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jakeyuni · 6 months

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ready? set…touchdown! tutor? | s. jaeyun

“he smiled at you as if you were the only person in the world. unknowingly to you, it’s because you were, in fact, the only person for jake.”

SYNOPSIS › you’d always known jake sim as the unbelievably handsome and smart jock/student that sat next to you in your advanced psychology class. similar to you, jake had always pined over you silently. so what happens when jake becomes your assigned tutor for the very class he’s your seat partner in and when a yearbook editorial feature causes [forces] you to get to know the boy better? complete, and utter, chaos—as the both of you deal through your growing feelings for one another.

PAIRINGS › tutor+football jock!jake x fem!yearbook photographer/editor reader

TROPE › mutual pining, friends + tutor & his tutee —> lovers

GENRES › fluff, slight crack, pretty heavy angst at times !!

WARNINGS › profanity, reader has slight anxiety/self-doubt/insecurity issues, jake is conflicted with his feelings, jake & reader high key suck at communicating which leads to issues, lots of cheesy lines, slow-burn tbh, reader & jake are very smart—y/n is just struggling, most importantly: heartthrob football jake who also doubles as a hot nerd ;)

EXTRAS › i suggest you read because it includes a steamy kiss at the end (pretend to be surprised) + but with a twist ;), oh also because it involves the high school football game experience [like the scene from the hilary duff cinderella movie!].

WORD COUNT › 10.2k+

PLAYLIST › hold on — flor, tek it — cafuné, sunsetz — c.a.s, car crash — eaJ, pluto projector — rex orange county

AUTHOR’S NOTE › goshh i really do hope this fic lives up to your expectations because i’m in love w the final product! enjoy :)

AT 8 AM SHARP EVERYTHING MORNING, JAKE SIM WOULD STARE AT THE DOOR, AWAITING YOUR ARRIVAL.

he’d observe the entrance of your psychology class every day and hope you weren’t absent. thankfully for him, you didn’t dare miss school unless you were actually sick. which to his delight, was rare. school had always been one of your top priorities, and jake had always admired you for your ambition.

every morning when you walked in, the gust of the wind from the windows open from the opposite side of the classroom would cause your hair to blow as you walked to your seat. a million fireworks would go off in jake’s head, as well as in his heart while he watched you slide into the seat beside him, giving you a nod. you smiled in response every time, even if you weren’t feeling like it that day.

every now and then, if jake was lucky, he’d smoothly slide close enough to you so that his elbow could touch yours. though you never moved upon the contact, you’d take note of how often he’d do it.

likewise, you wished he would never stop. because you were so attracted to jake sim, it sometimes gave you a stomach ache when you stayed up at night, daydreaming about what could maybe one day be.

if only he wasn’t the star quarterback of your school, along with being an insanely smart and sociable person. then you’d maybe think that you’d have a chance with him.

but with all the girls and cheerleaders that flocked around him, seeing him as a mere piece of prey for them to fiend on, you never bothered considering the odds.

oh, but if only you knew that jake wanted you just as much as you did him. perhaps then, you’d be together by now. but that’s not the way this story goes, now does it?

Keep reading

#JAKEY’S BDAY!!!#resposting this not j bc it’s my most famous fic but also bc it’s a jake fic & he deserves all the attention & more !!!#happy birthday you wonderful wonderful man 🤍#ily sim jaeyun <3

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jakeyuni · 10 months

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stuck in your web ━━ jake sim ⟡ spiderman au

★ wc 1.3k warnings none note @soobnny u inspired me to write this while i was on the plane i’m actually insane my brain is rotting w spidey bf jake (proofread but idk if there r any mistakes rip sry pookies)

Not even your blankets could stave off the whisper of cold wind that followed Jake in through the window, a chill that was just as quickly chased away by his embrace. He slid in beneath your comforter, a drawn out sigh leaving his lips, one of which you learned as you turned around, was split and crusted with blood. Your hand found his cheek in the darkness, the other reaching out blindly for the light switch.

“No, don’t,” he grumbled halfheartedly, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades in a lazy attempt to hide the lasting damage of his latest fight.

Your fingers closed the switch and you turned your bedside lamp on despite his protests, propping yourself up on your elbow to better survey his injuries. Jake had made a terrible habit of assuming that slipping into your bed and just having you in his arms would solve all his problems, emotional and physical. As much as you despised the fact, that wasn’t true.

“Let me clean you up?”

You asked softly, brushing his bangs away from his face lazily, wincing as you felt his ordinarily soft hair crusted with something— blood, or dirt, you weren’t sure. In times like this, it felt like there wasn’t much you could offer Jake, and an inescapable feeling of helplessness swelled and formed a lump in your throat. He’d reassured you time and time again that your company was enough, but you figured the least you could do was clean him up to the best of your ability.

“No, let’s just go to sleep, I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed cutely and his words muffled by the soft cotton of your pillow.

You rolled your eyes, and gathered the motivation to slip out of bed— Jake let you go without any coherent protest, and you padded into the bathroom. The routine you’d adopted was methodical and you had to admit there was something therapeutic about it— saline solution, a glass of warm water, a flannel and the Hello Kitty bandaids Jake claimed to hate but never stopped you from putting on the lesser of his injuries. His arms wound around your waist as you perched on the edge of the bed, pulling you close enough that he could rest his cheek against your thigh.

“I’ll sleep easy knowing I’ve helped you, even a little,” you hummed quietly, running your hand through his hair, trying not to tug when your fingers caught on whatever it was that had gotten stuck, presumably during his fight.

“You’re helping me by being a good cushion,” he huffed, his breath fanning warmly across your bare skin and it was almost criminal how endearing he could be without trying.

“Jake.”

He sighed dramatically, shuffling to sit up in front of you, still in his spider suit— the webbed material had become oddly familiar under your fingers and it was with practiced ease that you peeled the suit away from his skin. Your heart was caught in your throat as you revealed planes of tan skin, terrified you’d come across an injury that couldn’t be fixed with pink—patterned plasters and a gentle kiss. Jake reached for your hands, grabbing your wrist and bringing your trembling hands to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m fine, really— just a couple scratches.”

His reassurances did wonders to comfort you, and you swallowed down the anxiety in your throat, nodding and offering him a small, sleepy sort of smile. You traced the ridges of his collarbones, your fingers dancing over divots and muscles that contracted instinctively under your gentle touch. Jake slumped, relaxing into your assessment of his injuries, and it gave you a rush like no other knowing you were the only person he trusted with this.

“Keroppi or My Melody?”

You asked, a laugh dancing on your lips in the form of an amused smile as you held up his options— a square plaster with Keroppi depicted on the beach, or My Melody sat with a character you didn’t know the name of.

“Keroppi,” Jake murmured after a moment of contemplation, and you averted your attention from his pretty face to focus on peeling the paper backing off the plaster.

There was a cluster of small scratches along his ribs, raw and aggravated, and you frowned— Jake’s thumb reached up to push gently at your frown, and you bit the tip of his thumb playfully. He laughed, and the sound of it was the only plaster needed to soothe your worried heart.

“I can barely even feel ‘em, you don’t need to look so worried.”

“‘s my job to be worried about you, Jake.”

Jake let out a quiet huff, his bottom lip jutting out in a stupidly kissable pout, “it’s not your job, but it’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”

You were grateful to be sat with your back to the lamp, knowing the blush on your cheeks wouldn’t be illuminated.

“I love you too.”

“I know.”

You went through the motions of cleaning the rest of his injuries— thankfully, none of them were more than shallow scratches, and some warm water and a cloth had them mostly sorted. His torso was an array of carefully arranged Hello Kitty plasters, at least twelve pastel coloured, cartoon faces staring up at you with unseeing eyes. The only injury you hadn’t dealt with was his split lip, and Jake frowned when he realised you’d insist on cleaning that too.

“Ynnie, can’t you just kiss that one better?”

He pleaded, looking up at you through his lashes with the puppy—dog eyes that ordinarily would entice you into folding to his whims. You shook your head, placing your palms against his cheeks and squishing gently, forcing his lips into a pout. You leaned forward and kissed him softly, allowing the tension to bleed out of your rigid shoulders once you’d seen for yourself that he was truly okay.

“I can’t kiss it better, but I can kiss you anyway,” you murmured against his lips, pressing another chaste kiss against them before you pulled away, the warm, damp cloth in hand.

You cleaned the small cut as carefully as possibly, and if a minute or so of that time had been spent admiring the slope of his cupids bow or the criminally enticing pink of his lips, that was between you and God.

“Your pyjamas are in the wardrobe,” you prompted him— they were technically yours, but they had become a staple of Jake’s post—fight routine.

He rolled out of your bed still pouting, nearly taking your duvet with him before you tugged it back, hiding a giggle behind your arm. Jake threw his spider suit into the depths of your closet with the internal promise to grab it when he woke up, and suited up instead in fluffy Cookie Monster pyjama bottoms and a shirt he was sure had once been his. When Jake crawled back into your bed, he flopped onto your chest with no regard for your need to breathe.

“If college doesn’t work out, I don’t see why you couldn’t pursue a career as a mattress,” he mumbled, situating his cheek against your chest and ensuring he could feel the steady pound of your heart against his ear, “actually, that’s a terrible idea— I think if you ever let anyone else lay on you like this, I think I’d throw up.”

You let out a huff of laughter, your hands tangling in his hair like they belonged there, your eyes crinkled in amusement. Jake’s weight was familiar, and you relaxed under him, fumbling blindly for the duvet to pull it over both your bodies.

“Not a career path ‘m considering, so you have nothing to worry about,” you whispered against the top of his head, your statement punctuated by an unfairly soft kiss. Jake propped his chin up on your sternum, looking up at you expectantly.

“Goodnight kiss?”

You rolled your eyes in feigned exasperation, and leaned forward enough that your lips met in a sweet kiss, though you were mindful of the split that would take at least a few hours to scab over.

“You’re such a baby.”

“Your baby.”

“Yeah, mine.”

#TBIS WAS SO.#SO SO SO.#jake spidey fics will be the death of me one day fr #SOOO CUTE #jakeyuni's fic recs

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jakeyuni · 11 months

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jakeyuni · 11 months

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“ You know you want me,” he says softly, his hands moving up my back, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath as it hitches. “and it’s killing you.”

#this is so juliette ferrars & aaron warner 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️💆‍♀️#specifically aaron talking to juliette #shatter me series

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jakeyuni · 11 months

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i’m not picky😋

#LEON KENNEDY.

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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Omg… someone help me

#my other bookie

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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jus gonna leave these here

#hubby

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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HELP. MY PUSSY’S GONE CRAZY…

#[real]#sorry guys the minors on this blog pls IGNORE this post LMFAOOO

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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his big doleful eyes and violently self-destructive tendencies have captivated me

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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his lil angry/perplexed squints he does ……………….

#hes so cute when he’s mad

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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Vendetta Leon haters can stay away from me AND my baby boy. He doesn’t like you anyways .

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jakeyuni · 1 year

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𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡; (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞)

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: "He’s been hurt enough. You can’t leave things like this. Can’t feed into your bitterness and heartbreak. He deserves to know."

words: 2.6k

warnings: angst (at first hehe)

notes: y'all it's dinner time come on!!!! we got a feast tonight!!! next chapter will just be an epilogue of sorts (let me be honest i'm gonna write smut that's why)

» part one // part two

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @msghostface @applesdontlikebananas @scarletrosesposts @hanakotateyama @yournan69 @skepticalleo @imnotbasil @maehemthemisfit @xnerdiebirdiex @warm-milk-with-honey-blog @sadest-bookshelf @buckys-milk @strawberrykaeya0 @kiss4kazu @gremlin-ghuleh @vi-ravlyk @some-pina-colada @secretsthathauntus @burningcoffeetimetravel

Before you lay a precedent of insurmountable proportions. A previous mistake, now a sought out routine.

You tell yourself every single time that when he calls, you won't pick up the phone. That when he knocks late into the night, you won’t answer the door. That when he slides beneath the sheets of your bed, it won't happen again.

But it happens again. Again and again and again and as much as you wish this to stop, he’s become your new routine.

The visits grow more frequent. He calls to let you know he’s safe, then asks if you’re free a few days later. You make dinner together. You wash dishes together. You watch movies together. You sleep in your bed together.

(You had asked him, after the first time, what his somebody else might think. He had told you it didn’t matter.)

If anything, your mood worsens. Whatever sanity you have left is little more than shredded string. He’s bad for you—a conclusion not borne of resentment or toxicity, but one of expectation and excitement and moontide. And you’re one slip-up away from burning one big, miles-long bridge.

It’ll happen soon if you don’t stop this. You’re sure of it.

He sleeps to the right of you, nearest the window, just like the first time.

He steals the covers. He mumbles in his sleep. He succumbs to nightmares.

And he faces you now, shadows cast harsh over the curve of a cheek, the bridge of his nose.

The sun will rise soon, and he’ll wake shortly after. Then he’ll ask how you slept, if you slept at all, and you’ll lie to him.

Truly, what’s one more in the grand scheme of things? More forgiving than the feelings you possess. The feelings that he’s no doubt caught on to.

Which begs the question that keeps you awake tonight: if he knows, why does he say nothing? You’ve proven yourself desperate on your worst days. Blatant on your best.

This is enough for him. There’s someone else. You’re just friends. Let it go.

You don’t sleep. The sun rises, and light passes through the curtains, and Leon wakes like normal. You pretend. You’re good at that these days.

He wakes you—he thinks he does—and tells you that he’s leaving. That he’ll call you soon.

When your phone rings a few weeks later, you fight the urge to answer. The answering machine catches it.

One new message.

He’s done nothing wrong. The fault lies with you and your selfishness and the cloying fear of rejection and loss and heartache that you would rather run from than face.

He’s done nothing wrong.

You press play.

“Hey. It’s Leon. I just wanted you to know that I’m okay, and I’m flying back home in a few days. Um…” he falls silent for a long moment. “I would really like to see you. Need to get some things off my chest… I should probably start paying you for this shit, shouldn’t I? Just call me back and we can get a salary figured out. Okay. Bye.”

The answering machine beeps, and you’re left alone inside the lonely maw of your living room.

A message with his signature, his script, his brand of humor. But that wasn’t your Leon. A husk, maybe. A Leon playing pretend. Speaking words he thinks you want to hear, with a voice as empty and void-like as the cavern surrounded by your ribs.

Immediately, you call him back.

He answers on the second ring, and sighs when you greet him.

“What’s going on?” you ask, lowering to the floor in front of the kitchen counter.

Your voice runs thick with concern, and you make no adjustments to hide it. Couldn’t if you tried.

“I was worried when you didn’t pick up. You never go out this late.”

“Leon. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just needed to hear your voice, I guess.”

He won’t tell you now, and that’s okay. Not the kind of conversation to conduct over the phone anyway.

He’s alive and safe and he’s been thinking of you and that’s all you need to know.

“I got your message. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone in time.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I am, but knowing you’re okay is a lot better than sleeping.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s the truth, though. Who else is gonna steal my covers at night?”

“Millions of other people a lot better than me.”

“Please don’t talk like that. He’s my friend, ya know.”

On the other side of the line, Leon breathes out a laugh. “I’m happy to hear that.”

You pretend that your heart doesn’t shatter.

He’s your friend, and that's enough for him. Get over it.

“Well, I should go. Let you sleep. I’ll see you in a few days, right?”

“Right. Take care of yourself, Leon.”

“Always.”

His phone clicks, and the line goes dead.

You have to tell him when he comes to you next.

He’s been hurt enough. You can’t leave things like this. Can’t feed into your bitterness and heartbreak.

He deserves to know.

At seven thirty, on the second Saturday of the month, Leon knocks at your door, and you almost fall over at the sight of him.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, arms held out before him. An attempt to assuage your panic.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He lowers his gaze as you shut the door and step over to him. Furrows his brow when your fingers ghost the edge of a deep bruise beneath his eye, the still-swollen skin.

“I’m fine.”

Peeking from the collar of his shirt, another bruise. A set of stitches along his forearm. A busted lip. More bruises, big and small, twilight blue and sickly green.

You cough out a sob, and the urge to embrace him leaves you clinging to each of his arms, just above the elbow where injury doesn’t mar his skin.

Can’t do this anymore. Can’t see him like this. Can’t share his pain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You aren’t sure if he can understand you through the tears and hiccups, but your heart has effectively shattered inside your chest and your entire being bursts with pain.

A supernova, a landslide, a porcelain plate thrown to the floor.

“I’m okay.” He pulls you to his chest, presses a large hand to the curve of your spine. “Hey, I’m here.”

“I hate seeing you like this. It kills me. It’s killing me.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

You step away from him. Away from his touch, his comfort, his warmth.

Not now. Not like this. Not like this.

Your chest heaves, you still hiccup like a pitiful child, and you seek refuge on the couch. Curl in on yourself to stop the shattering that you’ve always known was inevitable.

“One day, you won’t come back. And the thought of—“ you dry your face with the blanket bunched between the cushions, “of never seeing you again—I can’t—“

His feet step into your vision, and the coffee table creaks as his weight settles upon it.

He took off his shoes.

“Look at me. Please.” You lift your head, and your chest jerks with each inhale. His eyes, so beautiful and expressive, wrung dry of their starshine. “I’m here now. That has to mean something.”

“But why me? Why here?”

“Where else would I be?”

“You have somebody. You should be there, with them.”

He falls silent, stares at you for a long moment. Dissecting, shredding seams, and you fear what he may find.

“I don’t anymore. We’re done.”

“Why?”

He smiles. A pitiful thing, a half-grimace, and your upset settles at the sight.

“It’s… a long story.”

“Well,” you motion to the cushion beside you, “if you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

Everything you do for him, borne from some deep, disastrous need to stay at his side. To prove your worth. To be whatever he needs no matter how badly it hurts.

But he isn’t yours. You have no claim to his heart.

You have to stop.

“That’s okay. It’s in the past now.” He joins you on the couch anyway. “How about a movie? That has to cheer you up.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“No, it still is. We can talk about your salary later.”

You laugh. And you remember why you do this. Why you let your heart break each time he leaves, each time he misses your call, each time he comes to you as the porcelain plate thrown to the floor. Each time you glue the jagged edges back together.

You love him. And that love rends you.

“If I’m being honest, you look like shit. I really think you should try to sleep.”

“Damn. That bad, huh?”

You rise to your feet and tug the blanket free, then toss the ball of fabric into his lap. “Hopefully my lucky couch will heal you right up.”

“You’re gonna make me sleep on the couch tonight? What is this, marriage?”

Boundaries, morelike. The driving of a wedge. Needing space, lest your own emotions suffocate you.

“Yeah, actually. I forged your signature on the papers last week.”

“Not how that works.”

“You act like I’d know.”

He stretches out atop the cushions, adjusts your favorite pillow beneath his head, winces when the blanket snags at his stitches.

You fetch him another, made from smooth cotton. You shut out the lights. You close the curtains. You tuck him in per his own request, like the last time he slept here.

“Sweet dreams, Leon.”

You skitter off to your bedroom.

By the time you finish your nightly ritual—self-care, a shower, curling up beneath the covers, tossing and turning, thinking yourself to death—your bedside clock reads two twenty-three a.m. and the moon glares at you through half-drawn curtains.

Leon stirs in the other room, footsteps pittering across the floor. Growing closer.

You left the door open to listen for him. The nightmares. A call of your name. And a few moments later, the floor of the threshold creaks, and a shadow passes over the bed where you lay.

“I’m awake,” you say, rolling onto your back to stare a hole through the ceiling. Easier for the drywall to be the cause of your problems. “You don’t have to be quiet.”

“Do you ever sleep?” he asks, takes a step into the room, stands there with all the surety of a first swim, a fifty foot dive, a rush into flame.

“A few hours a night. Maybe.”

“It’s been hard for me, too.”

When he makes no move to join you, you lift the edge of the comforter on his side of the bed in silent invitation.

His side.

Listen to yourself.

“Did the couch help?”

The mattress dips beneath his weight, and he rolls over to face you. You do the same. Closer than before, almost nose to nose, and neither of you move. A subconscious craving for company, companionship.

“No. To tell you the truth, I fucking hate that thing.”

Your mouth drops open, and while the shock of his confession rips through you, he grins.

“You slept there for months. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Please. Like you don’t keep any secrets?”

Your mouth shuts with a click of teeth, and you pray he doesn’t notice the viscerality of your reaction. “That’s not what I asked.”

He stares, eyes lidded, skin pallid with exhaustion. You wish to reach for him, to cuddle him against your chest, to cage himself inside your ribs. He’d be safe there.

“I wanted to stay with you.”

“With me? Why?”

“Maybe I just like being near you. At least I know you care.”

“I do care.”

Your chest chokes itself, squeezes around your lungs. Your heart jumps into your throat. The tips of your fingers begin to numb.

It’s time. Your body prepares you for it. For the rejection.

It’s time.

“I care too much,” spoken in whispers, a quiet that you hope he can’t hear. “I’m so lonely when you aren’t here. I can’t sleep, and when I do, I dream about you. I’ve seen you die a hundred different ways.” You close your eyes and pretend. Pretend that you can’t feel his warmth, or his gaze, or his presence at all. You speak to the void, to an empty room, to a no-show audience. “I think the life I’m living now is worse than death.”

“You don’t have to live like this. You know that, right?”

A steady warmth encases the chill of your fingers, places your hand against his chest.

“Then I’d have to let you go. And I’m sorry, but I can’t—I just—“ You open your eyes and bite back tears, and something akin to death curdles in the back of your throat. You owe him this much, after months of hiding the truth away. “I love you, Leon, but you aren’t mine and it’s not right.”

The room chills over in its state of silence. Suffering and long-lasting, a purgatory that leaves you breathless, but he never releases you. Never breaks eye contact.

Instead, he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to a knuckle. Sighs heavy against your skin.

“I’ve never met anybody so oblivious in my entire life. And I’ve met a lot of people.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re in the same exact boat, and our boat’s had a hole in it for a long time. And we’ve been drowning for no reason.”

You hate that he makes you laugh. Now, when the ground threatens to break open beneath you, and you can barely process the words coming from his mouth.

But we’re in the same exact boat.

You told him you love him, and he agrees. The same boat. He’s right there with you.

He loves you, too. He’s been suffering, too.

The puzzle hasn’t been solved. Not in the traditional sense. More like he’s cut them to size and sanded down the edges. Forced the others to shape.

“Let me guess: we both have life jackets on in the scenario.”

“No. Like we both knew how to repair the boat, and if we would’ve talked to each other about it, we could be in Japan right now.”

“With our fixed boat?”

“With our fixed boat.”

The pieces fit but they don’t. Not exact.

“So what you’re saying is…”

“I love you. That’s what I’m saying.”

You heave out a long, frustrated sigh. You brush the hair from his face. Like you’ve been wishing for months. Like you can now.

“Here I was, preparing my own funeral in the event that I die of heartbreak.”

“You really had no idea?”

“Well,” you rise onto an elbow to hover over him, and he turns onto his back. Moonlight crests the bruise on his cheek, pales the color, blurs the edge, and you stroke a tender thumb just beneath it. “When you tell me that you’re already taken for, I’m right to assume that you aren’t falling for someone else.”

He breathes out a laugh through his nose, curls a hand about your wrist. “Yeah, that’s… you’re right. But it wasn’t like that. I mean, I was saving myself for somebody I hadn’t seen in years.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He wets his lips and trails his gaze over the pattern of your ceiling, and you steal the chance to memorize his features. The same face you had seen dozens of times before now, still so beautiful.

You suppose you can look as long as you want. An indulgence that you’ll have to get used to.

“Guilt, maybe. I was young when we met, and we went through hell together. I thought we had something, but I was wrong.”

“You deserved better. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He turns to look at you, eyes reverent, lips stretched into a soft smile. “How much do I owe you this time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

“It’s all part of my charm.”

“And I hate that you’re so right about that.”

#good god lord #i love soft leon #cant wait for the next parts eeeee #jakeyuni’s fic recs #!!#so beautiful

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