, look at you… be careful.”

Your heart sank a little. “What do you mean?”

“He’s Jake,” Minju said. “He doesn’t date. He flirts, he parties, he makes girls fall for him and then disappears.”

“I’m not falling for him,” you said too quickly.

Three sets of eyebrows went up at once.

“I’m not!” you insisted, but your voice cracked halfway through, completely ruining your case. They all exchanged knowing looks, and Kazuha patted your hand like you were already a lost cause.

You sat back in your seat, sipping your drink in silence, trying to calm the chaos in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe Jake smiled at a hundred girls a day.

But still, the way he’d looked at you…

It didn’t feel like nothing.

And somewhere not too far from that café, Jake Sim was leaning back against a wall outside the library, scrolling through his phone.

He hadn’t told Jay yet. He hadn’t told anyone.

But your name sat quietly in the back of his mind.

Like a string he’d just started tugging.

Like a move he hadn’t played yet.

And tomorrow? He planned to say hello.

The next day came quicker than you expected.

You tried not to overthink it. Tried not to pick out your outfit with him in mind. Tried not to rehearse fake scenarios in your head where Jake Sim actually acknowledged you again—maybe said hi, maybe made a joke, maybe even asked you a question. Nothing big. Just something. Anything.

But deep down, under the nervous energy and second-guessing, a small, traitorous part of you hoped.

You walked into stats early, which never happened, your notebook hugged to your chest like it might protect you from your own delusions. Kazuha and Minju were already there, chatting quietly, and you took your usual seat beside them, eyes scanning the door more times than you cared to admit.

You told yourself you weren’t checking for him. Just being aware. Just… existing in the same room.

And then he walked in.

Jake didn’t look at anyone at first. Just strolled in like always—relaxed, unbothered, his usual drink in hand. He scanned the room casually, his eyes drifting past people without really stopping.

Until they landed on you.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

A lazy, lopsided grin pulled at his lips as he met your gaze. Not rushed. Not accidental.

Intentional.

Your throat went dry.

And then—like it was the most normal thing in the world—Jake Sim nodded at you. A simple, subtle gesture.

But it felt like the whole room paused around it.

You blinked. Your lips parted, surprised, and then instinctively—you nodded back. Small. Shy. Like your heart hadn’t just punched through your ribcage.

Jake held your gaze for half a second longer, then turned and walked to his usual seat near the back like nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

Kazuha leaned in immediately. “Okay, no. That wasn’t normal. He totally looked at you.”

Minju blinked. “Did he just nod at you like you guys are friends or something?”

You couldn’t even answer. You were too busy trying to regulate your breathing, too focused on the way your hands suddenly didn’t know what to do.

Across the room, Jake sat down, stretched out, and didn’t say a word.

Jay nudged him. “You good?”

Jake didn’t look away from the front. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Just watching something.”

Jay raised a brow, confused, but let it go.

You felt it the second you walked out of class—like a magnet at your back.

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was behind you. His steps were slower than yours, but just close enough that you could hear the occasional scuff of his sneakers on the pavement. And even in the noise of campus—people laughing, bikes zipping by, someone blasting music from a speaker—you felt him.

Jake Sim. Still walking behind you. Still very much a mystery.

“Okay,” Kazuha whispered beside you, leaning in with the most obvious side-eye imaginable. “Do not freak out. But he’s right there.”

“I know,” you hissed, eyes forward.

“I mean right there, like five steps back.”

Minju, on your other side, kept her voice casual. “What do you think he wants?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “Probably just going the same way.”

“Oh, sure,” Kazuha drawled. “Because Jake Sim always just happens to walk behind girls he makes eye contact with for five seconds straight.”

Your face was hot. You hated how your brain had started keeping track of these things—every glance, every nod, every smile like it meant something.

You turned the corner with your friends, and for a second, it felt like maybe that was it. Maybe he was just walking the same direction.

“Hey.”

One word. Smooth. Easy.

Him.

You stopped. Your heart didn’t.

Jake slid into view beside you like he did this all the time, like you weren’t already halfway to spiraling.

He looked straight at you. “You’re in my stats class, right?”

You blinked. Your mouth opened slightly. “Uh… yeah.”

He smiled like he already knew the answer.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said casually, like this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it. “What’s your name?”

You told him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake nodded, like he was tucking it away. “Cool. I’m Jake.”

Like you didn’t already know.

“I know,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His grin widened slightly. Not cocky, not smug. Just… amused.

“Right,” he said, a little laugh in his voice. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

And with that, he was gone.

No flirting. No teasing. No over-the-top pickup line.

Just your name on his lips. Like he planned to use it again.

Your friends were staring at you with open mouths.

Kazuha grabbed your arm. “I am going to pass out.”

Minju fanned herself. “You talked. To Jake Sim.”

You stood there, blinking at the space where he used to be, your heart still racing.

You didn’t know what just happened.

But whatever it was, it wasn’t nothing.

Jake didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to. He knew you were still standing there, probably replaying the conversation in your head, maybe wondering if you’d said something weird or if he’d meant anything by it.

He hadn’t.

Not really.

(Kind of.)

He let his smirk fade the second he turned the corner, jaw tightening slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He could feel Jay’s voice in his head already, mocking him—“So? Who’d you pick?”

He wasn’t going to tell him yet. Not until it was set in motion.

And it was now. Officially.

He’d spoken to you. Broke the fourth wall. You weren’t a background presence anymore—you were the option. The one he was going to test this theory out on.

Not because you were a challenge.

Not because you were hard to get.

But because you were… interested.

He’d seen the look on your face when he asked your name. That flicker of nervous excitement, like you’d been caught in the middle of something you didn’t want to end. He knew that look. He’d seen it before. Dozens of times.

But this time? He wasn’t here to break hearts. He was here to win.

That was the bet.

Longest relationship.

Play the part. Make it believable.

Easy.

Jake walked into the dining hall like nothing had happened, spotting Jay already sitting with a tray of fries and a bored expression.

“Yo,” Jay said. “You look like you just committed a crime.”

Jake slid into the seat across from him, swiping a fry. “Maybe I did.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “You pick someone?”

Jake chewed slowly, then shrugged. “Thinking about it.”

“‘Thinking about it’ or already made up your mind?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Let’s just say… I’ve got a good feeling.”

Jay laughed. “You’re gonna lose.”

Jake grinned back, calm and sure of himself. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile, two buildings over, you were still stuck in place—your name echoing in your ears in his voice.

Jake Sim had talked to you. Asked your name. Smiled like he’d meant it.

And you?

You were already in trouble.

You just didn’t know it yet.

You floated through the rest of your day in a haze.

Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, unintentional walking distraction, the guy you’d spent way too long overanalyzing from a distance—had not only spoken to you, but said your name. Like it belonged in his mouth. Like he planned to say it again.

You replayed it on loop.

“What’s your name?”

“I’ve seen you around.”

“Cool. I’m Jake.”

You. Were. Doomed.

Yuna nearly screamed when you told her.

“HE WHAT?” she shrieked in your dorm room, slamming her phone face down on your bed. “Okay, no. Wait. Start from the beginning. Word for word. Breath for breath. Blinking pattern. Everything.”

“I already told you everything!”

Yuna gave you a flat look. “You barely told me anything. You just stood there in a daze and whispered, ‘He talked to me’ like you were in some kind of Jake-induced coma.”

“I was in a Jake-induced coma,” you mumbled, falling back onto your pillow dramatically. “I think I still am.”

“Okay but why now?” she asked, sitting at the foot of your bed and stealing one of your chips. “Like, what changed? You guys have had stats together for weeks and he’s never even looked at you.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “Maybe he just… noticed me.”

Yuna gave you a look. “Guys like Jake don’t ‘just notice’ girls. It’s either because he’s bored, he’s interested, or he’s got some kind of motive.”

You sat up a little. “You think he has a motive? Like… what? What kind of motive?”

Yuna paused, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t know. But Jake doesn’t make small talk unless he’s getting something out of it. Trust me. He’s hot, yeah, but there’s always something else going on in that beautiful, toxic little brain.”

You rolled your eyes, but a tiny part of you held onto her words. You didn’t want to believe that. You wanted to believe maybe he was just… curious. Maybe he thought you were cute. Maybe—by some miracle—he wasn’t playing a game.

But then again, Jake Sim was known for a lot of things.

Genuine interest wasn’t one of them.

Still, your heart refused to care.

He said your name.

He smiled.

He looked at you.

And for now, that was enough to keep you wide awake at 1:42 a.m., staring at your ceiling, whispering his name once just to hear how it sounded in the dark.

You told yourself it wasn’t for him.

You were just in the mood to look nice today—normal girl behavior. Nothing out of the ordinary. So what if you curled your hair instead of your usual half-tied bun? So what if you put on a little gloss and swapped your hoodie for a top that fit just a little better than usual? You weren’t going to see him anyway. Probably.

(But you left five minutes earlier than usual… just in case.)

You blamed Yuna for the way your nerves spiked as soon as you stepped onto campus. Her voice kept looping in your head like a warning bell.

“Guys like Jake don’t just notice girls out of nowhere.”

You’d rolled your eyes at the time, but it stuck. Still, when you caught your reflection in the hallway mirror outside class, a small smile tugged at your lips. You looked good. Confident. Not for Jake—but if he noticed? That wouldn’t be the worst thing.

He did.

You felt his gaze before you even stepped into the classroom. The weight of it. Heavy, warm, lazy like he wasn’t in a rush to look away. You didn’t dare meet his eyes—not right away—but your heart was already beating in your ears.

Kazuha whispered a teasing, “Oooh, someone came dressed to kill today,” as you sat down, and you tried to play it cool, brushing her off with a laugh. But you couldn’t ignore the glance Jake threw over his shoulder.

And the small nod. Again. Just like before. It was subtle. Barely there. But intentional. And that was enough to keep you smiling through half the lecture like an idiot.

Later that day, back at your dorm, you were practically humming as you kicked off your shoes. Yuna looked up from her laptop, narrowed her eyes, and said immediately, “Okay. Spill. What happened?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You wore lip gloss,” she deadpanned. “You only do that for confidence or crushes. And knowing you? It’s both.” You flopped onto your bed with a dreamy sigh. “He looked at me again.” Yuna groaned. “Girl. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m fine,” you said, rolling onto your stomach.

“No, you’re in the delusional phase,” she said, sitting up. “Where you think he’s texting you with his eyes and secretly planning your wedding. I’m telling you, this is how he gets girls. He makes you feel seen.”

You stayed quiet, fiddling with the edge of your pillowcase.

“I’m not saying he’s evil,” Yuna went on. “I’m saying he’s not… safe. He’s not consistent. And I just don’t want you to be another story where he gets bored and leaves.”

You didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when your heart was still soaring.

“I get it,” you mumbled. “But it’s not that serious. It’s just a crush.”

Yuna stared at you for a long moment. “That’s exactly how it starts.”

But you didn’t answer. You just kept smiling to yourself. Because Jake Sim looked at you again. And in your head, that meant everything.

Jake saw you before you saw him.

You were sitting on the low stone wall outside the library, legs crossed at the ankles, earbuds in, flipping through your notes with a furrow between your brows like you actually cared about the quiz tomorrow. The afternoon sun hit your face just right, lighting up the gold in your lashes, and for a moment—just a second—he forgot this was supposed to be a thing.

A game. A bet. A joke between him and Jay.

He shook it off.

“Go say something,” Jay muttered from beside him, nudging Jake with his elbow.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Relax.”

“Relax? Bro, you were just talking about how easy this was gonna be,” Jay said. “You smiled at her, got her name. Step three is conversation.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He just watched you.

You looked like the type who wrote in a journal at night. The type who doodled on worksheets, who had a playlist for every mood and a favorite pen that no one else was allowed to touch. You weren’t like the girls at parties who clung to him for the thrill of it, who liked the idea of Jake Sim more than Jake himself.

That made it interesting.

Or maybe risky. He hadn’t decided yet.

“I’m giving you three seconds,” Jay said. “Then I’m picking someone else for you.”

Jake scoffed and stepped off the path.

He took his time crossing the grass, casual but with purpose. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever study playlist was pulsing through your ears. He tapped the back of the bench once with two fingers, and you startled slightly, pulling one earbud out as your eyes lifted to meet his.

There it was again—recognition. Surprise. That soft little tilt to your lips like you were trying not to smile too much.

“Hey,” he said, leaning slightly against the edge of the wall. “You always study out here?”

You blinked. “Only when it’s nice out.” He nodded, eyes flicking to your open notebook. “What’s the subject?”

“Stats,” you said, grimacing. “Trying to pretend I understand anything from today.” He laughed a little—easy, smooth, practiced. “Yeah, same. I zoned out after the first ten minutes.”

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes. “You sit in the back. You always zone out. He raised a brow, impressed. “So you’ve been watching me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then faltered, clearly realizing what you’d just admitted.

Jake grinned. Gotcha.

“I mean—not watching watching,” you rushed to say. “Just, you’re… kind of hard to miss.”

He let the moment hang between you, his smirk lingering before he glanced down at your notes again. “You want help?” he asked suddenly. You blinked. “With stats?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t guarantee results,” he said, pushing off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets. “But we could suffer through it together.”

Your eyes searched his face for something—for a sign he was messing with you. But he didn’t look away.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Yeah. That’d be… cool.”

Jake nodded once, then stepped back. “Tomorrow. After class?”

You nodded.

He turned without another word, heading back toward Jay with that easy gait that made people move out of his way. Jay raised his brows at him like well?

Jake just said, “Locked in.” And didn’t explain further.

Didn’t mention how your voice had sounded a little shy when you said yes. Didn’t mention the part of him that liked that.

He told himself he wasn’t catching feelings. He was just playing the role. That’s all this was. Wasn’t it?

The next day, you didn’t know whether to dread or look forward to stats.

You’d barely slept. You kept rewriting yesterday in your head—Jake walking up to you, Jake talking to you, Jake offering to help you study like it was nothing. Like that wasn’t the most surreal part of your entire week.

You were half convinced it was a fluke. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe it was some joke. Or maybe—maybe—you dreamed it and none of it actually happened.

But then he slid into the seat next to you like it was his usual spot.

Like it had always been his.

You looked up at him in surprise, your voice caught in your throat. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey,” he said easily, tossing his phone on the desk and leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “You still down to study after this?”

You blinked. “Y-Yeah. Of course.”

He gave you a small, satisfied smile, then leaned in a little closer, voice low enough that only you could hear it. “What’s your Instagram?”

You froze.

You knew this moment was coming. Like, eventually. Hopefully. Maybe. But not this fast. Not like it was casual.

“Oh—um,” you fumbled with your phone, screen lighting up as your fingers clumsily opened the app. “It’s just—my username is kind of stupid, don’t laugh.”

Jake chuckled under his breath. “Now I have to see it.”

You turned your screen toward him, and he leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing yours for a second too long. His fingers grazed your phone as he typed it into his own, brows furrowed in concentration.

“There,” he said a moment later. “Followed.”

Your phone buzzed instantly, the notification lighting up like a siren:

simjyn started following you.

You tried to stay calm. Cool. Normal.

But Jake? Jake was already scrolling through your feed like he had nothing better to do. His eyes flicked up to yours briefly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re cute in this one.”

You almost choked.

He was pointing to a picture Minju had taken of you a couple weeks ago—your hand resting on your cheek, smiling softly at something off-camera. You’d only posted it after three days of deliberation.

“You—what?” you said, breathless.

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “I said you’re cute. You don’t agree?”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

He laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the way he’d short-circuited your brain. Then he leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just sent your pulse into orbit.

“Stats,” he said casually, flipping open his notebook. “Then coffee. That’s our deal, right?”

You nodded slowly, your cheeks on fire.

He didn’t say anything else.

But your phone buzzed again under the desk.

simjyn: looking forward to it

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. So you did both. Internally.

You didn’t even have to type it in.

The second Jake said, “What’s your Instagram?” you already knew where this was going. You played it off so well—bit your lip like you were thinking, fumbled with your phone a little like you needed to search for his account too.

But you didn’t. You’d known it for months.

@simjyn.

No numbers. No punctuation. Just clean, simple, cool. Like him.

You’d visited it more times than you’d ever admit out loud.

You knew the exact photo he’d posted on New Year’s Eve—black button-up, rings on his fingers, drink in hand, smirk sharper than his jawline. You remembered how his captions were always short, effortless. Sometimes just a song lyric, sometimes a single word. Always just enough to keep people guessing.

You’d watched his stories religiously. Even the ones that weren’t interesting—clips of skateparks, random memes, grainy concert videos. You once spent an entire night reading through the comments on one of his old posts, heart dropping every time a girl left a flirty emoji and he liked it.

And now? That username lit up your phone for real.

@simjyn followed you.

@simjyn ❤️ your story.

@simjyn sent you a DM.

You nearly forgot how to breathe.

What made it worse—or maybe better—was how normal he made it all feel. Like he hadn’t just stepped out of the fantasy you’d kept locked behind your phone screen. Like this wasn’t your real life crashing into the version of Jake you only knew from filtered posts and captions.

You tried to keep your cool, acting like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you hadn’t already scrolled back to his 2019 posts at least once. Like you didn’t already have his account bookmarked under a folder labeled “Just Vibes” (because “Jake Sim” felt too on the nose).

Still, when the class ended and you stepped outside, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your notifications again. And there it was.

@simjyn: looking forward to it.

Like it was just the beginning.

And maybe, terrifyingly, it was.

The days that followed felt like they were moving in slow motion, each one dragging longer than the last as you waited for something to happen.

The moment you’d been hoping for—the one where Jake would finally make it real, where the playful back-and-forth would shift from flirtation to something else—wasn’t happening.

Instead, he kept it casual. Too casual.

Too normal.

He kept up the conversations. Stats class? He would lean over, whispering about the notes, joking about the professor’s monotone voice. He would always walk with you afterward, or grab coffee with you. Nothing over the top. Nothing overtly romantic.

But your heart still raced every time he smiled at you. Every time he leaned a little too close. Every time his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you your coffee or his shoulder bumped yours when you were walking together. You could tell he was making it seem easy. Comfortable. Like you were just friends.

But you were barely holding it together.

Your phone buzzed late one night while you were finishing up homework. You glanced at it, heart skipping when you saw his name pop up in your notifications.

@simjyn: Got a minute?

You stared at the message for a solid minute. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation creeping in. Should you play it cool? Or be honest and show just how interested you were?

You took a breath, tapped the screen, and typed back:

You: Of course, what’s up?

It took a few seconds for him to respond, and when he did, you couldn’t help but feel the subtle excitement surge in your chest.

@simjyn: You free tomorrow after class? Thought we could grab lunch or something.

You stared at the message for a long second, rereading it just to be sure it wasn’t some joke. But no—he’d actually asked. He’d really asked.

And you, being entirely unable to contain the flutter in your stomach, replied without hesitation:

You: Sounds good. What time?

It didn’t take long for him to send the reply, casual as ever:

@simjyn: 1 p.m. sharp. See you then.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as you tried to play it off to yourself. You were going to lunch.

With Jake Sim.

Just lunch.

Still, as you set your phone down, the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. It twisted, deepened, and tightened with something you couldn’t ignore.

This was different.

You weren’t just some girl caught up in the attention of a guy.

This time, it felt real.

The morning of the lunch, you barely made it through your classes. Every few minutes, your mind would wander back to the text. You tried to focus, to pay attention to the lecture, but all you could think about was what you were going to wear. You settled on something comfortable—nothing too dressed up, but something that still made you feel good. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard, but you also didn’t want to look like you didn’t care.

When the bell rang, you gathered your things and tried to move quickly, but not too quickly. There was no way you were going to be that eager.

You got to the café a little early, scanning the tables, heart racing as you waited. And then, just as you began to think he might be late, you saw him walk through the door. Jake Sim, effortlessly cool in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His hair was slightly messy in that way that made you want to run your fingers through it.

He glanced around and spotted you almost immediately. The moment your eyes met, he gave you that signature, crooked grin. The one that made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he greeted as he slid into the seat across from you. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

You shook your head, trying not to act too flustered. “No, not at all. I just got here.”

He gave a nonchalant nod, then leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the menu on the wall. “So, how’s the studying been going?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Same as usual. Lots of work, not a lot of results.”

Jake chuckled, glancing over at you. “I can relate. Stats is definitely not my strong suit. I’ve had to rely on the internet a lot.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “I can’t believe you’re just now admitting that you’re using Google.”

“Hey, it works,” he said, raising his hands in mock defense. “Why make life harder?”

The conversation flowed easily after that, lighthearted banter about classes, the terrible food at the campus café, and random bits of gossip you both knew. Nothing serious. But somehow, it felt… different. He was relaxed around you. More relaxed than he’d ever seemed before, and it made you wonder if this was just another casual thing to him, or if something else was starting to shift.

Then, after a while, Jake’s tone softened. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment as if weighing his words. “You’ve been acting a little different lately. More… put together, you know?”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged slightly, his eyes still focused on you, but there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve always been pretty chill, but you’re, like, shining now. What’s up with that?”

Your heart skipped, a small nervous laugh escaping your lips. “I’m just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting better at balancing everything.”

Jake leaned in just slightly, his gaze narrowing with interest. “I think it’s more than that. You’re definitely pulling it off.”

You stared at him for a second, not sure what to make of the compliment. He said it so casually, like it was just an observation. But it felt different, like he was actually noticing you—really noticing you.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed. “Well, thanks. That’s… sweet.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, to your surprise, Jake broke the tension with a grin. “You know, I’ve got a theory.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “A theory?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking like he was about to say something way too casually. “I think you might just be trying to impress me.”

The words hit you like a bolt of electricity, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you were supposed to laugh, blush, or run away. “What? No—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I mean, maybe a little bit, but… I don’t think I need to impress you.”

Jake smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. “Oh? I’m not that impressive, huh?”

You bit your lip, not sure how to play this. “No, you are. I just—” You cut yourself off, suddenly realizing how much you’d revealed in a single sentence. But Jake didn’t press. He just chuckled, clearly having fun with this.

“You’re cute when you get nervous,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Your cheeks burned at the comment, but you quickly composed yourself. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything to impress you with. I’m just… me.”

Jake leaned forward slightly, eyes locking with yours in that way that made your heart race. “That’s all I need to see.”

His words hung in the air between you like an unspoken promise, and for a moment, you thought you might actually fall for the idea that this wasn’t just a game.

But then, just as quickly, he sat back, picked up his coffee, and took a casual sip like nothing had happened.

You blinked, trying to clear the confusion in your head. Was he playing with you? Or was this real?

Before you could ask, Jake grinned, his eyes flicking to your phone. “Hey, I’ll hit you up later. I’ve got to go catch up with Jay about something.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you meant it to be. “I���ll see you later, then.” He stood up, tossing a few bills onto the table before flashing that same carefree smile. “Yeah. See you around.”

As he walked away, you watched him go, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t figure out if he was just being Jake, or if something else was going on. But one thing was clear. He had your attention, and it felt like you were already in this deeper than you wanted to admit.

The next few days were a blur of moments that felt too good to be true. Every time you saw Jake, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing. He was suddenly everywhere, his presence more noticeable, more… intentional.

It started small—an unexpected text, just a random meme or a “How’s your day going?” message. It wasn’t the kind of thing friends usually exchanged, not unless they were really close. But he made it feel effortless. Like it was normal. Like you were supposed to be texting each other.

When you sat together in class, Jake would lean a little closer, whispering jokes in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. He’d brush your arm with his when reaching for a pen or hand you a piece of paper as if your hands weren’t already close enough to touch. And every time his gaze met yours, there was this flicker in his eyes—a hint of something that made you feel like you were both in on some secret that no one else knew.

“You’re wearing that sweater again,” he’d say, a grin pulling at his lips. “I like it.”

You’d laugh nervously, trying to act casual, but inside, your heart would race. Every time he called you out like that—whether it was for something you wore, the way your hair fell across your face, or the way you bit your lip when you were nervous—it felt like a compliment. A tease. And you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed.

But then, you’d notice the little things—like how his gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than usual, how his smile reached his eyes, and how he seemed to make every conversation feel like an inside joke. You could feel it. The playful flirty energy was unmistakable.

One afternoon, you were walking across campus together when Jake leaned in and said, “You know, you look really cute when you’re thinking.”

Your mind went blank. “What?”

He laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. “When you get all quiet, just staring at nothing. You’re cute, I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Stop it.”

But his grin only widened. He didn’t stop. Not this time. His arm brushed yours as you walked, the skin-to-skin contact sending an electric jolt through your entire body. He kept close, just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, just close enough that it started to mess with your head.

“Really,” he continued, “You should smile more. Makes everything better.”

You couldn’t think straight. He was being so Jake about it—teasing and flirty, but there was something in the way he said it, something deeper, like he was trying to get closer to you than just casual flirtation. You tried to brush it off, but there was no denying it—he was turning up the charm.

The worst part? You liked it. You liked it too much.

But as much as you were getting drawn into the flirty energy with Jake, your friends noticed. Especially Yuna.

“Hey, you’re pulling away,” Yuna said one day as you walked with her across campus. “You’ve been hanging out with Jake a lot lately. Like… more than usual.”

You tried to brush it off, but the protective tone in her voice was obvious. “What are you talking about? We’re just hanging out.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving you a skeptical look. “I don’t know, YN. I mean, I’ve seen the way he’s been acting with you lately. Don’t let him mess with your head. He’s—”

“Stop,” you snapped, more sharply than you meant to. “I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing.”

Yuna stopped walking, eyes wide as she stared at you. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she said quietly. “Jake’s not exactly the type to take things seriously. You don’t want to end up hurt.”

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. But instead of feeling gratitude for her concern, you felt something else—a weird, unexpected irritation.

“I said stop,” you repeated, this time quieter but no less firm. “I don’t need you to remind me every five seconds that Jake’s a bad idea. I’m fine.”

Yuna opened her mouth to argue, but you held up your hand, cutting her off. “Really, Yuna, just drop it. I can handle myself.”

You could see the hurt flash across her face, but you didn’t care in the moment. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear about how Jake was playing you, how he was just a game to him, how everyone saw it coming except you. Because you didn’t want to see it. Not now. Not when things were just starting to feel… good.

You walked away from her then, your mind in a whirl. But even as you pushed away your concern for her words, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Something was off, and it wasn’t just with Jake.

And as you thought about it more, as you thought about his flirty comments, the way he leaned in too close when you were talking, the way he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t, you wondered if maybe Yuna was right after all.

But then again… why would you care?

After all, he was giving you attention. He was talking to you. It felt good. And sometimes, that was all that mattered, right?

Later that week, you found yourself standing in front of Jake’s apartment door, the cold metal of the handle pressing against your palm. You didn’t know exactly how you’d gotten here, but somewhere along the way, you’d ended up accepting his invitation to hang out. It wasn’t even that late. You’d just had a weird day with your friends, and now, you were here.

Jake’s voice came through the door before he even opened it. “Hey, come on in!”

The door swung open, and he flashed you that familiar grin that you still weren’t used to, despite how many times you’d seen it. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he said with a teasing raise of his eyebrows.

You didn’t even have it in you to give a smart remark back. Instead, you just walked in, kicking your shoes off as you stepped inside. The apartment was just as you remembered—lived in, a bit messy, but still comfortable. Jake had that careless confidence about him, the kind that made everything feel like it was in its rightful place, even when it wasn’t.

You plopped down on the couch, dropping your bag beside you, feeling suddenly exhausted. Your shoulders slumped, and Jake’s eyes followed the movement with a curious look before he sank onto the couch beside you, casually stretching his arms out along the backrest.

“What’s going on?” he asked, genuinely concerned, but his tone was light, trying to keep things casual, like everything was fine.

You took a deep breath, then sighed heavily, letting it all spill out in a way that surprised even you. “I don’t know what’s going on with me lately,” you said, your voice a little softer than you expected. “I mean, Yuna’s being… overprotective. She thinks you’re just playing with me. And I get it. She’s looking out for me. But it’s like, I can’t get her to understand that I’m fine. That I’m not… that stupid.”

You glanced at him for a moment, but he was just listening, his focus on you in a way that made your stomach flip. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tell you you were overreacting. He just sat there, waiting for you to keep going.

“I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds. Like one side wants to just… enjoy it, you know? You’re fun, you’re everything I thought you were. But then, there’s this other side, where I can’t shake the feeling that maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re not looking for anything serious, and I’m just… falling for it. But I can’t stop myself,” you vented, your voice starting to tremble slightly.

Jake stayed quiet for a few seconds, his gaze shifting to the floor for a brief moment before looking back at you.

“You’re allowed to feel what you feel,” he said softly, the words coming out slower than usual. “Don’t let anyone make you doubt yourself. Yuna’s just trying to protect you, but you can handle it. If you’re not ready to hear what she has to say, then you don’t have to. That’s your decision.”

There was something in his tone that was different—something almost… comforting. It wasn’t the usual cocky Jake. This was the version of him that actually cared.

You let out a shaky laugh, unsure of whether it was from nerves or relief. “I don’t know if I can handle this… It’s all just so confusing. I don’t even know if I’m reading everything wrong, or if I’m just imagining things.”

His expression softened, and he leaned in just slightly, the casual distance between you both shrinking. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, you know? You don’t have to be perfect. Not with me.”

And before you even realized it, you were leaning toward him. You didn’t even think about it, didn’t even second-guess it. Your body just reacted, your forehead resting against his shoulder, your exhaustion seeping out of you all at once.

Jake didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch. He just stayed still, his body tense for only a second before relaxing, letting you lean on him, letting you take the weight off for just a little while. His arm slowly reached up, resting gently on your back, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was only the sound of your breathing and the steady, comforting presence of Jake beside you. And in that space, you didn’t feel confused or vulnerable. You just felt… safe.

But Jake? Jake felt something he wasn’t prepared for.

His chest tightened as your weight shifted against him, your head resting on his shoulder. Something in the pit of his stomach stirred in a way he wasn’t used to. The easy, flirtatious banter, the teasing touches, the smiles—it had always felt like a game, a light distraction. But now, with you leaning on him like this, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had crossed some invisible line.

Jake wasn’t the type to let his guard down easily, especially not with someone like you—someone who was already too easy to get attached to. He’d always prided himself on being able to keep things light, keep things easy. But now, as you sat there with your breath steady against his chest, he felt something shift in his chest. It was too strong, too real, too unfamiliar.

He knew he shouldn’t be feeling it. He knew he shouldn’t be letting himself get this close, this comfortable. But there was something about the way you were so trusting, so open, that made him rethink everything. Maybe he didn’t have to keep things light forever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let things get a little deeper.

But Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away, and he didn’t push forward. He just stayed there, letting the moment stretch out, wondering what it would mean if he allowed himself to feel whatever this was.

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Sim wasn’t quite sure what was happening to him.

The next day, you were walking with Minju and Kazuha when the conversation inevitably turned to the topic you were avoiding. Your friends had been whispering behind your back, but now, they were cornering you about it, and you knew exactly what was coming.

“YN,” Minju started, her voice soft but firm. “We know you’re close with Jake now, but Yuna’s just trying to look out for you. She cares about you.”

You tried to ignore the feeling of guilt that twisted inside you, but it was impossible to shake off. You had felt bad about snapping at Yuna, but right now, you just weren’t ready to deal with it. Not when everything with Jake was still so… new, so uncertain.

“I know, okay?” you said, your voice slightly more defensive than you intended. You slowed your pace, unwilling to keep walking any longer. You could feel their concerned gazes on you. “But I don’t need to hear it right now. I don’t want to think about it.”

Kazuha frowned, tilting her head as she studied your face. “We just don’t want you to get hurt, YN,” she said, her voice gentle but tinged with worry. “We know you like him, but… Jake doesn’t exactly have the best reputation when it comes to relationships.”

You clenched your jaw. Not this again.

“I don’t need anyone else telling me what I already know.” Your words were sharp, but it was hard to keep your cool. “I’m fine. I’m not an idiot. I know the risks.” You paused, your voice quieter now. “I just… I’m not ready to have that conversation with anyone, especially Yuna. So, can we just drop it?”

Minju gave you a sympathetic look, her eyes softening. “We’re just looking out for you, YN. It’s not about not trusting you. It’s about the fact that we’ve seen this kind of thing happen before.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I get it, but… I’m not asking for advice right now. I just want to figure things out on my own. I don’t want to hear how this is going to end before it’s even really started.”

Kazuha took a step closer, her tone easing as she tried to lighten the mood. “We’re not trying to ruin the fun, YN. We just don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”

“I know you care. But please… not now,” you said, holding up a hand to stop any further discussion. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to let your friends down, but you just couldn’t handle it at that moment. You needed time to figure out where you stood with Jake before you could process any of their warnings.

Minju and Kazuha exchanged a glance, and even though they both wanted to say more, they stayed quiet, sensing that you weren’t in the right headspace.

“Okay,” Minju said finally, her voice softening. “But we’re here for you when you’re ready to talk. Just don’t shut us out completely, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of frustration and relief. “I won’t. I promise.”

The conversation ended there, but the lingering tension between you and your friends stayed in the air. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they were worried about you, and that made your chest tighten. But as much as you knew they were just trying to protect you, a part of you didn’t want to listen. You just wanted to figure things out on your own.

And for now, that meant staying focused on Jake and whatever this thing was between you two. Even if it meant pushing everything else aside, at least for a little while.

Jake wasn’t one to let his guard down easily, but over the past few days, something about you had begun to chip away at it. The easy flirtation, the playful teasing—it was all still there, but there was something more now. Something deeper. He couldn’t help but notice how the little things seemed to matter more when you were around. The way you laughed at his jokes, even the ones that barely made sense. The way you smiled at him when no one else was watching. It felt too easy, too natural, like he’d always known how to make you smile. But lately, it didn’t feel like a game. It felt… real.

And that, in itself, was dangerous.

Jake found himself thinking about you even when he didn’t want to. His friends, Jay and Sunghoon, had made jokes about him getting “soft” or “whipped,” but it was hard to shake the feeling that they were right. He did feel something for you. Something he didn’t quite know how to name.

It wasn’t that you were different than the others—no, you were different in a way that made him uncomfortable. You made him want things he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Stability. Connection. More than just a fleeting encounter.

And it was killing him.

He didn’t know why he let himself get closer to you. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to understand him, like no matter how far he pushed, you’d still stick around. Or maybe it was the way you made him laugh even when he didn’t feel like smiling.

He found himself texting you more, asking if you wanted to hang out, even if he had no real reason to. He’d steal glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, noticing the way your eyes would light up when you spoke, the way you’d tilt your head when you were thinking. He even started texting you just to hear you laugh, just to see your name pop up on his screen. It was stupid. It was complicated. And, most of all, it made his stomach twist in ways that were both unsettling and addicting.

That night, things were different. You’d come over to his apartment again, this time without any of your usual defenses. You were quieter than usual, your eyes slightly more distant. He could tell something had been weighing on your mind, and despite all his usual nonchalance, he couldn’t help but want to comfort you.

You were sitting next to him on the couch, a slight distance between the two of you, but it felt like there was something pulling him toward you. He wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was the way you looked tonight, or how vulnerable you seemed, or maybe it was just the growing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, no teasing, no playfulness. Just concern.

You met his gaze, your lips forming a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Nothing. Just… stuff with my friends. You know, the usual drama.”

Jake felt his heart sink at the emptiness in your voice, like something was off. But he didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he leaned closer to you, watching as you pulled your knees up to your chest, clearly lost in your thoughts. Without thinking, his hand found its way to your shoulder, lightly resting there.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said, his voice quieter, gentler than before.

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know if you want to hear it. It’s just… complicated.”

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing along your shoulder. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m listening.”

You met his gaze then, and for a moment, something passed between you. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Jake felt it like a jolt of electricity between you. The weight of the silence was thick now, and the space between you felt too small.

Without thinking, Jake moved closer, his hand shifting from your shoulder to the side of your face, cupping it gently. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. You just stared at him, eyes wide, like you were waiting for him to make the next move.

Jake’s pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had been here before—flirtation, attraction, all of it. But this time, something was different. This time, it wasn’t just about the thrill or the chase. It was about you.

You leaned toward him, your lips brushing against his, tentative at first, like neither of you quite knew what was happening. But then, something clicked. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, and Jake’s entire world seemed to narrow down to that single moment.

It was everything. And it was nothing like he expected.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, you stayed close, your foreheads resting together as if you both were grounding each other.

Jake’s mind was racing, but his body felt weightless, like he was floating. He didn’t know what had just happened. Didn’t know if it was just a moment or if it meant something more. But for the first time in a long while, Jake Sim didn’t want to walk away from something. He didn’t want to pull back.

And he didn’t know how to explain it, but it scared him. More than he cared to admit.

The night of the party, you were already feeling a little on edge. Jake had invited you, and for the first time, it felt different than all the other times. There was a part of you that had been hesitating, unsure of how things were really between the two of you. His texts had been more frequent, his touches lingered a little longer, but you couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You were getting ready when your phone buzzed—Jake had just texted to remind you about the party. He seemed excited about it, but something felt off in the way you were receiving it, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff and had no idea what would happen if you jumped.

As you walked into the party later that night, the music thumping in the background, you tried to shake off your nerves. People were scattered around, some dancing, others talking in smaller groups. You spotted Jake almost immediately—his usual confident grin, that cocky air about him, but tonight there was something different. He waved when he saw you, and his eyes lit up as you approached.

But before you could make your way over to him, you overheard Jay and Sunghoon talking in the corner, standing just out of earshot from where you were. You froze, hearing your name mentioned, and despite yourself, you couldn’t resist the urge to listen.

“Yo, Jake is really into this girl, huh?” Jay’s voice was low, but you caught every word.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sunghoon replied, a laugh in his voice. “I mean, he’s been all over her. This bet’s got him acting like a different person.”

You felt your heart drop, but you didn’t move, too stunned to turn away. You tried to act casual, but everything inside you tensed. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, your stomach sinking.

“Are you sure he’s not faking it?” Jay asked, his voice skeptical. “I mean, it’s Jake we’re talking about. He doesn’t do ‘serious’—he’s just playing it for the win. He’ll probably drop her after.”

Sunghoon didn’t sound so sure, though. “I don’t know, man. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. It’s not like the other girls he’s been with. He actually seems invested.”

You wanted to walk away then. You wanted to ignore it, pretend you didn’t hear, but their words were like a knife twisting in your gut. The truth was, you weren’t stupid. You knew something was off. You had seen Jake be playful, you had felt the connection, but hearing his friends talk about it like it was a game… it made everything you had been feeling seem so much more meaningless.

“But it’s still a bet, right?” Jay said, the doubt lingering in his voice. “That’s what I don’t get. Is he really getting attached, or is he just playing the part? I’ve never seen him act like this with a girl. Not once.”

There was a long pause before Sunghoon replied, his voice lower now, more serious. “I don’t know. It’s Jake. Who can say for sure? But… I think he might actually care. Just a little bit.”

You didn’t stay to hear more. You didn’t need to. The damage had been done.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. You hadn’t expected this, not like this. But the pieces were starting to fall into place. Jake had been different with you—maybe more than he’d been with anyone else. The thought that this could be a game, a bet, was suddenly so clear. You couldn’t just ignore it anymore.

Your heart was pounding, but you forced your feet to move, walking over to where Jake was standing. You pasted on a smile, trying to keep your voice steady, but it felt harder than ever before.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. He smiled, his usual confident grin appearing on his face. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of something, teetering between what you thought was real and what you had just overheard.

“Hey, you made it!” Jake’s voice was light, happy, as if nothing was wrong. But something in his eyes made you pause.

Maybe it was time to figure out just how deep this bet really ran. And whether you were just part of it—or something more.

You stood there with a smile stretched across your face, but your heart was pounding so hard you swore Jake could hear it. His grin was easy, his eyes soft when they landed on you, like he had no idea you’d just overheard everything. Like you hadn’t just heard your name tossed around like a prize in a bet.

So, you smiled back.

You smiled even though your hands were trembling at your sides. You leaned in closer when he talked, nodded when he joked, even laughed—though it was a little too sharp, a little too forced. Because you weren’t about to fall apart in front of him. Not when everything finally made sense.

If this was a game to him, then fine. You’d play.

You could act too. You could flirt back, make him think he had you wrapped around his finger. You could give him exactly what he wanted—attention, affection, maybe even more—just to turn it around on him later. Just to prove you weren’t some stupid girl who didn’t know what she was getting into.

“I missed you,” Jake said, brushing your hair off your shoulder as he leaned closer to be heard over the music.

Your breath hitched slightly, just for a second. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. You looked up at him, eyes wide and soft—just how he liked them. “Yeah?” you replied, your voice light, teasing, even though it shook at the end. “You’re not just saying that because I finally came out tonight?”

He laughed, completely taken with you. “No. I mean it.”

You didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Maybe part of you still wanted to. That was the most pathetic part. But you just nodded, playing along like everything was normal. Like your heart wasn’t breaking and piecing itself back together all in the same breath.

Jake kept talking, leaning in like he couldn’t get enough of you, and all you could think about was the sound of Jay’s voice—He’s really into this bet. And then Sunghoon’s, Or maybe it’s real.

You hated how badly you wanted that second part to be true.

But you pushed the thoughts down, deeper than they’d ever gone, and played your part. You looked up at Jake like he was the only person in the room, like your voice hadn’t just betrayed you a few moments ago. Like you didn’t feel like the punchline of some cruel joke.

Because if he thought you were falling for him—then you were already winning.

You’d play along. Smile. Flirt. Fall—just enough to make him think he won.

But neither of you realized that somewhere along the way, Jake had already stopped pretending.

The party had started to blur around the edges—music thumping, people laughing, the usual chaos of a Friday night. But all Jake could focus on was you.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, half-listening to some conversation you clearly didn’t care about, your arms crossed and your head tilted like you were already somewhere else. Like maybe, you didn’t belong in this room full of noise and people pretending.

Jake found himself watching you a little too long. Again.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to snap out of it, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t go away. The bet. The damn bet. It had been fun at first—a dumb challenge between him and Jay to see who could last longer in a relationship. A joke. Something to pass the time. But now, with you standing there looking like everything he didn’t know he needed, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, slipping past the crowd.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his knuckles gently against your arm. You turned, a bit surprised, blinking up at him.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice still a little unsteady. You were trying to keep the act up—Jake could tell—but he didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know that you had already heard the truth.

“You wanna get outta here?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Jake smiled, but something in his chest twisted.

“Cool. Just—go ahead to my car, I’ll be right there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the front door.

You gave him a small nod and slipped away without another word, your steps a little faster than usual.

Jake exhaled, then turned around and made his way through the crowd until he found Jay and Sunghoon standing by the back patio, drinks in hand, mid-laugh.

“Yo,” he called out, stepping up to them.

Jay glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Leaving already?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. With YN.”

Jay smirked. “You’re really committed to this whole long-game thing, huh?”

But Jake didn’t laugh. His jaw clenched as he looked between the two of them.

“I’m ending it,” he said plainly.

Jay blinked. “What?”

“The bet,” Jake said again, firmer this time. “I’m done.”

Sunghoon straightened, exchanging a quick glance with Jay. “Seriously?”

Jake shrugged, but his voice was tight. “Yeah. It’s not fun anymore. I’m not… playing.”

Jay frowned, the smirk fading. “You caught feelings.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Sunghoon just nodded slowly, like he’d been expecting this. “Good. About time.”

Jake didn’t wait for more. He turned and headed for the door, his heart beating fast for reasons he couldn’t explain—not even to himself. He just knew one thing:

He didn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.

When Jake stepped out into the cool night air, his heart was beating fast—but not with excitement, not with adrenaline. It was something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t used to.

He spotted you leaning against his car, arms crossed, your gaze fixed on the night sky like you were looking for answers. You looked calm, but you weren’t. You were still hearing Jay’s voice in your head—He’s really into this bet—like it was playing on loop.

Jake walked up slowly, unlocking the car with a soft beep.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost cautious.

You didn’t look at him right away. “Took you long enough.”

He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jay wouldn’t shut up.”

You gave him a tight smile and slipped into the passenger seat, still playing your part.

The drive was quiet. The city lights passed in a blur outside the windows, but inside the car, the silence stretched. You were trying to act normal, casual, maybe even a little detached. But Jake felt it. The difference.

And maybe that’s what made him speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not looking away from the road.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push.

A few more minutes passed before your voice broke the silence again. “Why’d you invite me tonight?”

Jake glanced at you. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

You turned to him, searching his face for any flicker of dishonesty. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just… like being around you.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than you should have, but your heart ached. Because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

When the car pulled up in front of your place, you unbuckled your seatbelt, hand hovering near the door handle. But you didn’t open it.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then, “YN, wait.”

You looked over, and before you could ask what, he leaned in.

His hand gently found your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. His touch was warm, careful. And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t cocky or playful like you might’ve expected. It was slow. Almost unsure. Like he was feeling everything for the first time.

And for just that moment, the noise in your head stopped.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

You just stared at each other—confused, shaken, caught somewhere between a lie and a feeling that had started to feel too real.

You opened the door quietly, stepping out. Before you closed it, you leaned in just a little, voice softer than it had been all night.

“Goodnight, Jake.”

He watched you go, the echo of the kiss still warm on his lips.

And for the first time, Jake Sim wasn’t sure who was playing who anymore.

You lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding with a mix of emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle.

Jake had kissed you.

And worse?

You had kissed him back.

You touched your lips absentmindedly, remembering the way he held you like you were fragile. Like you meant something. Like you were real.

But you weren’t falling for it. Not again.

No, you told yourself, turning over in bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You are not doing this.

He played you. He made you feel seen, chosen, like maybe—just maybe—you were special. All the soft smiles, the subtle touches, the “accidental” run-ins, the way he said your name like it was his favorite word. All of it had been leading to this. The kiss. The final act in his perfect little performance.

You gritted your teeth and swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

Never again.

You weren’t going to be that girl—the one who got strung along, who ignored every red flag, who made excuses just because he looked at her like the sun rose in her eyes. No. That girl was gone. You buried her the moment you heard Jay’s voice echo in your head: Jake is really into this bet.

This was all a game to him.

So now? You were going to play too.

You’d play the part of the clueless, lovesick girl. You’d give him exactly what he wanted—until you flipped the whole damn game back on him.

And when the time came, when he was fully convinced he had you wrapped around his finger, when he couldn’t tell the difference between real and fake anymore—you’d confront him. You’d look him dead in the eyes and tear the mask right off his face.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d watch his heart shatter the way yours almost did.

But the worst part—the most frustrating, infuriating, confusing part—was how damn convincing he was. The way his eyes softened when they met yours. The way he smiled like he meant it. The way he touched you like he cared.

He seemed so in love with you, it made your chest ache. Like maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all a lie.

And you hated that part more than anything.

Because for one small, dangerous second… you wanted it to be real.

It was one of those rare moments when everything felt almost normal again. You’d been home alone for a few hours, scrolling through your phone, when the text from Jake popped up.

@simjyn: Hey, I was thinking of coming over. You free?”

You stared at the message for a moment, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach. You had been trying to keep things light with him—after everything that had happened, after hearing about the bet, you couldn’t let your guard down. But part of you still wanted to see him. Maybe part of you was still pretending things could be okay.

“Sure,” you replied, biting your lip. “I’m alone, so come on over.”

Not long after, the sound of the doorbell echoed through your apartment, and there he was, standing outside with that familiar smile. He wasn’t dressed any differently from the usual, but there was something in his eyes today. Something that made your heart skip in a way you hated.

Jake stepped inside, pulling you into a quick hug before you could even react. His hands lingered at your waist, warm and firm as he squeezed you close.

“You look good,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Thanks,” you muttered, stepping back to break the hold, though you could already feel your heartbeat accelerating.

You led him into the living room, where he flopped down on the couch with a sigh of relief, like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“So, what’s up?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your heart was beating a little faster than you’d like to admit.

He grinned up at you. “Just wanted to see you,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

You nodded, though the words felt too heavy in your chest to speak. He wasn’t here just for a visit—he’d been clingier lately, texting you more than usual, wanting to be around you all the time.

It should have felt nice, but it felt suffocating. Every time he smiled at you, kissed your cheek, leaned in close like he couldn’t get enough—it made your stomach churn.

“You’ve been… kind of different lately,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words had more bite than you intended.

Jake furrowed his brow, his expression shifting to something more concerned. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, frustrated by how easily he could shift his tone. “You’re being… clingy. All the time.”

He tilted his head, eyes widening in confusion. “Clingy? I just like being around you. Is that a bad thing?”

You took a deep breath, leaning against the counter to steady yourself. You could feel the tension rising in your chest, the frustration bubbling over.

“Jake,” you began, voice trembling just slightly. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not some… some toy for you to mess with. I’m not a prize, and I’m definitely not some girl to play along with your little bet anymore. If you’re really into me—then fine, but if this is just some fucking joke, then get the hell out.”

His face faltered for a second, just a flash of confusion before his gaze softened, his hands reaching for you. “I—what? No, YN, I’m not playing any game—”

You took a step back, hands trembling at your sides, the anger, the hurt, and the disappointment threatening to spill out.

“I know about the bet, Jake,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I know exactly why you started all this. And I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m not going to be the one who falls for this, okay? Not when you don’t even know what you want.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. Jake didn’t move, his eyes wide, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in them—something that looked like regret.

But it was too late.

You turned your back on him, pacing toward the window, your heart pounding in your ears. “Just go,” you said, voice cold. “I don’t want you here. Not like this.”

“YN, wait—” he started, his voice softer, like he was trying to make you understand. “I’m not lying. I’m not playing games anymore. I—”

“Just go, Jake,” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty that had never been there before. But you couldn’t bring yourself to soften. Not when he had already crossed the line.

With one last look, Jake slowly stood up, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Then, without a word, he walked toward the door, the weight of the moment sinking in with every step.

And just like that, he was gone.

You sank down onto the couch, your mind racing. You told yourself you wouldn’t trust him again, you reminded yourself. You wouldn’t fall for it.

But deep down, there was a part of you that still wished this wasn’t the end.

Still hoped, somehow, that Jake would come back. But you didn’t trust that part.

The next day at school was chaos.

You barely made it ten steps into the building before you heard your name—sharp, urgent.

“YN!”

You stopped, heart clenching as you turned to see Jake storming down the hall toward you. His eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of desperation and something dangerously close to hurt. You froze in place as he reached you, his voice already rising.

“You knew.” His words sliced through the tension in the air. “You knew this whole time and you were punishing me, weren’t you?”

Your breath caught.

Students slowed around you. Some stopped walking altogether. You could feel the shift—phones slipping out of pockets, eyes glinting with curiosity. You tried to step around him, but Jake moved with you.

“You acted like nothing was wrong,” he went on, voice getting louder. “You smiled, you kissed me, you looked at me like—like I meant something to you.”

You snapped. “Yeah? Well, welcome to my world.”

His expression twisted like you’d hit him.

“You were playing me from the start,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered with the weight of everything. “I heard Jay. I heard everything. And I kept going, Jake. I kept smiling, kept letting you in, because I wanted to see how far you’d go.”

He blinked like he couldn’t process it, like he hadn’t thought you’d actually know.

“You—” He shook his head. “You kissed me back.”

“You made me believe it was real.”

“I didn’t fake any of it!” he fired back, stepping closer. “You think this is just about a bet now? You think I haven’t lost sleep over this—over you?”

The hallway was dead silent except for your voices. Students were openly filming now, whispering like wildfire spreading through the air.

“Jake Sim and YN?”

“She’s actually yelling at him.”

“I heard it was a bet. Is that true?”

You glanced at them, your fists clenching at your sides, your chest rising and falling fast.

“Jake Sim chasing someone like her?” someone murmured nearby. It stung. It always did.

You turned back to Jake. “You had your fun, right? You got what you wanted. Just leave it alone.”

But Jake didn’t move. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

“I didn’t fall for you because of a bet,” he said quietly, voice raw. “But I might’ve lost you because of it.”

That did something to your chest. You hated it.

You hated him for saying the one thing you weren’t ready to hear.

Without another word, you turned and walked away—past the stares, past the whispers, past Jake.

And for once, you didn’t look back.

The next day, you didn’t expect to run into Jay—especially not when you were still raw, still reeling, still angry. But there he was, leaning against the lockers near your homeroom, like he’d been waiting.

The second he saw you, he pushed off the wall and walked straight up, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you chew him out like that?” he asked, no greeting, no hesitation. His voice wasn’t angry, just confused—tired, maybe. “In front of everyone?”

You froze, blinking up at him. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

Jay crossed his arms. “Yeah. Because the guy’s been a mess since yesterday. You acted like he’d—what, humiliated you? Like he was still playing you or something.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “The audacity to ask that when this whole thing started as some game between you and him.”

Jay’s eyes narrowed, confusion flashing across his face. “Game?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jay,” you snapped. “I heard you and Sunghoon at the party. You literally said he was invested in the bet. What else was I supposed to think? That everything he said and did was real?”

Jay went quiet for a second, then shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Wait—wait,” he said slowly. “You thought the bet was still on?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Jay exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like the weight of it all had just hit him. “YN… Jake called it off. He called it off way before he asked you out. He told us it didn’t feel right anymore. That you weren’t just some challenge or a joke—he wanted something real.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“No, he didn’t,” you muttered, barely audible.

“He did,” Jay said. “I swear on everything. He told us it stopped being about the bet a long time ago. That he wanted to be with you for real, no games. And honestly… we could all tell. He wasn’t faking anything.”

You looked away, suddenly cold all over. Your brain scrambled to make sense of it, replaying every interaction, every touch, every word. Had it all been real? Had he actually cared?

The guilt hit like a truck.

You chewed him out in front of everyone. You looked him in the eye and threw his feelings back at him because you thought he was still playing. Because you were scared.

Jay’s voice was quieter now. “He was falling for you, YN. He still is. But after yesterday… I don’t know if he’ll try again.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You just stood there, heart cracked open, with nothing to say and everything to feel.

You didn’t go to class that morning.

Instead, you found yourself sitting alone behind the school gym, knees pulled to your chest, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest. Everything felt like it was collapsing in slow motion. You were the one who was supposed to have control now. You were the one playing him—so why did it feel like you were the one who lost?

He ended the bet.

He wanted something real.

And you… you’d shoved it all back in his face, right in front of everyone. You humiliated him for something he had already walked away from—because of you.

The worst part? He hadn’t even defended himself.

He just stood there, took it, because maybe he thought he deserved it. Or maybe… because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore.

You remembered the look in his eyes—the way they didn’t hold that smug glint anymore, the way they softened when he looked at you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid to break.

And you had shattered it first.

You rested your forehead on your knees, eyes burning. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. Promised you’d get even. And maybe you had.

But it didn’t feel like winning.

It felt like you’d pushed away the one person who had tried—really tried—to love you, in the only way he knew how.

Maybe he messed up. Maybe you both did.

But somewhere between the lies, the games, and the dares, something real had bloomed. And now?

Now it was buried under everything unsaid.

But feelings don’t just disappear. Not like that.

So maybe… maybe this wasn’t the end.

Maybe it was the part right before you decided what kind of story this was really going to be.

here to be added to permanent tag list PART TWO OUT NOW

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[enhaflixer]

dad!enhypen x mom f!reader - enha dilf smut

cw: smut, breeding kink, degradation, 69ing some real filthy some real sweet im ngl 2 u ENHA HARD HOURS MDNI 18+

-

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Yuri’s finally asleep upstairs, her stuffed bear clutched in one tiny hand. The monitor hums on the kitchen counter. Snow’s falling outside the windows, crackling gently against the fire-warmed glass.

And Heeseung?

He’s looking at you like you’re dessert.

The second you bend down to put your mug in the sink—sweatpants sliding just an inch too low, the back of your tank top riding up—he’s behind you.

His palm presses flat to your lower back. His hips grind into your ass, and you feel him already hard.

“Baby,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You wanna be a mom again that bad?”

You laugh breathlessly. “She just fell asleep.”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Then you better keep your mouth shut.”

Your heart stutters. Your thighs clench.

Heeseung grabs your hips, bends you gently over the kitchen counter, and pulls your sweats down just far enough to expose your soaked panties.

“Oh, you’re ready already?” he says, one brow raised. “Just from me watching you do dishes like a good little wife?”

He strokes one finger up the seam of your pussy, still covered.

You squirm. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Heeseung—”

“No,” he whispers, kissing your spine. “Say it.”

“Please fuck me.”

He slides your panties aside and pushes in slowly—deep—like he’s savoring it.

You gasp, hands braced on the cold counter, the stretch already making your legs shake.

And he starts moving.

Not gentle.

Not rough.

Just… focused.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming you all over again.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Tight like it’s the first time. Wet like you were made for me. This pussy’s been mine since day one, huh?”

You whimper, trying not to moan too loud.

The baby monitor glows quietly in the corner.

Heeseung sees you glance at it and smirks.

“You scared she’s gonna hear?” he taunts. “Worried our little girl’s gonna wake up and hear mommy getting bred like she asked for it?”

You moan into your arm. Heeseung growls.

“God, you’re so fucking hot when you’re trying to be quiet.”

He grabs your jaw, pulls you up just enough to hiss into your ear:

“You know what gets me off? Seeing you with her. Watching you tuck her in, feed her, kiss her little cheeks like the perfect mother.”

He thrusts harder.

“And knowing that this is what you need when she’s down for a nap. Knowing I fuck you so good, you leak for an hour after.”

You’re shaking. Crying out now.

There’s slick dripping down your thighs, onto the floor. Heeseung grabs your chin, makes you look at your reflection in the microwave.

“Look at yourself,” he growls. “So messy. So fucked out. You want another one? I’ll fill you up right now. Knock you up again while our daughter’s sleeping upstairs.”

You cum so hard your knees give out.

Heeseung holds you up.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Now hold still.”

He fucks you through it. Doesn’t pull out.

And when you feel it—that rush of heat, his cum spilling inside you—you moan like it’s your own orgasm.

Heeseung pants against your neck, then presses the softest kiss to your temple.

“That’s how you start a family vacation.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

The baby’s asleep. The monitor’s on. You’re freshly showered, wearing nothing but a robe, leaning against the headboard with your legs tucked up beneath you.

Jay walks in slowly, towel around his neck, hair damp from his own shower. You smile at him, lazy and soft. He looks at you like he’s been starving.

“You shouldn’t sit like that,” he murmurs, climbing onto the bed.

“Like what?”

He crawls toward you, eyes locked on the part of your robe that’s come slightly undone.

“Like your pussy isn’t the only thing I’ve thought about all day.”

You laugh, but your breath catches when he kisses your thigh. Just above the knee. Then higher. Then higher.

“I’m serious,” he whispers, lips dragging against your skin. “Ever since you got pregnant… ever since you gave birth…”

His hands slide under the robe. Push your thighs apart gently.

“You taste different. Sweeter. Thicker. Like wine.”

You stare down at him, stunned. Flushed. “Jay—”

But he’s already kissing your pussy like it’s communion.

Slow, reverent. Like he’s praying.

He moans into you, loud, unashamed. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. You feel his lips part—his tongue flatten—and then he’s drinking you like he’s been deprived.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away for a second. “You taste like something aged in heaven and bottled for sinners.”

You whimper. Try to close your legs.

He growls. “No. You gave me a child. You really think I’m ever gonna stop tasting you?”

He eats you with slow, devastating focus. Not teasing. Not rushed. Just deep, soft, relentless devotion.

You cum once—twice—he doesn’t stop.

Even when your thighs tremble, even when your hips jerk up, even when your hand grips his hair like a lifeline.

Jay doesn’t stop until you’re crying.

And when he finally comes up, lips shiny, chin wet, eyes dark?

He kisses your stomach.

The stretch marks.

The curve of your softened belly.

The skin he watched stretch around his baby.

“You taste better now,” he murmurs. “Because you’re mine in every way. And I’m never gonna let you forget it.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

He’s been hard all goddamn day.

You’ve been walking around the house in that little tank top, no bra, nipples brushing the fabric every time you breathe. You keep bending over to pick up your son’s toys, bouncing him on your hip like some sweet little housewife. Jake hasn’t had your pussy in a week, and it shows.

Every time you talk to him, his brain short-circuits.

Every time you smile at him, his cock twitches.

Your son Jacob?

Beautiful. Perfect. The light of his life.

Also ruining his sex life.

It’s not your fault. Jake knows that. But he’s still spiraling.

It’s 9:46pm.

The baby’s finally asleep.

You’re barely in the bedroom before he’s on you.

He locks the door. Turns around. And says it—

“Get your ass on the bed before I fuck you against the wall like a rabid dog.”

You blink. “Jake—”

“No. I’ve been jerking off to the memory of your pussy for six fucking days. I came in the goddamn laundry room this morning like a pervert. The second that kid shuts his eyes, I’m in you.”

You’re already backing up. Jake follows, jaw tight, cock fully hard in his sweats.

“You’ve been teasing me all fucking day. Walking around with your tits out like you don’t know what you’re doing. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He drags your shorts down. Sees your panties. Laughs, mean and low.

“Oh, these are getting ruined. Hope you weren’t attached.”

He kisses you. Rough. Possessive.

Then drops to his knees and spits on your pussy through the fabric.

“Been dreaming about this cunt. Swear to god, baby. You’ve got the kind of pussy that ruins people.”

You’re gasping. Squirming. Already dripping through the cotton.

Jake groans. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You miss this mouth too, huh? Miss being licked until you cry? Look at you—messy and shaking, and I haven’t even pulled the panties off yet.”

He pulls them aside, tongue already out, devouring you like he’s starving.

He’s loud. Sloppy. Mouth wet and wide and relentless.

“Fuck, I forgot how good this tastes. Like candy. Like fucking syrup. Wanna drown in it. Wanna tonguefuck you until you start babbling, baby. Give me that shit.”

You cum in his mouth in under two minutes.

He doesn’t stop.

“You think I’m done? Nah. Not even close. I’m not pulling my mouth off this pussy till your legs stop working.”

“Mamaaaa?”

Both of you freeze.

“Mama, snack please?”

Jake lifts his face from between your thighs, chin soaked. He blinks once.

Then stands up.

Calm. Still. Murderous.

“I’m gonna drop him off at my mom’s.”

You’re panting. “Jake—”

“I swear to fucking god, I love him, but if he interrupts me one more time, I’m going to lose it. I’m on the edge, baby. Your pussy’s dripping, my balls hurt, and my mouth tastes like heaven.”

He pulls his hoodie on. Wipes his face with the sleeve. Grabs his keys.

“Get ready. Because when I get back, I’m going to come in you until you’re stuffed so full you forget your own name.”

He leans down, kisses your pussy one more time.

Smirks.

“Try not to cum without me.”

And walks out the door.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

It’s late.

And Sunghoon’s at his limit.

The boys fought all day—chased each other with brooms, cried over identical socks, tried to body slam each other off the fucking couch. He broke up four WWE reenactments, confiscated two folding chairs, and heard the phrase “Spear him!!”more than a Monday Night Raw announcer.

He didn’t even finish his dinner.

Now you’re on your knees, robe slipped off your shoulders, tits swaying as you crawl between his legs with that look in your eye.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease.

He just pulls his cock out—already hard—and groans:

“Open your fucking mouth, baby. Daddy needs to forget he’s a parent for ten fucking minutes.”

You moan like you were born for it, lips parting, tongue flat as he feeds it to you inch by inch.

“Goddamn,” he hisses. “That mouth. You’ve been thinking about this all day too, haven’t you? Walking around like my dumb little housewife—cooking for our kids while this tight little throat’s just sitting here. Untouched.”

You gag. Loud. He grins. Dark. Mean.

“That’s it, baby. Fucking slobber on it. I want your spit dripping down to your tits.”

And then—

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

“DAAAAAADDDD!!!!!!!”

Sunghoon freezes mid-thrust.

You look up at him—dazed, cock still in your mouth, tears brimming.

He blinks.

Clenches his jaw.

Looks at the door.

“DAD!! JAEWON WON’T TAP OUT—HE’S NOT EVEN SELLING!!”

“HE HIT ME WITH THE PILLOW TOO SOFT!! THAT’S NOT A REAL FINISHER!!”

Sunghoon exhales like he’s in prison.

Stares at you. Then back at the door.

And then he laughs. Quiet. Deranged.

“Let them fight.”

He grabs your head in both hands, forces your face down until you’re choking on his cock again.

“They wanna pretend they’re in the ring?” he growls. “Fine. They can wrestle to the sound of their mother being face-fucked.”

You whimper, throat bulging.

“Yeah. Gag on it, slut. Show me how much you missed this. Bet your pussy’s soaked already.”

You’re dripping. Pathetically.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move—but Sunghoon doesn’t care.

He keeps fucking into your throat like it owes him something, hips snapping rough, deep, relentless.

“Don’t stop. Don’t even think about stopping. They wanna scream through the door? Let them.”

You moan around him—loud. Shaky.

One of your tits bounces against your stomach with each thrust, and he watches it like he’s hypnotized.

“DAAAAAAD!!! CAN YOU COUNT TO THREE?! JAEHYUN’S PINNING ME AND WON’T GET OFF!!”

Sunghoon barks a laugh, head thrown back.

“Yeah, hold on—let me just finish throatfucking my wife so I can come count to three like a fucking WWE ref.”

You gag so hard tears stream down your cheeks.

“That’s it, baby. God, you look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat. Bet they’ll shut the fuck up if they hear you choking on daddy’s dick.”

You cum untouched.

Right there on your knees, body shaking, soaked down your thighs—just from the way he talks to you. The way you knowhe’s been waiting all fucking day to use you like this.

Sunghoon feels it.

He pulls you off, cock soaked, saliva clinging in strings to your lips. You’re panting, teary-eyed, flushed.

“You done?” he murmurs. “Or you want me to make them wait while I use your pussy next?”

“DAD. I’M GONNA DO A LADDER MATCH OFF THE STAIRS IF YOU DON’T COME OUT.”

Sunghoon sighs.

Looks down at you.

Smiles.

“Five more minutes. Think you can handle it, mommy?”

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

It’s past ten. The house is quiet—finally.

And Sunoo is face down in the mattress, one sock still on, his shirt halfway pulled up his back like he got undressed mid-collapse and gave up.

You close the bedroom door softly. Climb in next to him.

“Long day?”

He groans into the pillow.

“She cried because I gave her the green cup instead of the pink one. Then she screamed when I tried to switch it. She said the bubbles in the bath were ‘too round.’”

You smile, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“And then,” he continues, voice muffled, “she fell asleep on me at six-thirty, woke up ten minutes later, and punched me in the nose. I think she might be feral.”

You laugh softly, kissing his cheek.

He rolls over—barely. One eye open. Face flushed from stress and exhaustion and not getting to touch you for four days straight.

“I need you to ride me,” he whispers.

You blink. “Right now?”

“I literally can’t move.” He stretches his arms out uselessly. “My soul left my body around lunchtime. I need you to do everything. Just use me. Treat me like a toy. I’ll whimper, I swear.”

You bite your lip.

He looks so pretty like this.

Messy. Tired. Desperate.

So you peel off your clothes—slowly, deliberately. He watches through heavy lashes, licking his lips when you tug your panties down.

“Please,” he breathes. “Come sit on it. I’m not even kidding. I think I’ll cry if you don’t.”

You crawl into his lap, straddle him gently, and feel how hard he is already—twitching under the waistband of his boxers. You free him with a soft gasp, stroke him once, twice, then sink down slowly onto his cock.

Sunoo whines.

Like, really whines. Head thrown back, hands twitching against the sheets.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You’re so wet. Baby, you’re so fucking wet. And warm. You’re gonna kill me.”

You rock your hips slowly, grinding down, pussy clenching around him with each roll. He’s not moving at all—just laying there, fully at your mercy, biting his lip and moaning so sweetly it makes your toes curl.

“You’re such a good boy,” you murmur, leaning forward to kiss his neck. “Letting me use you like this.”

He whimpers. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

You ride him slow and deep, your tits brushing his chest, his cock hitting just right with every movement. He’s flushed, wrecked, totally silent except for the filthy little sounds leaving his throat.

And when you clench around him hard, he gasps and cries out:

“I’m gonna cum—oh my god—don’t stop, please, baby, I need it so bad—”

You fuck him through it. Harder. Deeper.

He cums with his mouth open, eyes wide, hips twitching under you like he’s about to pass out.

He goes still. Completely still.

Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.

You brush his hair back.

“Sunoo?”

He hums, dazed. “You broke me.”

You laugh, kiss his forehead.

“Do you want water?”

He shakes his head, voice barely audible.

“I want Mirae to sleep till she’s eighteen. Then she can move out.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

You’ve never hated your own child more than you did tonight.

You love Noa—of course you do—but after ninety minutes of pure hell (a tantrum about socks, three fake pees, one real one, and exactly zero full minutes of sleep), you’re about ready to throw yourself out the window.

Jungwon—freshly showered, soft-eyed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, licking the frosting spoon you didn’t get to finish?

You’re gonna ride his fucking face until he can’t speak.

He walks into the bedroom, hair messy, voice raspy. “She’s finally down. I think.”

You’re already pulling your shirt over your head.

He blinks. “You okay?”

“No,” you snap, kicking your shorts off. “I’ve been thinking about 69ing you for three goddamn days and if I don’t sit on your fucking face right now I will cry.”

His jaw drops. “Wait—like, now?”

You crawl onto the bed. “Yes. Backward. Full weight. No mercy.”

He’s stunned for half a second—then his cock jumps in his sweats.

“Oh my god.”

“Lie down,” you growl.

He obeys. Flat on his back, head against the pillows, already hard and leaking by the time you swing a leg over his head. You lower your soaking pussy onto his mouth, facing his cock, and his hands clamp onto your ass like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Use my face,” he pants. “Fucking sit on it. I can take it.”

And you do.

You drop onto his tongue, grind down hard, moaning when he licks a fat stripe up your pussy and starts sucking like it’s his first meal in weeks.

You wrap a hand around his cock. He gasps into you.

“This nasty little wife,” you mutter, already jerking him off, “riding your face like she’s trying to drown you. Think you’ll pass out, baby?”

He moans. Loud. Unfiltered.

His tongue is everywhere—in your pussy, on your clit, dragging through your folds while you bounce gently on his mouth like it’s your fucking throne.

You spit on his cock. Loud. Filthy.

It lands on the head, stringy and warm, and you spread it down the shaft while you twist your wrist and sink your mouth down on him in one smooth, practiced stroke.

Jungwon chokes.

He jerks once under you—then groans into your pussy, hips stuttering like he’s going to cum already.

“You close?” you giggle, pulling off with a messy pop. “Already? Poor thing. You just want to fill my throat while I cum all over your face, huh?”

He moans. Loud.

You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and say:

“What if I squirt all over you, baby? Would you drown for me?”

He nods into your cunt. You feel it.

So you bounce harder. Fuck his face faster. Slurp his cock between your lips like it’s your favorite flavor and moan around him when his tongue flicks just right—

You cum first.

Hard.

Your thighs squeeze his head like a death grip as you cry out, leaking into his mouth while he keeps licking, tongue working you through it while his hands pull your ass down, grinding you onto him.

You don’t even give him time to recover.

You suck his cock deep—down your throat, swallowing him whole until he cries out into your pussy and cums down your throat so hard you choke.

You swallow.

Keep sucking.

He whimpers.

When you finally lift off his face, he’s wrecked.

Mouth glazed in your slick, lips swollen, chest heaving.

You wipe your chin, swing around, and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Next time, you better ask for it. I’m not gonna be the only one begging.”

He blinks. Tries to speak.

Fails.

You smirk.

“Sweet dreams, husband.”

He falls asleep with your taste still on his tongue.

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

The house is quiet. Monitor glowing faint on the nightstand. Just the sound of your breathing and the rustle of sheets as you look up.

He’s already shirtless. Grey sweats sitting low, waistband dipping under sharp hips. Hair messy from running his fingers through it, still flushed from cleaning up the kitchen, checking the monitor twice, pretending he wasn’t aching the whole time.

You blink sleepily.

“Come to bed, Riki.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just walks to the edge of the bed, climbs in behind you, and presses himself against your back—body warm, hard in all the places that count. His hand slides under your shirt and cups your belly. Not your tits. Not between your legs.

Just your belly.

“I miss this,” he murmurs. Quiet. Low. Dangerous.

You pause.

“You miss what?”

He kisses the back of your neck.

“When you were pregnant.”

Your breath catches.

“Riki—”

“You were glowing. Round. Always out of breath. So soft and full and mine.”

You shiver when his hand slides down—slow, reverent—and presses between your legs.

“Your body knew what I wanted before you did,” he whispers. “Now it’s empty. And I want it full again.”

You turn around to face him.

He’s already hard, pressing up against your thigh. His eyes are wild now, lips parted, flushed all the way to his ears.

“You want another baby?” you ask, barely able to breathe.

He nods once.

“I want you pregnant again, baby. I want you leaking, glowing, begging me to slow down because I won’t stop fucking you.”

You moan.

He flips you onto your back without warning, dragging your panties down, pressing his cock against your soaked entrance.

“You’d look so pretty round again. Tired all the time. Needy. Can’t even ride me properly without whining about your hips.”

You gasp as he slides in, slow and deep and possessive.

“Fuck—Riki—”

“Don’t worry,” he grits out. “I’ll fuck it into you slow. Make sure it takes.”

His thrusts are smooth, devastating. One hand gripping your waist, the other sliding under your shirt to palm your tits.

“These got so big when you were carrying,” he whispers, biting his lip. “So heavy. You hated it. I loved it.”

You whine—louder now. He smiles.

“God, you like it too, huh? Getting knocked up? Being so full you can’t think straight?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“You’re so ready for it,” he moans. “Already dripping. Your pussy’s so greedy, baby. She knows what I want.”

He fucks you harder then. Deeper. His pace messy and obsessive.

When he cums—hot and deep and shaking—he doesn’t move.

Just stays buried inside you, breathing ragged, holding your hips like he can will it into happening.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Don’t let it go. I wanna see you big again.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.

He groans.

“I’ll give you as many as you want. Just keep letting me ruin you like this.”

-

TL: @addictedtohobi @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ddolleri @elairah @zzhengyu @annybah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @hihway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @enhaverse713586 @cristy-101 @bloomiize @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02

[lynbels]

JAKE WHEN HES JEALOUS AND HE LEAVES A BUNCH OF MARKS ON YOU PUHLEASEEE 🙏🙏

let me in (20cm deeper) - sjy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to care—but one jealous glance, one reckless FaceTime call mid-thrust, and now he’s fucking you like he needs the whole world to know you’re his. ✉️ 2144wc - tw ‼️ jealousy, possessiveness, oral (f receiving), rough sex, marking, face sitting, name kink, phone sex, humiliation, choking (light), degradation, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink, dom!jake

💌 mark me up and I’ll show up to uni the next day without a doubt 😵 pookie I love ur reqs sm send more 😘

He wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule—his own rule. The one he made the first night he kissed you with too much tongue and not enough thought, when the two of you stumbled into your bedroom half-laughing, half-buzzed, and fully aware that this couldn’t mean anything. You were friends. Good friends. He liked your company, liked your voice when you read texts aloud with dumb impressions, liked how you made taking vitamins feel like a shared inside joke instead of a self-imposed regimen. But that was all it was supposed to be.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with something stupid—an Instagram story, of all things. Jake had opened his phone during a water break at the gym, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt when he saw it. A boomerang. You. Smiling. Head tilted toward someone else. A guy. The caption was harmless—he’s so funny lol—but Jake felt his throat tighten.

He made it through the rest of his workout on autopilot, pushing harder than usual, muscles screaming for rest while his thoughts spiraled. You weren’t even doing anything wrong. You weren’t his. He wasn’t yours. But the image played over and over again in his head: you laughing like that at someone else’s jokes, leaning into their shoulder, letting them have the version of you Jake thought was just his for a little while.

And then you texted.

come over later?

i got wine and that ice cream u like 😋

Jake stared at your message for a full five minutes, heart thudding hard against his chest. His first instinct was to say no, to pull back and cool off, to remind himself of his stupid rules about boundaries and keeping things clean. But then he remembered your smile in that photo, how open and easy it looked.

He texted back.

be there in 15

He didn’t take his usual post-gym ginseng shot. Didn’t do his skincare. Didn’t even double-check his weekly checklist of personal goals.

Because suddenly, all Jake could think about was making sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to tonight.

You open the door barefoot and braless, wearing one of those oversized shirts that barely covers your thighs—probably on purpose. Jake knows you. You’re not oblivious. You know exactly what you do to him when you act like this: all casual and sweet and soft, like you’re not the same person who had their head on someone else’s shoulder earlier.

“Hey,” you say like nothing happened, already turning back toward the kitchen. “I opened the red. Wanna pour?”

He follows silently, eyes on the curve of your legs as you walk. There’s music playing—something soft and lazy—and he realizes it’s the kind of song people play on dates. Candlelight flickers on the counter. You always keep it cozy when he comes over, but tonight it feels too intentional. Too romantic.

He wonders if the other guy saw you like this.

Jake doesn’t say much as you hand him a glass of wine. He doesn’t joke around like he usually does. He just leans against the counter, swirling the drink, pretending not to watch the way you sip yours with a slight smirk.

“So,” you start, licking a drop of wine from your lip, “what’s with the face? You look like you benched your personal best and didn’t get praised for it.”

His jaw ticks. “Saw your story.”

Your brows lift. “What, the one with Yena’s party?”

Jake hums, gaze dropping to your bare thighs. “Yeah. That one.”

You lean a little closer, head tilting. “He’s just a friend, Jake. You jealous or something?”

There it is. The spark. The dangerous one.

Jake sets his wine down with a quiet clink. “No,” he lies, voice low and clipped. “Just curious why he’s got you laughing like that. I don’t remember you looking that happy the last time I made you come.”

The air thickens. Your smile falters for half a second, like you weren’t expecting him to be that blunt. Then it returns—slow, calculated. You set your wine down too, stepping between his legs where he leans against the counter.

“You could fix that,” you whisper. “If you want.”

Jake stares at you for a long, long moment. Every disciplined bone in his body screams at him to slow down, to play it cool, to not let you see how tightly he’s wound. But you’re close now. Too close. And your skin smells like warm sugar and sin.

And in this moment, with your mouth inches from his and your thigh brushing his jeans—Jake doesn’t want to be responsible. He just wants you wrecked and shaking, begging for the man you almost forgot was yours.

Jake doesn’t kiss you gently. He crashes into you like a dam finally bursting, months of restraint swept away in one hard press of his mouth. His hands find your waist, then your hips, then the backs of your thighs as he lifts you onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The wine glasses clink behind you, forgotten. Your shirt rides up, and Jake’s lips never leave yours—just grow hungrier, messier, more desperate.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, biting harder with each inch. “Walking around like this… smiling like that… for someone else.”

Your breath catches when his teeth graze the base of your neck. “He didn’t even—”

“Don’t care,” Jake growls, already sucking a bruise into the hollow of your throat. “You’re mine when I’m here. You get that?”

You nod, already breathless, already aching. His hands slip beneath your shirt—warm, rough, and intent—and you gasp when he pulls it over your head in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you time to feel shy. Doesn’t even pause.

Instead, his mouth is everywhere at once—on your collarbone, between your breasts, down your stomach. Each kiss is matched with a mark. Sharp nips that bloom into bruises. His tongue soothes them after, but it’s all part of the same rhythm: claim, soothe, repeat.

“Jake,” you whimper, squirming as he pulls your thighs apart with an easy grip. “You’re being—”

“Thorough,” he finishes, looking up at you from between your legs, eyes dark with jealousy and heat. “You let someone else make you laugh. I’m gonna remind you who makes you scream.”

And then his mouth is on you. Hot, focused, relentless. You grab at his hair, already trembling from how fast he has you unraveling—but he doesn’t stop. His grip tightens on your hips when you try to close your thighs. He growls against you when you arch your back. And when your voice cracks on his name, he moans like he’s starving for the sound.

By the time he pulls away, your thighs are shaking, your breath ragged. His chin glistens and his shirt is wrinkled from how hard you clung to him. And you’re already marked—neck, chest, thighs. Painted in him.

Your legs are still shaking when he stands back up, hands splayed on your thighs, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they rake over your flushed skin. You expect him to kiss you again, but he doesn’t—not right away. Instead, he just looks at you for a second. Really looks. Like he’s memorizing the sight of you—lips parted, chest rising, already marked all over with proof of him. Then he breathes out hard and reaches down to undo his belt.

The sound of it slipping through the loops is enough to make your stomach flutter.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters, tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock already hard and leaking. “Not until I’m done.”

You barely have time to nod before he’s pulling you to the edge of the counter, lining himself up between your thighs. One hand grabs your waist—firm, possessive—the other wraps around the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his.

“Look at me,” he whispers, pushing in slow. “Every second of this.”

You cry out, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretches you. You’ve done this before—more than once—but it still knocks the air from your lungs. He’s thick, and he knows it, knows exactly how to make it burn just a little, how to pause halfway in so you feel every inch. Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to take it.

“Too much?” Jake’s voice is low but strained, jaw clenched as he waits. You nod and whimper, biting your lip, and he dips forward to kiss your temple, whispering, “You’ve got it. I’ve got you. You can take it.”

He pushes the rest of the way in and holds himself there, buried deep, letting you cling to him while your body adjusts. When you moan into his neck, hips twitching, Jake groans low in his throat.

“You feel so good like this,” he growls, voice roughened by restraint. “Tight… soft… mine.”

Then he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that make the counter creak beneath you. His grip stays locked on your waist as he sets a pace that has your head falling back, cries tumbling from your lips with each push. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the kitchen, messy and raw, and Jake just keeps going—driving into you like he’s making a point.

“You don’t need anyone else,” he breathes into your ear. “I give you everything you need, don’t I?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp.

“Say it.”

“You do, Jake—fuck—only you.”

That pulls a growl from his chest. His mouth is back on your neck, tongue and teeth working over fresh skin, leaving new bruises over the ones that haven’t faded yet.

And when he comes—deep inside you, buried to the hilt—he doesn’t stop whispering your name like it’s a promise.

You’re already wrecked. Your cheek sticks to the counter, lips swollen from biting down on them, and your thighs shake every time Jake thrusts back into you. He hasn’t let up—not even a little—his cock buried deep, stretching you over and over with a punishing rhythm that’s more about proving something than just pleasure. And it’s working. You’re dripping. Whimpering. Ruined.

Then you feel the shift. Jake leans forward, still fucking into you, and you hear the soft beep of your phone unlocking.

“What are you doing?” you manage to whisper, voice broken, barely hanging on.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. Because a second later, the FaceTime ring starts, loud and clear, vibrating right on the counter next to your face.

Your eyes snap open. “Jake, no—”

“Too late,” he grits, one hand curling around your hip, the other holding the phone up high enough to show everything. “He wanted your attention, didn’t he? Let’s give it to him.”

The screen flashes—connected.

And there he is. The guy from the night before. Confused, then wide-eyed, horrified.

Jake doesn’t stop thrusting. In fact, he slows down just a little, dragging each movement out, your slickness obscene in the quiet between the heavy sound of skin and your shaky moans.

“She’s a little busy right now,” Jake says, voice low and smug. “Thought you’d want to see what that laugh of hers really sounds like when it’s real.”

The guy stammers. “What the fuck—“

“Say hi, baby,” Jake murmurs, grabbing your jaw and angling your face toward the screen.

You don’t speak, but the moan that spills from your lips as he hits your spot again—that says enough.

Jake tilts the phone lower, angling it to show your trembling legs, the marks he’s left all over your skin, the way your body clings to him with every thrust. “You watching? You get it now?”

You swear you see him end the call out of panic—or maybe disgust. Either way, Jake tosses the phone aside the second the screen goes dark. His hand is back on your hip in a flash, grip brutal now as he fucks into you harder.

“Mine,” he growls. “All fucking mine.”

And this time when you cum, it’s not from his hands or his mouth or even his words.

It’s the thrill of being seen.

You wake up slow, your limbs heavy and sore, skin warm under the covers. The sunlight leaking in through the blinds feels too bright, too real, like it has no business touching a body that still belongs to the night before.

Your throat’s dry, your thighs ache, and every small movement reminds you of exactly where his hands were—how many times he pulled you apart and put you back together. You shift with a soft whimper, the soreness between your legs blooming deeper, and instinctively tug the blanket tighter around your chest.

That’s when you see it.

The marks.

Everywhere.

Faint bruises along your hips, scattered bites on your thighs, faded red fingerprints at your waist. There’s one on your collarbone, dark and angry, shaped like his mouth. And on your inner thigh, dangerously close to somewhere far more sensitive, his name. Sloppily written in deep purple hickeys.

You press your legs together and bite your lip, heart stuttering as the memory floods in—Jake’s voice, low and angry; his pace, rough and punishing; the look on his face when he hung up that FaceTime call like he had won something.

Because he had.

You hear him before you see him—soft footsteps, the clink of something ceramic. And then the door creaks open.

Jake steps in with messy hair, sleepy eyes, and a mug in each hand. He’s wearing only sweats, slung low on his hips, and his chest still has faint scratch marks from your nails. When he sees you awake, he grins—sleepy, soft, like he didn’t completely ruin you just a few hours ago.

“Mornin’,” he says, offering a mug. “You’re gonna need water too. You passed out right after…”

You take the drink without answering, eyes still locked on the hickeys.

He notices.

Jake sets his mug down, comes to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over your thigh. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding not sorry at all. “Got a little carried away.”

You glare at him half-heartedly. “You FaceTimed him.”

His smirk is immediate. “And he answered.”

You groan, covering your face. “Jake.”

“Hey,” he says gently, prying your hands away. His thumb grazes your cheek. “He needed to see it. I needed him to see it.”

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. Because when Jake leans down and kisses the mark on your neck like it’s sacred—when his lips brush over bruised skin like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words—you realize something else:

It’s not just about jealousy.

It’s about you.

You, and how he’s terrified of losing what you are—even if it means making the whole damn world watch him prove it.

wanna read my longer ffs? Check out @shy9-29 || prompt list request

[chrrific]

DOCTOR! DOCTOR! ✷ 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅-𝗈-𝗏-𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒.

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝒊𝗩𝗔 𓈒 walking around in their clothes

❪ 成熟度 ❫ bf ! enhypen x f ! r O782 headcannon fluff down bad behaviour ◜ᯅ◝ skinship est.rel not proofread

reblogs for ⸝⸝ hugs

HEESEUNG

heeseung was peacefully brushing his teeth at the sink, but the moment you walked into the bathroom, playfully bumping your shoulder with his side as you reach for your own toothbrush, he almost choked on oxygen. the issue, you may ask? you’re wearing his band t-shirt. it’s so big on you it almost swallows you completely; it has him spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his mouth with wide eyes and a thudding heart, while you stand there, happily brushing away, completely oblivious to what the kind of stunts the sight of you wearing his clothes has his heart doing.

JONGSEONG

“jay,” you call out, stepping out of your room, smiling when you spot him laying sprawled on the couch, game controller in hand. when his eyes travel up from the television screen to you, he visibly gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly from the force at which he swallows. because you’re in his hoodie, looking so fucking adorable that he could combust right there. “what? something wrong?” you tease, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips as you settle down on the couch next to him, taking in the warmth of his body.

JAEYUN

the sight of you in his clothes always had an effect on jake since day one—it’s a known fact, and with how in love with you he is, it’s a necessary feeling. though, until now, he didn’t know the full extent of it. he hums a gentle tune as he happily walks into the house, making a beeline for your shared bedroom. he freezes as soon as he opens the door, his jaw almost dropping to the floor as he takes in the sight in front of him. you and layla were cuddled up on the bed, a book in your hand—another weakness of his, he always thought you were so hot when you read—and worst of all, you were comfortable in his zip-up jacket, the cloth loose against your frame but not too much. oh, this is an image he wants to engrave with gold embossing into his mind.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon has always prided himself on his ability to stay calm and composed, even in the most difficult situations. but there is one event where he never can stay normal, per se, which is when you wear his clothes. he was just waiting for you to get ready so you can go out on a date together, only to be met with the sight of you wearing one of his button downs on top your outfit. “hoonie, you’re staring. is something wrong?” your brows furrow in confusion. “is there something on my face?” your question seems to snap him out of his reverie, and he shakes his head, but the way his heart stutters in his chest each time he glances at you the rest of the day says otherwise.

SUNOO

the wind was chilly, a slight nip in the air as you step out of the house, making you regret your decision to skip wearing something on top of your flimsy shirt for this walk to the convenience store. sunoo immediately picked up on it, the way you were trying to subtly wrap your arms around your to keep yourself warm, and he immediately feels the need to stop you. so, he pulls off his hoodie, and tugs on your arm to stop you, and silently places the hoodie in your arms, murmuring, “it’s cold.. you should wear it.” with his cheeks slightly flushed.

JUNGWON

just as you were about to leave the house, your hand suddenly left jungwon’s leaving him confused for a second as you dashed back inside, saying you’ve “forgotten something important.” only when you come back does he notice: you’re now wearing a baseball cap, his baseball cap. “ready to go?” you ask, casually adjusting the hat on your head as you slipped your hand back into his—he just smiles at you, the action uncontrollable as he pulls you out the door and towards his car.

RIKI

niki almost laughs out loud at the sight of you in his sweatpants, the fabric ending way past your feet, dragging across the wooden floors as you grumble something about him being annoying and a “hater”: your words, not his. you see, you spilled water all over your jeans earlier, and being at his dorm, you had nothing else to change into except a monstrosity that he called his pants. “this is so not funny, ki.” his boyish grin just widens as he watches you flop onto the couch like a petulant child, yet despite the teasing, he can’t deny how cute he thinks you look like this—huffy and so adorable in his eyes.

taglist open requests open

[minoouz]

Was i ever enough for you? ⚡︎ ── ‎ ( 이희승 )

Pairing ⌗ cheater Heeseung × reader ⊹ ࣪

↳ Genre 〃heavy angst ' break up ' betrayal ' unrequited love

✱ warnings 〃Cheating ' emotional heartbreak ' gaslighting ' swearing ' heavy emotions ' jake x heeseung inc ' sunoo and sunghoon mentions ' mxm mentions (◍´ಲ`◍)

⌕ Word count 〃 3.7k

A/n ✎ 〃' as an apology for my disappearance here's an angst fic for my peeps who love sad fics and everything like i do because it adds the tense anyways let me stop yapping and enjoy the fic chat:3 also yall like my layout, I was learning over the time chat '

You weren’t stupid.

You could feel it — in the way Heeseung’s kisses grew shorter, more distracted. In the way his phone was always turned face down. The way his thumb hovered over a message before locking the screen when you walked in.

At first, you ignored it. You told yourself he was tired, stressed from comeback schedules. That you were paranoid. That love didn’t just vanish.

But deep down, you already knew.

You were losing him.

And you had no idea how to stop it.

It started one late Friday night.

You were curled up on Heeseung’s couch, waiting for him to come home.

Your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon ' 11:04PM ':

" yo… don’t hate me, but you need to see this. "

A video attached.

Heart in your throat, you clicked.

The camera was shaky — a private afterparty. Loud music, drunken laughter. And right there, in the middle of it all, clear as day:

Heeseung.

Jake.

Their bodies tangled together. Kissing. Laughing. Hands everywhere.

You froze.

The world tilted.

Heeseung stumbled through the door an hour later, smelling like cheap liquor and expensive cologne.

You stood in the living room, arms crossed, phone gripped tight in your hand.

"Where were you?" you asked, voice eerily calm.

He blinked at you, swaying slightly. "Out. With the guys."

You tossed the phone onto the coffee table, the video still paused at their kiss.

The blood drained from his face — but only for a second.

Then he shrugged.

“So?”

You stared at him, disbelief flooding your veins.

“So?! That’s all you have to say?!”

Heeseung sat down heavily on the couch, head falling back. “It’s not a big deal.”

You laughed bitterly, a sound that hurt more than it healed.

“Not a big deal? You cheated on me. With Jake. Your best fucking friend!”

Heeseung opened one eye lazily, smirking in a way that made you feel small.

“Maybe if you weren’t so clingy all the time, I wouldn’t have needed something more.”

You reeled back like he’d slapped you.

“I gave you everything,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I loved you more than I loved myself.”

Heeseung shrugged again. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he didn’t even care.

“Did you ever love me?” you choked out.

Heeseung finally looked at you — really looked — and for a brief, painful second, you thought you saw regret.

But then he smiled, cruel and tired.

“I loved the idea of you.”

The final nail in the coffin.

You didn’t remember packing your things.

You didn’t remember the cab ride to Sunoo’s apartment.

You barely remembered breathing.

You only remembered the weight — the unbearable, crushing weight — of realizing that for Heeseung, you had been replaceable. Disposable.

Just a warm body until he found something more thrilling.

Sunoo held you all night while you shook with silent sobs.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he whispered over and over.

“You didn’t deserve him.”

And maybe, just maybe, you started to believe it.

Heeseung and Jake made it official a month later.

Photos leaked. Paparazzi shots of them holding hands at a late-night diner.

They looked happy. Untouched by the wreckage they left behind.

You deleted every photo. Every text. Every voicemail.

You stopped listening to their music.

You stopped checking your phone late at night hoping, just maybe, Heeseung would apologize.

He never did.

And slowly, painfully, you learned something:

Closure doesn’t come from them.

It comes from choosing yourself.

[manariee]

VICTORY

﹙赢﹚───── you play better than his friends ?

니시무라 리키 & fem!reader wc: 650 💌

MANA: i miss oreo riki

You were just passing by, mind your own business when you felt a firm arm wrap around your waist mid-step. Before you even could react, you were pulled onto Riki's lap.

''Ki-'' you start, but he's already back to clicking away on his controller, eyes glued to the TV. ''Seriously? While you're playing?'' you mumbled, pretending to be annoyed, though already leaning into his chest.

''You were in the way and besides, you fit.'' he muttrered, as if that really was the reason. But there was the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, like he was trying really hard to keep his cool.

You glanced at the screen, recognizing the game from all the times you've seen him play it before. His character's in some boss fight or whatever - you never really knew the names - but still tried to concentrate, to follow along.

''Wait! That's the guy who threw that fireball thing at you last time, right?'' you ask, pointing towards the screen.

Riki blinks, surprised you remembered. ''Yeah...''

''Get him!'' you cheer, and your voice has this tiny spark that makes his chest warm.

He pretends to shrug it off, but when he finally defeats the boss, you clap softly, proud. ''You did it!''

Riki grins — for real this time — then quickly clears his throat and says, ''Wasn't that hard.''

''Mhm, sure.'' you tease. No matter how many times Riki had won that game, nothing felt better than your little cheer.

His arms instinctively wrap around you for a second, his cheek brushing your shoulder before he leans forward and hands you the controller.

You blink, confused. ''What are you-?''

''You’re playing now.''

''Riki.''

He just smirks, already slipping his hands over yours, guiding your fingers to the buttons. His touch is gentle but sure, thumbs nudging yours into place, his voice brushing against your ear as he leans in closer. ''Move with this… zoom in with that… and if you see someone? Press this. Easy.''

Your heart’s already racing, not from the game, but from how close he is. His breath is warm against your neck.

“Don’t think about it too much,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder now, watching the screen.

You mess up almost immediately, your character spinning in a frantic circle, and you laugh - but Riki doesn’t let go, doesn’t tease. He just laughs with you, arms squeezing around you tighter.

''There you go,'' he says quietly, even though you missed your shot. ''You’re already better than half the guys I play with.''

You huff. ''Liar.''

''Okay, maybe not, but you look better doing it,'' he smirks, brushing his lips against your temple. ''Which counts more.''

You feel his hands shift again, helping you aim, his voice low and encouraging the whole time. He’s not even paying attention to the leaderboard anymore. He’s just watching you - your reactions, the way your eyes squint in concentration, the way your fingers move with his

And when you finally land your first shot, he grins so hard you can feel it. ''That’s my girl.''

You melt. Right there. Completely.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @fleurhoons @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine

[urichilsworld]

GAUWDDDDDDDDDDD

[iceprince-psh]

[songbirdseung]

𝑰  𝑩𝑬𝑻  𝑶𝑵  𝒀𝑶𝑼  /  𝑺𝑰𝑴  𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

���𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐢 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎)

You and Jake never really fought. Sure, there were disagreements but what couple didn’t have those?

You were always understanding, always patient. You didn’t yell, didn’t complain. You talked things out, met each other halfway. And Jake? He loved that about you.

But tonight, frustration had bubbled over, resentment lingering in your chest like a heavy weight.

For the past two weeks, Jake had been coming home late, very late. He barely spoke to you, barely acknowledged you, and when he did? It was always complaints.

"You’re being so lazy lately.""The house is a mess.""What do you even do all day?"

You had held it in. Swallowed it down, convincing yourself that he was just stressed. That he didn’t mean it. That maybe you were overthinking things.

But tonight, when he brushed past you again, barely sparing you a glance, something in you snapped.

“You know what, Jake? If I’m so lazy, why don’t you do everything yourself?”

He had turned, eyes wide, completely unprepared for the outburst.

“Woah, what’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me?

The audacity.

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” you shot back, voice sharp. “You come home late, don’t talk to me, and when you do, it’s just to complain. What’s your problem?”

Jake blinked, momentarily stunned, before his expression hardened. “I’m busy, Y/N. I have a job. I can’t just sit around all day doing nothing.”

It was a low blow. A really low blow. And he knew it.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“You don’t get to treat me like this just because you’re stressed,” you hissed, eyes burning. “And you definitely don’t get to act like I do nothing when I’ve been supporting you this whole time.”

He opened his mouth, but you weren’t interested in hearing it. Instead, you turned on your heel and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

And now, hours later, you were curled up on the bed, trying to sleep while Jake was exiled to the couch.

You knew he had been trying to make amends. He had apologized at least ten times throughout the night, coming to the bedroom door, knocking softly, whispering, "Babe, I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

You only answered with a firm, “Goodnight, Jake.”

You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t the type to give the silent treatment, but tonight, you just couldn’t deal with him.

Jake, meanwhile, was on the couch, staring at the ceiling in regret.

This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He hated that he made you feel unappreciated. He knew he had been an ass. He also knew that apologizing through a locked door wasn’t going to cut it.

So, with enough determination, he wrapped himself in a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and padded his way to the bedroom.

When the door creaked open, you turned to face him, only to be met with the most pitiful sight.

There he stood, wrapped up in the blanket like a burrito, pillow clutched in his arms, his big brown eyes looking at you with pure desperation.

You almost caved on the spot.

Almost.

“What do you want?” you asked, keeping your I’m still mad attitude, sitting up slightly.

“Well,” he said, voice small, “I can’t sleep without you. You know that.”

You narrowed your eyes, but Jake took the opportunity to shuffle closer, eventually crawling onto the bed. His gaze never left you as he inched nearer, hesitantly reaching for your wrist.

“Please forgive me,” he murmured, giving your hand a gentle tug, pulling you down next to him. His arms wrapped around you instantly, closing every bit of space between you.

His voice was softer now, almost fragile. “I know you’ve been stressed with studying, and I shouldn’t have taken my stress out on you. I didn’t mean any of those things. I’m really, really sorry.”

Your anger was melting. It always did with him.

You sighed, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry too. For yelling and not just… talking about it.”

Jake shook his head. “No. You should have yelled at me. I deserved it.”

You rolled your eyes but let a small smile slip through. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay?”

He grinned, leaning in to nuzzle against you. “Deal.”

[okwonyo]

MEOW ？ ◜ ᴗ ◝ （ sjy ） ｡｡⠀

୨୧ bringing a kitty home !

❪ 𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝒾𝖮 ❫ 제이크 & fem ! rea 🐈 fluff established relationship ㅋㅋ skinship kissing ── 사랑｡ REBLOG FOR A CAT !

“welcome home, my love,” jake greets you after opening the door. he leans in to give a kiss to his wife, whom he missed dearly, but he halts in the middle of his action. “what is that?”

“our new baby,” you bring the cat closer to his face as you answer.

jake stays quiet for a moment. he stares at the pet comfortable in your arms, held softly in the hands of the one he loves. the kitten, which was asleep for a while, opens its eyes in a slow motion. they both hold eye contact.

jake blinks, tilts his head to the side and the cat does the same—as if it was making fun of him. when he looks at it for a little too long, he swears it looks like one of his friends.

his eyes fall on the hand holding the baby animal. they trail over your delicate fingers and stop at the shining rock on that one. then, naturally, he ends up looking at you, who is looking at the cat as if you birthed it. he chuckles.

he steps beside you, running his hand down your back to make you go inside the house. he closes the door behind him and you stay still— too busy patting the cat in your arms.

his hand reaches the top of your head, and he pats you too. through a quiet laugh, he sighs fondly, “princess, we already have a pet.”

you both look down at layla at your feet. you greet her in the soft voice you always use, as if she was a baby. honestly, it makes jake weak in the knees. but you don’t need to know that, do you?

when you turn your head to his direction, your husband realizes that he has started to pat your head absentmindedly. it doesn’t bother you that much, it seems.

“yes, it’s true,” you tell him, and he swears the cat gets closer to your chest. “but look at this orange tabby, our new kid.”

jake does look at it. the longer he does and the more a familiar face appears on the cat— he swears he has seen that cute look before!

“you know,” he starts, trailing his eyes off the orange tabby to look at you straight in the eyes. he runs his tongue over his lips gently before biting down a smile. he pats your hair as he whispers, “if you want kids so bad, we can find time, you know?”

you fake disgust: wearing a grimace that makes jake burst out of laughing as you push him away with your shoulder. “you are so gross,” you end up laughing too. “not in front of our children!”

you walk off with the new found child of yours, staring to the bedroom. jake hates to see you but, in these jeans, he loves to see you leave. and he guesses the kitten will stay in the house from now on.

he shrugs, “happy wife, happy life.” then he follows you for the welcome kiss you forgot to give him.

분지 ܃ this was very very fun and silly to write ^^ i hope you liked it :O

taglist is open !

[jakezzgirlz]

love love love Jake who knows he's being manipulative, trying to coax you into a quickie because he just wants you so bad, knowing damn well it won't be quick, but also knowing you couldn't say no to him when he gives you that look. Or when he tells you how he just wants to have fun with his pretty girlfriend, how's that a bad thing :((

ೀ TOOK ME 5 FUCKING DAYS IM SO SORRY :c i also kinda went off track... PLEASE INTERACT IF YOU ENJOY!!

ᝰ.ᐟwarnings ¡ DARK THEMES, coercion, verrrryy bad jakey, manipulation, painful sex, cervix fucking, possesive jake, jake is an insecure asshole, quickies uhhhh idk

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He doesn't understand why you just cant be there for him when he needs you? He's always been there for you when you need to relieve some stress so why cant you be a good girlfriend and help him out? You'd guys would fuck like bunnies before but now you can barely spare 10 more minutes? Thoughts flood his head- maybe your not attracted to him anymore, or worse- maybe your seeing someone else. The thoughts plagued his mind even when he pushed them away because he cant stand the fact of you being with anyone else.

His fear of losing you warped into control, all because the idea of losing you was far more terrifying than the guilt of keeping you close by any means. Finding any way to claim you just to reassure himself that 'your not going''. You never even realized how you depend on jake. His voice calmed the noise in your head, and his presence was a kind of safety you couldn’t recreate on your own, jake knew you needed him, how much you depend and trust him. So he decides to use that to his advantage.

He'd disguise it as love, he’d isolate you gently, starting with casual comments like, "I just don’t think your friends really get you the way I do,” or "You always seem drained after seeing them—maybe you should take a break." Over time, you'd find yourself spending more time with just him, because it felt easier, safer. He’d play the role of your protector, framing himself as the only one who truly understood you, making you doubt your own judgment. When you were upset or anxious, not feeling energized enough for sex, just needing to rest. He’d flip it—“After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you treat me?”— So you'd give in, letting him use your body no matter how sore or painful your core feels from his cock plunging deep, and filling you up with cum again and again.

Begging you before you leave to work for a quickie with his pleading eyes promising that he'll be quick. But behind those eyes is the need to claim you as his, to have you go outside with your pussy stuffed with cum-his cum.

Trying to talk to jake nowadays just turns to sex. Bringing up how you feel isolated and he will look at you crazy before he shrugs it off and kneels between your legs kissing you through your panties. Even when your pussy's still spasming and leaking out his cum- he'll make you miss the first half of your friends birthday party just to shove his cock down your throat... won't let you wash away the mascara that's running down your face.

At first, he might frame sex as a way to feel closer, saying things like, “I just want to be close to you. Isn’t that normal?” But soon, the choice would start to disappear. He’d push you past your comfort zone, brushing off hesitation with, “Why are you acting like this? Don’t you trust me?” or “You’re my girlfriend—you should want this too.” If you tried to set boundaries, he’d act wounded, withdrawn, or angry, forcing you to carry the emotional weight of “rejecting” him. Over time, sex would stop feeling like affection and start feeling like obligation—something she gave to keep the peace, to avoid conflict, or to prove her love. No longer taking his time with you, no more sweet words- just his cock bruising your insides-stretching you beyond belief, just his hands holding your head while he face fucks you. Looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes because he knows-you can't say no to him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated !

[hueningholic]

walking with Jake and Layla at the park😍😍😍😍😍😍

AWW this so sweet hold on 🥹 jake and his two favorite beings in the world. love this <33

bf!jake, f!reader, fluff, est long-term relationship, drabble

jake who wakes up with more energy than usual every time that you two spend the night together. layla either sandwiched between you two who were trying to cuddle to sleep, or slept at the foot of the bed with no issue.

jake who enthusiastically wakes you up with a kiss and motivates you to get ready for a nice day outside, assuming the weather is up to par. “come on pretty, let's get some fresh air.” 

jake who plays with layla while he patiently (yet, barely) waits for you, petting her head and letting out his soft laughs that you can't help but smile at.

jake who gently leashes layla when you're all set to go, insisting she come like an excited toddler even though you already had no issue with the dog joining. who opens the door for you both when you give the signal to leave.

jake who nearly forgets to lock the door behind him, but it's okay, you reminded him.. which earned you a sentimental kiss on the top of your head as you got outside.

jake who cracks jokes with you during the whole walk through the park, making you laugh so hard your cheeks start to hurt. but he always stops when layla stops, whether to scope something out or do her business. he's just as gentle with her as he is with you-- if not more.

jake who offers you layla's leash on the way back home, knowing you love her and think she's cute. of course you agree, and you feel like a proud dog mom. 

jake who thanks you for going out even though you wanted to, rustling your hair even through the wind as you guys make it back home. “i think layla might even like you more than me..”

[jakescapes]

𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

pairing: spiderman!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: One night, Spider-Man saves you and you can’t stop thinking about him. His presence haunts your thoughts, and soon he becomes more than just a hero in a mask. But what you don’t know is that Spider-Man has been watching you all along. As the lines between hero and ordinary guy blur, you find yourself drawn to him, unaware of the truth he’s hiding and the complications that come with falling for someone living a double life.

genre: fluff, smut, strangers (not rlly) to lovers

warnings: pretty much none other than brief fight scene, wounding + blood, lying, explicit smut, technically inferred mutual virginity loss but it’s not rlly mentioned, mdni!!

author's note: this one is pretty chill and not as heavy as storyline goes as much as my other fics but i think it's still pretty cute :3 i know i wasn't gonna post this one until my other fic is out but i changed my mind lol anyways enjoyyy

wc: 11.8k

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You’ve always been the kind of girl people liked. Not the most popular, not the type who threw huge parties or walked around with a whole parade of people behind you, but people knew you. They smiled when you walked down the halls. Teachers liked you because you were smart and funny, good but not a try hard. You had your group of close friends and stuck by them. You weren’t loud, but you weren’t invisible either.

You were...just right.

And to Jake, you were everything.

You didn’t know that, of course. To you, Jake was just the sweet, quiet guy who sat a few rows back in your English class, always scribbling in the margins of his notebook, sometimes flashing you a shy smile if you caught his eye.

"Hey, Jake," you said once, a few weeks ago, when you held the door open for him after history class.

He’d blinked, startled that you even knew his name. "Uh—hi. Thanks," he mumbled, clutching his battered backpack like it might float away.

You thought he was nice. Sweet. Maybe a little awkward. You didn’t know that he spent half the class staring at the back of your head, memorizing the way you doodled in your notes when you were bored, the way you twirled your pen when you were thinking.

You didn’t know that every time you laughed with your friends, he wished he could be part of that world, yours, even just for a second.

You definitely didn’t know that Jake Sim, quiet, nerdy Jake, was Spider-Man.

Nobody knew.

And even with the whole city to protect, somehow, you were the thing he couldn’t stop watching.

-

You’ve always liked New York at night. It’s noisy, chaotic, but when you’re walking alone, sometimes it feels like the whole city softens just for you.

Your boots click along the sidewalk as you make your way home from your friend’s house. Your phone is tucked safely into your jacket, your bag slung across your shoulder. You hum quietly to yourself, thinking about the sleepover plans you already started setting up for next weekend.

You don’t notice the figure perched high above you, crouched at the edge of a building. From the shadowed rooftops, Jake watches you with sharp eyes behind his mask.

He should be three neighborhoods over. He knows there’s trouble brewing near the docks.

But he can’t help himself. You're walking home alone, and the idea of something happening to you when he could stop it—

Yeah. Not a chance

He could watch you laugh with your friends for hours. He knows the exact way your nose crinkles when you’re confused in class, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating, the easy way you smile at people when you pass them in the halls.

He trails you silently, heart thudding harder than it ever does when he’s fighting criminals.

Then, a sudden noise jolts him out of his thoughts. You’re about two blocks from your apartment when it happens.

Two men step out of a shadowy alley up ahead, blocking your path.

"Hey, pretty girl," one of them says with a greasy smile.

You jerk back instinctively. "Get away from me," you snap, fear spiking in your chest.

They don’t listen. One grabs your bag. The other lunges for you, trying to trap you between them.

"Let go of me!" you shout, struggling, but they’re stronger than they look. Panic flashes through you. You twist, trying to kick, and manage to knock one of them off balance, but there’s two of them and only one of you.

Jake doesn’t even think.

He dives.

Thwip! A web zips through the air, snagging the thief by the chest and yanking him backward so fast he crashes into a lamppost. You spin around, gasping, just in time to see a blur of red and blue land hard between you and the second man.

You stumble back, wide eyed, heart hammering.

It’s him. Spider-Man.

He doesn’t even hesitate, just moves. A punch. A sweep of his legs. Another thwip! and the second man is webbed to the sidewalk, groaning.

You stand frozen, staring.

You’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen the news reports. People talking about Spider-Man like he’s some kind of legend. Some of your friends even joked about what they’d do if they ever met him.

You watch, breathless, as he webs the two men up in a neat, dangling package. It’s almost...easy for him. Strong, fast, confident. You can’t tear your eyes away.

And now here he is. In front of you. Saving you.

He turns toward you, breathing a little harder than usual.

"You okay?" His voice is warm, low.

You nod, still stunned. "Y-yeah. I—thank you. Thank you so much."

He hesitates for a second, then says, "Where do you live? I'll get you home."

You stammer out your address, your voice shaking.

"Okay. Hold on tight."

Before you can react, he scoops you up by the waist. You yelp, clutching desperately onto his shoulders as he swings up into the sky.

You’ve seen Spider-Man swoop around the city before, on TV, from your window sometimes, but being in it, flying through the air, the wind whipping around you, the lights blurring below, it’s a whole different world. You tighten your arms around his neck, your face pressed close to the smooth fabric of his suit.

You squeak, clutching at him.

"I’ve got you," he says quickly, as you both rise high above the ground.

You cling tighter, feeling the muscles shifting under his suit, the heat radiating from him.

"This is insane," you breathe out. "You’re insane. You’re amazing."

He laughs under his breath, and it’s a sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever.

When he finally lands lightly on your balcony, your knees are trembling. He sets you down gently.

You stare up at him, breathless.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice small.

He shifts awkwardly, like he’s about to leave, but then he winces slightly, a hand ghosting over his side.

"You’re hurt," you notice immediately. "Wait—don’t go. Let me help."

He tries to protest. "I'm fine—really—"

“No, I owe you.” And you’re already pulling him inside your room. 

You tug the door open, leading him into your bedroom. It’s cozy, filled with little things that make it you. Posters on the wall, a stack of books on your nightstand, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. He turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, his heart racing for a completely different reason now.

He’s in your room.

Jake Sim. Spider-Man. Nerdy kid who sits three rows behind you in English.

Inside. With you.

You dart into the bathroom and come back with a first aid kit.

"Sit," you command gently, patting the edge of your bed.

He obeys, sitting stiffly, still a little stunned himself.

Carefully, you peel back a section of his torn suit at his ribs, revealing a spreading bruise and a shallow gash.

You suck in a breath. "Oh my God. You’re actually hurt."

"I've had worse," he mumbles, watching you nervously.

Your hands are gentle as you clean the wound, your touch light. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.

You’re so close. Close enough that he can see every tiny detail, the little gold flecks in your eyes, the freckles dusting your nose, the worried way you bite your lip.

And for a second, he forgets about the blood, about the bruises, about everything except you.

He wishes, more than anything, that it could be Jake sitting here like this. Just Jake. No mask. No secret.

Just you, patching him up, caring for him, because you wanted to.

But he knows better.

He knows this life he chose is too dangerous. Too complicated.

Still, he can dream.

…

After he swung away into the night, you just stood there for a second, your bedroom door still half open, the first aid kit forgotten on your bed.

Your heart was racing.

You pressed your hand to your chest like that might calm it down, but it didn’t. You felt like you were still flying, like you could still feel the pressure of his arms around your waist, the rush of the wind in your hair, the firm, careful way he held you like you were something precious.

Slowly, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You stared at the ceiling, wide eyed.

You never really thought about Spider-Man before. Sure, he was cool. People at school were always gossiping about him — "Did you hear he stopped that robbery last night?" or "My cousin swears she saw him swing over Times Square!" But you never paid that much attention.

Until now.

Now, you couldn’t get him out of your head.

The way he moved. The easy strength in his shoulders. The way he didn’t hesitate to jump in and protect you. The way his voice sounded low and a little worried when he asked if you were okay.

You buried your face in your pillow, cheeks burning.

You were crushing. Hard.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Jake swung clumsily back toward his tiny apartment, the night air cold against his scraped skin.

He practically stumbled through his window, ripping off his mask as he collapsed onto his bed, still breathing hard.

He covered his face with his hands.

What just happened? he thought to himself.

Of all the people in New York, of all the random twists of fate, it had been you.You, walking alone. You, getting cornered. You, needing him.

And as bad as it sounded. As wrong as it was, he was grateful. Grateful you’d needed saving. Grateful he’d gotten to touch you, to hear you laugh breathlessly into his shoulder, to see the way you looked at him like he was someone incredible.

Not Jake Sim, the quiet nerd in the back of the class. But Spider-Man. A hero.

...

The next morning at school, Jake tried to act normal.

Tried to sit at his desk like his entire soul wasn’t buzzing.

You walked into class with your best friend, Maya, giggling about something. You looked a little tired, but in that soft, pretty way. Jake kept his head down, scribbling nonsense in his notebook, but his ears were straining, tuned to every word.

"You are lying," Maya hissed under her breath, eyes wide.

"I'm not!" you insisted, grinning. "I'm telling you! Spider-Man saved me last night."

Maya gawked. "You're serious?!"

You nodded, leaning in closer so no one else could hear.

Jake’s hand stilled on the page, his heart hammering.

"He was..." you trailed off for a second, your voice going soft. "He was amazing. Like, really amazing."

Maya snorted. "Amazing how?"

You bit your lip, cheeks turning pink. "I don’t know. Just, the way he fought those guys? And the way he held me? He was so...manly. And confident. It was like..." You shook your head, laughing a little at yourself. "I don’t know, Maya. I think I might have a little crush on him now."

Jake gripped his pen tighter, something inside him flipping over.

You had a crush. On him.

Well...on Spider-Man.

He should’ve been thrilled. And he was. Kind of.

But mostly, he just felt this aching sadness swell up inside him.

Because the person you met last night wasn’t Jake Sim.

It was someone stronger. Braver. Someone you could look up to. Not the awkward kid who tripped over his own feet and fumbled his words when you smiled at him.

Jake stared blankly at his notebook, a hollow pit forming in his chest.

If you ever found out the truth, if you ever realized that Spider-Man was just Jake, the kid who barely managed to survive high school without embarrassing himself — Would you be disappointed?

Would you stop looking at him like he was something special?

Jake swallowed hard, forcing himself to smile as the teacher called for attention.

He had to be okay with it. You were safe. That was what mattered.

Even if the closest he ever got to you was behind a mask.

...

After class, the hallways were packed, loud with chatter and the slam of locker doors.

Jake stood by his locker, spinning the dial lazily with one hand, half listening to his friend Mark rant about something that happened in gym.

"I’m just saying," Mark said, waving his arms dramatically, "if Coach expects me to run a mile in under seven minutes, he can —"

Wham.

You bumped into Jake's side by accident, your bag swinging wide as you tried to squeeze past the crowd.

"Oh my god, sorry!" you blurted, reaching down to grab the little notebook that had fallen out of your hands.

But Jake was already crouching down to pick it up, and the second he moved, he winced, the sharp pull of his bruised ribs making him suck in a breath.

He quickly masked it with a cough and stood up, handing you the notebook.

"Here," he said, voice a little tight.

"Thanks," you smiled, but your eyes narrowed slightly. "... Are you okay?"

Jake froze for a split second. His hand was instinctively pressed against his side, over the exact spot you had patched up last night.

He jerked it away, shoving both hands into his jean pockets like nothing happened. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine," he said, way too fast.

But when he moved, you caught it, just for a second. His shirt had ridden up slightly, and you spotted a white bandage taped carefully over his ribs. You blinked, heart skipping. It looked exactly like the one you’d used last night... the same pattern of gauze and tape.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake was already rushing to explain.

"It’s just, uh, some bruising," Jake added, trying to sound casual. "From... y'know. Soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Soccer?"

"Yeah." Jake coughed again, fake, awkward. "Picked the wrong guy to guard, I guess."

You smiled politely, not totally convinced, but decided not to press. "Well, be careful," you said, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Will do," Jake mumbled, watching as you disappeared down the hall.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Mark grabbed Jake by the shoulders.

"Dude. Dude. What was that?"

Jake shrugged, trying (and failing) to act cool. "Nothing."

"Nothing?! Bro, she was worried about you! That’s not nothing!"

Mark paused, squinting at him. "Wait... why are you even bruised? What happened?"

Jake hesitated. His fingers drummed anxiously against the locker.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "I saved her last night."

Mark’s jaw dropped. "What?!"

Jake winced. "Keep your voice down, man!"

“You saved her?" Mark repeated, quieter but no less intense. "Like, Spider-Man, you saved her?"

Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly. "Yeah. Some guys tried to mug her. I took them out. She... she helped patch me up after."

Mark looked like he was about to explode. "Dude, you have an opening. After years of crushing on her, you can finally make a move!"

Jake just shook his head, a sad little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t that easy. 

If he wanted to be with you, it had to be as Jake. Not as the hero you thought you knew.

-

It was late. Way past midnight. Your desk lamp buzzed quietly as you sat cross legged on your bed, hunched over your textbook, fighting to stay awake. You had a big exam coming up and your brain was practically melting.

That’s when you heard it.

Tap, tap.

Your head snapped up, heart lurching in your chest. The tapping came again, but it wasn’t from your door. It was your window.

You grabbed the nearest thing, a hairbrush, and crept cautiously toward the sound. And when you peeled back the curtain, you nearly dropped it.

Spider-Man was outside your window. Again.

His mask was on, but he looked... bad. One arm was clutching his side tightly, and even through the dim streetlight you could see the dark smudges of blood soaking through the red and blue suit.

You fumbled the lock open without thinking. He stumbled inside the second you lifted the window, bracing himself against your wall to stay upright.

"Are you okay?!" you gasped, rushing to steady him.

He just gave a shaky little laugh. "Sorry," he rasped. "Didn’t mean to scare you. I just—" He winced sharply. "I didn’t know where else to go."

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him. The city’s strongest protector, barely able to stand up straight.

"It’s okay," you said quickly. "You’re fine. I won’t tell anyone, I swear."

You helped him over to your bed, your mind already racing. Grabbing the first aid kit from your bathroom once again, you knelt in front of him, hands shaking only slightly.

You peeled back the torn fabric of his suit, biting your lip hard at the sight underneath. His side was an ugly mess of deep gashes and bruises.

It felt... different this time. More intimate. Last time, you were too caught up in the shock to notice. But now, alone in your bedroom in the middle of the night, with Spider-Man so close, it was impossible not to feel it. The air between you felt thick. Your fingers lingered a little too long against his abdomen as you cleaned the wound, brushing over the planes of muscle stretched tight under his bloodied skin. You were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath when you pressed a little too hard, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

It was crazy. He was sneaking into your room in the dead of night, bleeding and broken... and yet, your heart wouldn’t stop hammering in your chest.

"God," you muttered, forcing yourself to focus. "What happened to you?"

"Ran into some bad people tonight," he mumbled, head leaning back against your wall. "Really bad."

You nodded, trying to stay calm.

"You should rest here for the night," you said softly as you worked, wrapping fresh gauze carefully around his ribs. "No one would know. You could leave in the morning."

He just shook his head immediately, voice hoarse. "No, I couldn’t possibly. I’ll... just stay for a little while. Then I’ll go."

You frowned but didn’t argue. His body was tense, muscles trembling slightly under your touch. Still, he let you take care of him. He trusted you to.

"You really should be more careful," you muttered under your breath, taping the last bandage into place. "Your job’s so dangerous. You’re not invincible, you know."

You meant it seriously, but Jake couldn't help it.

Even through the pounding pain in his body, even through the blood loss, he thought you looked adorable trying to lecture him. Your brows were all scrunched up, your voice low and worried. Like you really cared.

He smiled behind the mask, even though you couldn’t see it. “Thanks, I will.”

The room fell into a heavy silence after that.

The soft hum of your desk lamp, the faint city noise from outside, it all faded into the background.

You were fidgeting without realizing it, your fingers nervously picking at the strings of your shorts. You sat on the edge of the bed, stealing quick glances at him, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

You hesitated, swallowing hard before you finally spoke.

"I..." Your voice cracked slightly, and you cleared your throat, cheeks burning. "I know this is probably really stupid. And I know you probably hear this from... like, every girl you save."

You laughed awkwardly, trying to fill the space, but it just made you more aware of how close you were.

"I just—" You sighed, looking down at your lap. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you. After the first time. The way you saved me... the way you held me. I kept telling myself it was silly. You probably hear stuff like this all the time."

You glanced up at him, expecting him to nod, to laugh it off, to say something charming and easy.

But he just sat there, completely still.

Because the truth was the opposite.

Jake was used to hearing things about Spider-Man, sure, but it wasn’t always admiration. Most of the time it was fear. Hatred. Distrust. People thinking he was a threat, a vigilante who needed to be thrown behind bars. And sure, some people fawned over the idea of Spider-Man, the hero, the fantasy, but they didn’t know him.

Not the real him. Not the messy, human, hurting boy underneath the suit.

But you... You were different. You were real. You were you.

And to him, that meant everything.

He didn’t know what to say. He was completely, utterly speechless.

You must have taken his silence as an opening, because then you shifted, biting your lip. And next thing you knew, you crawled over the bed toward him slowly, carefully.

He barely dared to breathe.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly, and you hooked your fingers at the bottom of his mask.

"Can I...?" you whispered.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

With a careful touch, you lifted the mask just enough to reveal his mouth and jaw, the rest of his face still hidden in shadows. His lips were parted slightly, breathing shallow, waiting.

You leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of you against him. You hesitated for half a second, and then you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, almost shy, like both of you were afraid to break the fragile moment. But when he kissed you back, it changed.

His gloved hand rose to cup your cheek, fingers trembling slightly against your skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t help himself. The distance between you vanished.

Your lips moved together slowly, languidly, testing, tasting. You parted yours just slightly, and he responded immediately, deepening the kiss.

Your tongues brushed, tentative at first, then with more urgency, clashing softly against each other in a dance that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was careful, deliberate, like he was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you felt.

There was something raw and electric about the way he kissed you, like he was pouring every ounce of feeling he had ever bottled up into this single moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, anchoring yourself to him, and you felt the way he shuddered slightly, like your touch alone was enough to undo him.

The kiss grew deeper, slower, more intense, every second stretching out between you like it was stitched with gold. It was messy in the way that mattered, the way real feelings always were. A kiss that left your head spinning, your lungs aching, your heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could feel it through your chest.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still so close your noses brushed. Your forehead dropped gently against his, and you stayed like that for a long, lingering moment, suspended between reality and something else, something dreamlike and electric.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to.

Everything you needed to say was already written between your lips.

-

Ever since that night, things had been different.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow, Spider-Man had become a part of your life in ways you hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t just the mysterious, masked hero who saved you that one fateful evening anymore, he became someone you talked to.

Sometimes, late at night when you were curled up in bed with your textbooks or scrolling through your phone, he would appear at your window. His silhouette would loom against the glowing city skyline, and you’d unlock it without thinking twice. You didn’t know what it was about him, maybe it was the way he seemed so untouchable yet so real in those brief moments, or maybe it was just how comforting his presence was. But whatever it was, you felt a connection, even if you knew it couldn’t last forever.

It wasn’t always about danger or saving people. Sometimes, it was just the two of you, sitting side by side, talking about the mundane things you both never got to share with anyone else. Sometimes it was silence, comfortable and easy, the kind of silence you’d never felt with anyone before. And sometimes, there were kisses. Soft, tender kisses that lingered for just long enough to make your heart race and your mind spin.

He was still Spider-Man, and you tried to remind yourself of that every time your lips met, every time you felt that spark. But deep down, you knew, you knew that it wasn’t just the thrill of being with a superhero. It was more.

It felt like something real. Something special.

But then, one night, it all stopped.

He didn’t show up.

You tried not to let it get to you. He was Spider-Man, after all. His nights were long, and his duties never rested. Maybe there was just no time for small talk or stolen kisses when he had the city to protect.

You told yourself it was okay. You told yourself that you understood.

But when night after night passed and you sat alone at your window, staring out into the darkness and hoping for a familiar figure to appear, you couldn’t ignore the disappointment that gnawed at you. You didn’t know why you’d gotten so attached to him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was there, that for a moment, he let you into his world. Or maybe it was the way he made you feel like you were the only person that mattered in those fleeting, stolen moments.

But now he was gone.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You remembered the last time he had come over, and how different that night had felt. You had been sitting together in your bed, his body pressed gently against yours, both of you lying there as if the world didn’t exist outside your room. His hands were intertwined with yours, and the quiet intimacy of the moment felt almost too much to bear.

"I know why you have to keep that mask on," you had said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "I understand. It’s for your own good." Your fingers had traced small, absent patterns on his hand as you spoke, your mind trying to reconcile the mystery that surrounded him. "But... I can’t help but wonder... what you look like underneath.”

He had hesitated, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes before he looked away, his gaze drifting towards the window. You felt his fingers tighten around yours, as if unsure whether to speak or to keep it all hidden. The room was silent except for your soft breaths, both of you caught in the unspoken tension.

Finally, he turned back to you, a small, almost sad smile on his lips shown underneath his mask. His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Soon, you’ll find out," he had said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

That had been the last conversation you’d had with him, and now, as the nights stretched on without his visits, you couldn’t shake the thought of what he meant. Soon, you would find out. But until then, all you could do was wait, wondering if he’d ever show his true self to you.

...

Meanwhile, Jake was in his own turmoil.

Every time he visited your window, pretending to be the same Spider-Man who saved you, he felt the weight of his lies crushing him. He couldn’t keep hiding behind the mask. The truth was, he wanted you to see him for who he was. Not as Spider-Man, but as Jake.

The guilt gnawed at him. Every time he saw you, every time his lips touched yours, the shame washed over him, reminding him that he wasn’t being honest with you. You deserved more than this. You deserved the real him, not the superhero persona he wore like a shield.

And so, with all that guilt bubbling up inside of him, Jake decided it was time. He was going to ask you out. Not as Spider-Man. As Jake.

It wasn’t easy for him. He had spent years observing you from afar, watching you laugh with your friends, listening to your stories, memorizing the way you smiled. He had been too shy to ever approach you before, too terrified that you might not see him the way he saw you. But this? This was different. He couldn’t keep pretending any longer. He needed to know if there was a chance. A real chance with you.

So, one afternoon after class, he approached you in the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweating.

"Hey, uh..." Jake said, stumbling over his words, his usual calm demeanor slipping away. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the floor before he finally made eye contact. "Do you want to, I don’t know, hangout together sometime? I could really use a study buddy for the test, and, um... maybe grab some coffee afterward?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Jake? Asking you to hang out? You hadn’t spoken much before. He was always the quiet guy in the back of the classroom, a little nerdy and socially distant from everyone. Sure, you knew who he was, but you hadn’t really interacted. The invitation felt... unexpected. But still, he intrigued you.

You tilted your head, considering it for a moment. "Uh... sure? I mean, I guess we could.” You gave him a hesitant smile, unsure of what to expect.

Jake’s face lit up, and for a brief second, you saw a different side of him, the awkward, unsure side of him that was always hidden behind that calm, cool exterior.

He fumbled for his phone, a little nervous, before he handed it to you. "I, uh, I don’t have your number," he said, his voice soft.

You took his phone and entered your number, feeling a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbling up inside you. When you handed it back, he looked at you, trying to hold back a grin. "Cool," he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "I’ll text you soon." He gave you a small, awkward smile before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway, leaving you standing there, both confused and intrigued.

-

The day of your first official hangout had arrived. You had agreed to meet Jake at a cozy café downtown, something simple and lowkey. There was something about him, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, that had you curious, eager to know more.

You arrived a bit early and found a quiet corner near the window, tapping your fingers nervously on your coffee cup. It wasn’t like you had never hung out with a guy before, but this felt different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because you’d only really interacted with Jake in class, and now you were about to spend time with him outside of that. You knew he was nice, but you’d never thought of him as someone who would ask you out.

When Jake arrived, he looked a little out of place, wearing a simple hoodie, jeans, and glasses, looking like the normal, shy guy you’d seen in school. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm. He gave you a smile, clearly a little nervous.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual, even though you were feeling a little giddy yourself.

Jake sat down across from you, looking around the café for a moment before settling in. As you both started chatting, you realized how easy it was to talk to him. The conversation flowed naturally, bouncing from classes to random anecdotes, and soon you were laughing together over something silly. His humor wasn’t dry or flashy, and it made you feel comfortable, like you had known him better than you actually did.

But then, your curiosity got the best of you, and you found yourself asking, “So, why did you ask me to hang out? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but it’s kind of... unexpected, right?”

Jake paused, his hand shifting nervously around his coffee cup. You could see a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "I guess, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly hesitating. "I was just thinking about how... how we never really get a chance to talk much in class. You know, with everyone around. I thought it might be nice to hang out, just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a little flattered by his honesty. You’d always noticed how he kept to himself, but you also knew he was always kind and smart. You liked that about him.

“I’ve always thought you were really pretty. And, well, I wanted to get to know you better. I’ve noticed you a lot, so.”

Your heart warmed at his confession, and you found yourself smiling, even though you didn’t know exactly what to say. You hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. You'd always thought Jake was a quiet guy, but here he was, talking to you like this.

The truth was, you didn’t know why you were so unsure when he asked you out earlier. You should’ve been glad. Jake was obviously attractive, he just didn’t know it. He had all the qualities you’d look for in someone to spend time with. And now, as you sat across from him, listening to him talk about things that made him nervous or awkward, you realized there was something different about him. He didn’t try to impress anyone. He was just... himself.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. "I mean, you’re kind of a great guy, Jake. Seriously."

Jake smiled, looking almost relieved. "Well, I’m glad you think so."

The rest of the evening was filled with easy conversation. After coffee, you walked around a nearby park, enjoying the cool night air. The longer you spent with him, the more you realized how comfortable you felt. He wasn’t overly confident like some other guys, but he had this attractiveness about him that drew you in. There was a certain charm to the way he made everything feel effortless, even if he was still a little shy. 

As you both walked back toward your apartment, the night had started to grow colder. Jake slowed his pace, and you both stopped at the entrance to your building. There was a moment of silence between you, and you could sense he had something more to say.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said quietly, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. “It was... nice to actually hang out without everything feeling like a big deal.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “I’m glad too. Thanks for inviting me.”

As you both stood there, Jake’s eyes met yours, his gaze soft and full of something unspoken. There was a slight tension in the air, but it felt gentle, like the calm before something significant. You could feel the warmth of his presence, and before you could fully process what was happening, Jake took a step closer, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“Would it be okay,” he began, his voice low and hesitant, “if I kissed you goodnight?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. In fact, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, the flutter in your chest as you nodded, too caught up in the moment to think twice.

He closed the space between you, his face soft and vulnerable. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, and everything felt so incredibly intimate. You barely had time to register it before his lips met yours.

The kiss was slow, careful, as if Jake was testing the waters, making sure you felt comfortable. His lips were warm and soft, and you melted into the feeling, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming in the best way. It was a kiss full of uncertainty, but also something more, something that felt real, something you didn’t expect to feel in a first kiss.

But as his lips moved gently against yours, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of familiarity. The way his lips fit against yours, the slight pressure, the way he kissed so softly and carefully, it all felt... right. You almost felt like you’d been here before, like this moment had been rehearsed in some other life, some other time and you had a sudden rush of deja vu. There was an uncanny feeling that you had kissed him before, even though this was your first time.

Your heart beat a little faster, and for a split second, you wondered if you were imagining things. Was it the way he held himself, or was it the way his kiss made you feel as though you'd known him forever? The longer the kiss lasted, the more you found yourself lost in the sensation, until he pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to break the connection but leaving the air charged between you.

You both stayed there for a moment, not saying anything, just staring at each other, your breaths mingling. Jake’s face was flushed, but there was something in his eyes, vulnerable, but genuine. And there you were, standing in the cool night air, still feeling the lingering warmth of his lips on yours.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, goodnight,” you replied, your heart still racing. You wanted to say something else, but you couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, you watched him step back, his figure slowly fading into the shadows as he turned and walked away.

But as you stood there, still reeling from the kiss, a strange feeling settled in your chest. The kiss had felt so familiar, so much like something that was always meant to happen, and for the first time, you realized how much more there was to Jake than what you'd seen before.

You turned and entered your apartment, trying to shake the feeling that something significant had just begun. 

-

It had been almost a month now since Jake had asked you out. Each date with him had been easy, comfortable, and filled with moments that made your heart flutter. This was your fourth date, and after grabbing takeout from your favorite local spot, you invited him over to hang out for the evening. Your parents were surprisingly laid back about it, so after a brief but pleasant introduction, they gave you both some privacy.

Now, Jake was sitting on your bed next to you, his side pressed against yours as you both snacked on the food, laughing over some inside joke you had long forgotten the origin of. As the day grew longer, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. There was a lightness in your chest, a kind of peace you didn’t often feel, like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

You had never thought that this would be where you’d end up. When you first met Jake, he’d been just another classmate, a little shy, a little reserved, but undeniably kind. You didn’t even think about Spider-Man anymore, your thoughts were entirely consumed by Jake. Now, he was becoming a constant in your life, and you couldn’t imagine not having him around. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled when he made you laugh, it made everything seem a little brighter.

You glanced over at him, and the sight of his grin made your heart skip a beat. You could tell he was happy too, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that familiar, contagious smile.

"You know," you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, "I’m really glad you made a move on me."

Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I’d like to think I had a pretty good reason to," he said, his voice full of that same warmth you’d come to love.

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning in a little closer to him. "Yeah, you definitely did," you teased, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued to laugh. The feeling in your chest was warm, comforting, a happiness that seemed to fill the air around you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, no outside distractions, just the easy comfort of each other’s presence. Your fingers brushed against his, and you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pull between you, the kind you had felt ever since the first time you kissed him. There was a sweetness to it, an innocence that felt right.

But as you both continued to giggle, the laughter slowly faded into something softer. You found yourself looking up at him, eyes meeting his in a way that felt more intense than before. You both fell into a silence, the tension between you palpable now.

Without thinking, you reached up, your hand gently cupping his jaw. You pulled him toward you, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It started slow, tender, like you were savoring each moment. But then, as your lips moved together, the kiss deepened.

Jake’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss became more urgent, more passionate. His lips pressed against yours with more intensity, and you felt a spark of something deeper ignite in your chest. The way his touch lingered on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, everything about this felt so right. It wasn’t just the chemistry you’d felt from the start, it was something more, something that had been building between you two without either of you realizing it.

You responded instinctively, your hands threading through his hair as the kiss became more sensual. The world around you seemed to fade away. It was just you and Jake, caught in this moment that felt so real, so powerful. His breath hitched slightly as you deepened the kiss further, and for a moment, everything else, the outside world, the worries, the questions, vanished. All that mattered was here, right now, in this quiet, intimate moment.

The kiss slowed eventually, but neither of you pulled away. You were both breathless, caught in the aftermath of something more than just a kiss, something that left you feeling dizzy with anticipation and warmth.

You reached up, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight stubble that prickled your fingertips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a silent question in their depths. You answered by leaning in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You obliged, a soft moan escaping you as his tongue met yours, dancing, exploring, claiming. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intense, overwhelming dance of desire.

Jake's hand descended, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, before coming to rest at the hem of your shirt. His eyes, still locked onto yours, asked for permission, a silent question that hung heavy in the air. You responded by arching into his touch, a subtle movement that spoke volumes. He took it as the green light it was, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin. A shiver ran through you, your breath hitching as his touch grew bolder, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb finding your nipple and circling it with maddening slowness.

Your hands, exploratory and eager, mirrored his, mapping out the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. You could feel the heat of his skin, the taut muscles beneath, the way his breath hitched as you traced the waistband of his jeans. He was hard, his erection pressing against your hip, a testament to his desire. 

You wanted to touch him, to feel him, but you also wanted to take your time, to draw out this delicious torture. So, you contented yourself with exploring, your fingers tracing the lines of his body, your lips following the path your hands had taken, leaving a trail of soft kisses and gentle bites. He groaned, his head tilting back, giving you better access, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the soft moans and groans that escaped your lips, the rustle of fabric as you continued your slow, sensual exploration. The tension between you was palpable, a live wire ready to snap, the anticipation almost unbearable, yet you both reveled in it, drawing out the moment, lost in the slow burn of your desire.

Your nipples began to harden into peaks beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. He took advantage, his thumbs brushing over them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your panties growing damp with your arousal. You gasped, begging for more. 

He obliged, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned, your head falling back, your hair cascading down like a waterfall of chestnut waves. He took advantage, his mouth finding yours, his tongue delving in, exploring, dancing with yours. 

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "It's like you were made for me to touch." You couldn't respond, your mind foggy with desire, your body aching for more. He seemed to understand, his hands continuing their exploration, his lips finding that sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, sucking gently, marking you.

You pulled back, your breath ragged, eyes locked with his. His pupils were dilated, the irises a stormy sea of desire. You reached for the hem of your top, a silent invitation. He understood, his hands covering yours, helping you pull it off. Your bra followed suit, his eyes darkening further at the sight of your naked breasts. 

He leaned in, his mouth capturing one taut peak, his tongue swirling, tasting. You gasped, your head falling back, giving him better access. His hands, meanwhile, were busy unbuttoning your jeans, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach, making you squirm. The anticipation was killing you, but you knew he was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure, making this a slow burn you'd never forget.

You reached for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him, his chest lean and muscular, a light dusting of hair trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his chest, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. 

You could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against you. The knowledge that you had that effect on him spurred you on, your hands roaming, exploring, learning the planes and angles of his body. He let you, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, a look of pure pleasure on his face. 

The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and soft moans, a symphony of your growing desire. Jake's hands continued their exploration, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, dipping into the hollow of your belly button. You shivered, your skin erupting in goosebumps as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down, leaving you bare to his heated gaze. He didn't rush, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent conversation passing between you. 

Then, he lowered himself, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, his breath hot on your most intimate place. You whimpered, your fingers gripping the sheets, your body tense with anticipation. Then, his mouth found your center, his tongue flicking out, tasting, teasing, driving you to the brink of madness.

To be honest, Jake had no idea what he was doing. He didn't have any sexual experience and he was basing all of his movements off of pure desire and instinct. However, you weren’t any more experienced, so each gentle touch and careful caress felt absolutely perfect.

Your back arched off the bed as Jake's tongue delved deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place. You moaned, your fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He whimpered at the foreign taste, vibrating against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Jake," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, "Please..." Your plea was lost in a cry of ecstasy as he found that sensitive spot, his tongue circling, pressing, teasing. Your hips bucked, your body yearning for more, for him. 

He responded, one hand sliding up your body, cupping your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

As your body trembled on the edge of release, Jake slowed his movements, his tongue tracing languid patterns, his hand gentling its touch. You gasped, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held on for dear life. 

The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure, your moans echoing off the walls, a symphony of your growing arousal. Jake's exploring hands, gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his mouth continuing its relentless assault.

Your breath hitched as you felt a finger slip inside you, then another, your body stretching to accommodate him. He curved them slightly, hitting that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head. 

His hands, those clever, gentle hands, held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away, not that you wanted to. Every stroke, every lick, every suck was a testament to his patience, his control, and his unwavering desire to make you feel. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responded with another groan, the vibration against your sensitive flesh pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the coil tightening in your core, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Jake," you whispered, his name a plea on your lips. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his mouth glistening with your essence. It was one of the most erotic sights you'd ever seen, and it sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "I need you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He crawled up your body, his hands trailing fire in their wake, his erection pressing against your thigh. You could see the restraint in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, and it fueled your desire. You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him, feeling him pulse in your grip. He groaned, his head falling to your shoulder, his hips moving in time with your strokes. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "I don’t have a condom with me."

"I don't care," you breathed out urgently. "I need you right now Jake."

And with that, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his briefs down just low enough, and positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to take you to new heights of pleasure.

Jake's breath hitched as you guided him, your thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered there. He watched you through hooded eyes, his pupils dilating with every pass of your thumb, as he slipped it in.

You gasped as Jake slowly pushed into you, his thickness stretching you deliciously. His eyes never left yours, the connection deepening with every inch he claimed. You felt a sense of vulnerability, but also an intense intimacy, like he was seeing into the very core of your being. He paused, allowing you to adjust, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. 

He began to move, slowly, torturously, a delicious friction building with each inch. You could feel every ridge, every pulse, as he filled you. He groaned, his hands finding yours, intertwining them together as he pinned them above your head. "Jake," you moaned, your body arching into his pleasure building like a storm. He captured your mouth, his tongue mimicking the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips, and in that moment, you knew this was more than just physical. This was the slow burn, the tension filled dance, the promise of a love story just beginning.

Then suddenly with no warning, his hips were snapping forward as he sheathed himself fully within you. A moan escaped your lips, your back arching, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Jake's glasses fogged up, a testament to his exertion, as he continued to drive into you, his movements becoming jerky, his control fraying.

He was a sight to behold, his usually neat hair now a rumpled mess, his cheeks flushed, and his lips swollen from your kisses. The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. You reached up, tracing the bridge of his nose, the cool metal of his glasses contrasting with the heat of his skin. They began to wobble, trembling with the force of his thrusts. He lifted a shaky hand toward his face, about to slip the glasses off, until you reached out and steadied them. "Keep them on," you whispered.

He nodded obediently, his hand falling back to your sides as he continued to ram into you.

He let out another whimper, his hips stuttering as he tried to hold back. "Fuck," he whined, his forehead leaning against yours. “It feels too good.” He captured your mouth once more, his kiss demanding, and messy. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, your nails digging into his back. 

Jake threw his head back, his own release imminent. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. You could see the strain in his jaw, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he fought for control. Your hands, still tangled in his hair, gently guided his face to your neck, allowing him to nip and suck at your skin, leaving little marks of his possession. The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your bodies coming together, a symphony of desire that played just for the two of you.

You leaned forward, capturing one of his nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened peak. He let out a guttural groan, his pace faltering as he fought to maintain control. "Fuck, Y/n," he gasped, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you back to his mouth. "I'm going to... I'm going to come."

You could feel him swelling inside you, his body tensing as he struggled to hold back. But you wanted him to let go, to give in to the pleasure. "Come, Jake," you whispered against his lips, "I want to feel you."

With a final, shuddering thrust, he did, his body convulsing as he spilled into you, his cries of pleasure filling the room. 

He let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he spilled into you. You felt each hot pulse, your body milking him for every last drop. Your own orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed, your fingers digging into his back. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein, as he jerked inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body spent, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and frantic, matching your own. His glasses were askew, one lens filled with steam, the other reflecting the soft glow of the room.

As the echoes of your shared release faded, Jake collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reached up to push his glasses back up his nose. He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice still ragged from your previous lovemaking.

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, not just from the physical pleasure, but from the emotional connection that was growing between you. 

This was more than just sex, more than just a casual encounter. This was the beginning of something deeper, something real. And as you leaned in to kiss him, you knew that this was just the start of a journey that promised to be filled with passion, love, and a lifetime of exploration.

-

Jake sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his messy hair, still looking dazed from everything that had happened. Mark, sprawled out lazily on Jake’s desk chair, tossed a small rubber ball into the air and caught it with a loud slap.

“So…” Mark started, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You finally slept with her.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Dude, don't say it like that.”

Mark laughed. “What? I’m just saying! Took you long enough. But seriously,” his tone shifted, dropping the teasing, “you have to tell her.”

Jake stayed quiet, his hands still pressed into his face.

“Jake,” Mark said more firmly, leaning forward, “you have to tell her.”

“I know,” Jake muttered through his hands, voice muffled but heavy with guilt.

Mark leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “So what’s stopping you? You’re literally Spider-Man. You’re, like, the coolest guy ever.”

Jake lifted his head and gave Mark a hollow look. “Exactly.”

Mark frowned, confused.

Jake sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I’m scared, man. I’m scared that once she knows it’s me under the mask... she’ll think I'm just... not as cool. That she won’t see Spider-Man as this hero anymore and me as... some loser who lied to her.”

Mark scoffed. “You’re not a loser. You’re Jake. You’re the guy she likes. Not the mask. Not the suit.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and raw. “It’s not just that. It’s the lying. I’ve been lying to her from the start. Every kiss, every late night conversation. She trusted Spider-Man... not Jake.”

The ball Mark had been tossing dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He stood up, seriousness written all over his face now. “You can’t keep this secret, man. It’s been what, more than a month since you first went to her window? Since you first kissed her?”

Jake swallowed hard.

Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not protecting her by hiding the truth anymore. You’re just protecting yourself.”

Jake knew he was right. Deep down, he’d known for a while. But hearing it out loud made his chest tighten painfully.

He had to tell you. No matter how scared he was. No matter what it would cost him.

You deserved the truth.

That’s why Jake found himself back here, dressed head to toe in his suit, lurking in the shadows outside your window once again. He had to tell you. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

He shifted nervously on the rooftop, his heart pounding harder than it ever did during any fight. Finally, he moved to your window, raising a gloved hand to tap softly against the glass.

You were just about to settle into bed when you heard it, that familiar, soft tap.

Your heart stopped. You didn’t even have to look. You already knew who it was.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in place, a million emotions crashing down on you at once. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger. But... also a terrible, aching kind of relief. And as much as you hated to admit it, you missed him.

Gathering the courage you didn’t know you had, you moved toward the window, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out and unlocked it. Slowly, you pushed it open, and there he was. Spider-Man. Crouched just beyond the frame, the city lights outlining him in silver and gold.

He started to speak, voice hesitant. "Y/n—"

But you cut him off sharply, unable to hold it in anymore. "You don’t get to just show up here like nothing happened," you said, your voice tight with hurt. "You left. You left without saying anything. I waited for you. Every night, I waited, wondering if you were okay, if you were ever coming back. But you never did."

Jake flinched under the mask. Every word hit him like a gut punch. He opened his mouth again, desperate to explain, but then you said something that made his words catch in his throat.

"But..." you continued, your voice shaking slightly, "I can't wait for you anymore."

He stared at you, not daring to move.

"I started seeing someone," you said, barely above a whisper. "He's... he's really great. He cares about me. He makes me happy. And... I really, really like him."

"Oh yeah?" he rasped. "What's his name?"

You hesitated, as if saying it out loud made it all real.

 "Jake," you said quietly. "Jake Sim.”

As much as your words were meant to sting, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. Even without knowing the full truth, you were choosing Jake, ending whatever you had with Spider-Man for him. For him, even though they were one and the same.

The silence that followed was so heavy, so absolute, it was almost unbearable.

You took a shaky breath and continued, "I'm starting to get somewhere with him. It feels real. It feels good. So I'm sorry, but... you can't come to my window anymore. We can't... we can't talk anymore."

There was a long beat of silence and you were about to close your window and go back inside.

Then, without saying a word, Jake lifted his hand to the sides of his mask. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched, frozen, as he slowly peeled it off.

And when he did... Your jaw dropped.

It was Jake. Jake Sim.

The boy who used to pass you in the halls, quiet and reserved. The boy who rarely looked anyone in the eye. The boy who made love to you so passionately.

He was Spider-Man. He was the one who had been at your window all those nights. He was the one you kissed under the city stars.

The room spun a little as you tried to process it all, your heart thundering in your chest, your mind screaming with disbelief.

Jake just stood there, holding the mask in his hands, his expression open, raw, and painfully vulnerable.

He was scared. Scared of how you would look at him now. Scared that you wouldn’t look at him at all.

He opened his mouth, voice rough with emotion. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you sooner."

You blinked at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried, and failed, to find words. Your mind was a complete blur. Spider-Man. Jake. They were the same person.

How? How had you not seen it? You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to breathe, trying to think through the whirlwind of feelings crashing into you all at once.

All those strange little things you'd noticed but brushed off at the time, they came rushing back to you, loud and clear.

The way being with Jake had always felt familiar, even when you barely knew him. The way his voice had this soft, distinct tone that you had heard before but couldn’t quite place.

Or that day when you had caught Jake sporting the same exact wound you had patched up on Spider-Man when the night before. You had chalked it up to coincidence. You hadn’t let yourself question it. But now? Now it all clicked into place with dizzying clarity.

Jake saw the confusion written all over your face. His shoulders sagged, and he gave a small, broken laugh. "I know," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I get it. I get why you're freaking out. And... I know I never should’ve made a move on you first as Spider-Man. I should’ve just... just been honest and done it as Jake." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. "The whole situation was just so complicated, and I didn’t know what to do. I was scared that if I told you the truth, you’d see me differently. Or worse, you’d want him—" he gestured vaguely to the suit, "—and not me."

You stayed silent, heart breaking a little at the way he looked so small, so ashamed.

"I get it if you don’t think I’m cool anymore," he said quietly, avoiding your eyes. "I know I’m not. Without the suit, I'm just... me. I'm not that fearless or confident guy you thought you knew. I’m just Jake. And if you don't like me anymore because of that, I understand."

You finally found your voice, hoarse but certain. "Jake..." He glanced up at you, guarded, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

"No," you said firmly, taking a step closer to him. "Of course not. I’m obviously shocked because—God—this is so much to take in. But this doesn’t make me like you any less."

You saw the disbelief flicker in his eyes.

"You're still you," you said, voice softening. "The guy who’s kind and funny and awkward and... honestly, way cooler than you think you are. The suit doesn't change that. It never did."

Jake stared at you like he didn’t dare believe it, his hands still clutching the mask at his side, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You moved even closer, until you were right in front of him. And then, without thinking too hard about it, you reached out and gently took his free hand in yours.

"You’re Jake," you said again, your voice breaking just a little. "And that’s all I ever really wanted."

Jake looked at you like you had just pulled him out of a storm he thought he’d drown in. Like he couldn't believe someone would still choose him, him, even after seeing the truth. His eyebrows knitted together, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice small, almost scared.

You nodded without hesitation, your hand tightening around his. "Of course I’m sure."

For a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide and glassy like he was memorizing every detail of your face. Then, without warning, he surged forward and kissed you. Hard, desperate, almost clumsy with how badly he needed it. You met him halfway, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.

Every emotion you had tried to make sense of, fear, anger, confusion, relief, love, poured out into that kiss. You kissed him like you were telling him he was enough. You kissed him like you were telling yourself that this was real.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you slightly breathless, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His voice was low and serious when he spoke next, almost a whisper meant only for you.

"I need you to know," he said, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles on your skin, "being in a relationship with me... it’s gonna be a lot more complicated than a normal one. I mean, obviously I’ve never been in one before, but —" he gave a small, nervous laugh, "— I can assume." 

You smiled, your heart so full it almost hurt.

"I won’t have a lot of time for you at night," Jake continued, his brows furrowing like he hated even admitting it. "You know, Spider-Man stuff. And... you can’t tell anyone. About me. About this."

You reached up, placing your hand over his, squeezing it. "Jake," you said softly but firmly, "I don’t care what it takes. I want to be with you. I want you."

He closed his eyes for a second, like he was holding onto your words, like they were something he never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear. And then he kissed you again. Slower, deeper, more certain. It was the kind of kiss that made your whole body hum with happiness, the kind of kiss that made all the confusion and hurt fade away.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn't help but laugh a little, shaking your head as the absurdity of everything hit you.

"I just can’t believe I had sex with Spider-Man," you said with a teasing smirk.

Jake's face flushed bright red as he groaned and buried his face against your shoulder in embarrassment. "Don’t say it like that," he mumbled, voice muffled.

You burst out laughing, the kind of breathless, giddy laughter that you only had when you were truly, stupidly happy. Jake started laughing too, his arms wrapping tighter around you like he couldn't believe you were real.

For a while, you just stayed there, tangled up together by your window, holding each other as the city buzzed quietly below. No masks. No secrets. Just Jake and you.

And it was enough.

-

Things with Jake were good. Really good. Your parents loved him. Your mom would always gush about how polite he was, and your dad had already invited him to watch a game together. His parents were just as warm, treating you like you had always been a part of their lives.

Of course, you didn’t get to see him a whole lot, especially at night. But you didn’t mind. You learned to love the little moments you guys shared. A stolen lunch between classes, quick texts during the day, and your favorite of all: sneaking a goodnight kiss at your window before he whipped away into the night.

Dating Spider-Man was amazing in its own way. The secrecy, the hidden smiles, the little inside jokes no one else could ever guess. It only added to the thrill.

It wasn't exactly the most normal relationship, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.