sjy - Let's Get Physical! (MARRIAGE LAW AU) - PART 1
A MARRIAGE LAW HARRY POTTER AU BSFS 2 FWB 2 LOVERS FIC!! UNREQUITED LOVE & ANGST HEAVY PART TWO
💌 synopsis!: Jake Sim has always been your best friend.
Until the Ministry forced you into a mandatory marriage law, and suddenly, he’s not just your best friend—he’s your husband that you've secretly been in love with for years.
You’re determined to keep things strictly business. You both agree: this is just a contract. Nothing more. Just physical!
But when every glance lingers too long, when his touch starts to feel too good, when the lines between pretending and wanting blur into something unrecognizable—
What happens when you stop fighting it?
💌 word count!: 25.5K total
💌 release date!: Tuesday, 25th March (Part 2)
💌 content warnings! (MDNI 18+): Friends with benefits (but feelings hit fast and hard), Explicit smut (detailed, emotional, toe-curling), So much tension it physically hurts, Mutual denial, so much longing, Jake pretending this is just casual (he’s lying), Soft-dom!Jake (possessive, needy, a little rough), The “this changes nothing” lie they both tell themselves, unrequited feelings, SO MUCH ANGST! but fluff! but fluff! jake and reader are animal parentsssssss.
-
The owl came at dawn.
You woke to the sharp tap, tap, tap against your window, the early morning light bleeding through your curtains. Sleep still clung to your body, but the incessant tapping forced you upright, rubbing the remnants of last night's exhaustion from your eyes.
For a moment, you hesitated. Everyone in the wizarding world knew what those Ministry owls meant these days. For months, whispers had traveled through the halls of the Ministry, through the tables at the Leaky Cauldron, through hushed conversations among friends. The Magical Unity Act—the marriage law that would pair off eligible witches and wizards "for the greater magical good."
You had hoped, perhaps naively, that you would somehow be exempt.
With a deep breath, you slid open the window. The tawny owl hopped inside, extending its leg where a thick envelope was secured with the Ministry's purple wax seal. Your fingers trembled slightly as you untied it. The owl, clearly under instruction to wait for no response, immediately took flight, as if eager to distance itself from the chaos it was delivering.
The envelope felt unnaturally heavy in your hands. You broke the seal and pulled out the official-looking parchment, your eyes scanning the contents with growing dread.
Dear Ms. Y/N L/N,
By decree of the Magical Unity Act, you have been assigned a compatible match to fulfill your duty to strengthen magical bloodlines. Your presence is required at the Ministry of Magic within 48 hours for the formalization of your union.
Your assigned match: Jake Sim.
Your breath caught in your throat. You read the name again, certain there had been some mistake.
Jake Sim. Your Jake. Your best friend.
The Australian Auror who had crashed into your life three years ago when you'd both been assigned to the same inter-departmental project at the Ministry. The same Jake who now showed up at your flat every Sunday morning with coffee and ridiculous stories from his week. The Jake who knew exactly how you took your tea and which Celestina Warbeck song you secretly loved. The man who'd held your hair back after that disastrous night with Firewhiskey, who'd been there through every promotion and every heartbreak.
Your friendship was the one constant in your life that made sense. And now the Ministry was threatening to complicate everything.
You skimmed the rest of the letter, your stomach sinking further with each line. Cohabitation within 24 hours. Consummation within one year. Conception within two years. Failure to comply would result in "consequences deemed necessary by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
A smaller pamphlet fell from the envelope: "Understanding Your Duties Under the Magical Unity Act." You pushed it aside, unable to process any more information.
Your thoughts were interrupted by another knock—not on your window this time, but on your front door. Three quick raps. You'd know that knock anywhere.
When you opened the door, Jake was standing there, still in yesterday's Auror robes, his dirty-blond hair more disheveled than usual. In his hand was an identical envelope to yours, already opened. His expression was unreadable, but his blue eyes were intense as they met yours.
"So," he said after a moment, "I guess we need to talk."
You stepped aside to let him in, noticing for the first time how he filled the doorway of your small flat—how his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than you remembered. Had he always been so physically present? Or were you just noticing now because of that damned letter?
Jake made his way to your kitchen with the familiarity of someone who had been there hundreds of times before. He put on the kettle—a Muggle appliance he'd always found fascinating—and reached for two mugs from your cabinet.
"You've read it all?" he asked, his Australian accent slightly more pronounced than usual—something that happened when he was stressed.
You nodded, leaning against the counter. "You?"
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's... a lot."
For the first time since you'd known him, Jake seemed at a loss for words. This was the man who could talk his way out of anything, who always had a joke ready, who never met an awkward silence he couldn't fill. Now, he was carefully measuring tea leaves as if it were the most complex potion he'd ever attempted.
"We don't have to do this," you said suddenly. "We could leave the country. Go to Australia. Your family would help us, right?"
Jake looked up, something softening in his expression. "Already planning our escape, are you?" The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I did check the fine print. The law applies to any British magical citizen, regardless of location. They'd find us. Besides," he added, sliding a mug of tea toward you, "my mum would have us actually married within a week if I showed up with you in tow."
You accepted the tea, noticing he'd made it exactly how you liked it—strong, with just a splash of milk. Of course he knew. Jake noticed everything.
"So what do we do?" you asked, hating how small your voice sounded.
Jake leaned against the opposite counter, considering you with those clear blue eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—that familiar, reassuring smile that had gotten you through countless difficult days.
"Look," he said, "we've always been good together, haven't we? This isn't gonna be bad."
You stared at him incredulously. "Jake, they're forcing us to get married."
"To each other," he pointed out, as if that was the important detail. "Not to strangers. Not to people we hate. To each other." He took a sip of his tea. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
There was something about the way he said it—so confident, so assured—that made you want to believe him. That was Jake's gift. He made the impossible sound simple. Made chaos feel manageable. Made you believe, even when everything was falling apart, that somehow it would all work out.
"Where would we even live?" you asked, grasping for practical concerns to focus on.
"My place is bigger," Jake said with a shrug. "Better security wards too, given my job. Unless you want one of those Ministry-assigned flats?" He grimaced. "I've heard they're designed for 'optimal marital harmony,' whatever that means."
You couldn't help but smile at his expression. "No, your place makes sense."
Jake nodded, seemingly relieved by this small agreement. "See? First problem solved. We're on a roll."
As he continued outlining a plan—how you'd move your things tomorrow, how you'd go to the Ministry together for the ceremony, how you'd register your address change within the required seven days—you found yourself watching him with a strange new awareness.
This was Jake—your Jake—but suddenly you were noticing things you'd trained yourself to ignore. The way his Auror robes fit across his shoulders. The strong line of his jaw, now sporting a day's worth of stubble. The way his hands moved expressively as he talked.
"Y/N?" Jake was looking at you questioningly. "You still with me?"
You blinked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, sorry. Just... processing."
He studied you for a moment, then set down his mug and moved closer, pulling you into a hug. It was a familiar gesture—Jake had always been physically affectionate—but something felt different now. You were hyperaware of his chest pressed against yours, of his hand at the small of your back, of the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly him.
"We've got this," he murmured into your hair. "I promise."
And despite everything, despite the Ministry's interference and the uncertain future ahead, you found yourself relaxing into his embrace, believing him.
That was the thing about Jake. He made you believe.
What you didn't tell him—what you couldn't tell him—was that you'd been half in love with him for years. That you'd carefully constructed boundaries around those feelings, buried them deep where they couldn't threaten the friendship you valued above all else.
Now those boundaries were about to be tested in ways you'd never imagined.
As Jake pulled away, his smile warm and reassuring, you realized with sudden clarity that you were in serious trouble. Because playing house with Jake Sim might just break your heart in ways the Ministry could never comprehend.
-
The Department of Magical Unions was located on Level 4 of the Ministry, tucked between the Department of International Magical Cooperation and a series of conference rooms. You'd passed by it countless times during your years working at the Ministry, never giving it a second thought. Now, it felt like walking to the gallows.
Jake stood beside you in the polished elevator, his fingers brushing against yours occasionally—whether by accident or design, you couldn't tell. He'd dressed more formally than usual in dark blue robes that brought out his eyes, his normally unruly hair somewhat tamed for the occasion. You'd opted for simple formal robes yourself, refusing to treat this like a real wedding.
Because it wasn't. Not really.
"You okay?" Jake murmured as the elevator announced "Level 4."
You nodded, not trusting your voice. His hand found the small of your back as you stepped out, guiding you forward. The touch was casual, familiar—Jake had always been tactile—but now it sent a current of awareness through you that was anything but platonic.
The waiting area outside the Department was filled with other couples—some looking resigned, others tearful, a few seemingly content with their matches. You recognized a few faces from the Ministry, including Jay Park from Magical Law Enforcement, looking as composed and unreadable as ever beside a witch you didn't know.
Jake followed your gaze and nodded in Jay's direction. The other man returned the acknowledgment with a slight incline of his head.
"Poor Jay," Jake whispered, leaning close enough that his breath tickled your ear. "Looks like he's heading to a funeral, not a wedding."
Despite your nerves, you had to stifle a laugh. It was true—Park Jongseong's expression was solemn, his posture rigid. His match looked equally uncomfortable.
"Sim?" A witch in formal Ministry robes called out, consulting her clipboard. "Jake Sim and Y/N L/N?"
Jake squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Show time."
The ceremony room was coldly efficient—no flowers, no music, just a small space with a desk where a Ministry official waited with a stack of documents and a blood-binding quill. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with legal tomes and records, and the only personal touch was a small plant on the windowsill that looked like it had seen better days.
"Mr. Sim, Ms. L/N, please be seated," the official said without looking up. She was an older witch with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, her expression suggesting she'd performed this ceremony dozens of times already today. "I am Madame Greengrass, and I will be officiating your union under the Magical Unity Act."
You sat in the offered chairs, Jake taking your hand in his. His thumb traced small circles on your skin—a gesture so intimate it made your breath catch.
Madame Greengrass began reciting the terms of the Magical Unity Act in a monotone voice, occasionally pausing to ensure you understood the "privileges and obligations" of your new arrangement.
"Furthermore, it is required that both parties cohabitate within twenty-four hours of this ceremony," she continued. "The Ministry has prepared suitable accommodations for all matches, though you may petition to reside elsewhere if the dwelling meets certain requirements."
"We'll be staying at my flat," Jake interjected smoothly. "I've already prepared the paperwork for your approval."
The witch nodded, accepting the parchment he handed her. "Very well. You will need to register this address with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within seven days." She continued with her recitation. "The marriage must be consummated within one year of today's date."
You felt heat rush to your face at the clinical discussion of such an intimate act. Jake's hand tightened almost imperceptibly around yours.
"Additionally," Madame Greengrass continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort, "as part of the act's goal to strengthen magical bloodlines, you are expected to conceive a child within two years. Failure to comply with any of these requirements will result in further legal interventions."
Jake leaned closer to you, his lips nearly touching your ear. "Bit presumptuous, aren't they?" he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of humor despite the circumstances. "Should we tell them we haven't even had our first date?"
You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing inappropriately. Trust Jake to find humor even now.
Madame Greengrass cleared her throat pointedly. "If you are quite finished, Mr. Sim, we will proceed with the binding."
She placed a formal contract between you, the text glowing faintly with magical enforcement charms. Beside it, she set the blood-binding quill—a darkly gleaming instrument that would use your own blood to sign, making the contract magically binding.
"By signing this document," she said, "you are agreeing to all conditions and responsibilities dictated by the Magical Unity Act. The magic within the contract will recognize your commitment and seal your union. Mr. Sim, if you would sign first."
Jake took the quill, his eyes meeting yours for a moment—searching, questioning. You gave a small nod, and he signed his name with a flourish. You noticed him wince slightly as the quill cut into the back of his hand, using his blood as ink.
When he finished, he passed the quill to you, his fingers grazing yours. "Your turn, almost-wife."
You took the quill, its weight heavier than expected. The scratch of the nib against parchment was accompanied by a sharp sting on the back of your hand as it carved your signature into your skin. When you finished, the parchment glowed gold for a moment, sealing the magic.
"Now, I will need you to join hands for the binding spell," Madame Greengrass instructed.
Jake turned to face you, taking both your hands in his. His expression had softened, his usual humor replaced by something more serious, more intense. You were suddenly very aware of how blue his eyes were, how his thumbs were gently caressing your palms.
Madame Greengrass raised her wand, drawing a complex pattern in the air above your joined hands. Golden threads of magic began to weave around your wrists, pulsing with light.
"With this spell, I bind you in magical union," she intoned. "May your magic recognize your partner, may your bond strengthen with time, may your union fulfill the purpose for which it was created."
The golden threads tightened, then seemed to sink beneath your skin. A strange warmth spread up your arms, across your chest, settling somewhere in the vicinity of your heart. You gasped softly at the sensation—not unpleasant, but foreign and intimate in a way you hadn't expected.
Jake's eyes widened slightly, and you knew he felt it too—this magical connection, this artificial bond the Ministry had forced upon you.
"It is done," Madame Greengrass announced, lowering her wand. "By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic and the Magical Unity Act, I pronounce you bonded in magical marriage." She tapped the contract, which duplicated itself. "Your copy of the marriage certificate. Congratulations."
The word fell flat in the sterile room.
Jake took the certificate, tucking it into his robes. "That's it?" he asked, sounding almost disappointed. "No 'you may kiss the bride'?"
Madame Greengrass gave him a withering look. "That is not part of the official ceremony, Mr. Sim. However, you are now legally wed, so such gestures are permitted if you wish." She began gathering her papers. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have seven more unions to perform before lunch."
With that, she swept from the room, leaving you and Jake alone with your newly minted marriage certificate and the lingering sensation of magic humming beneath your skin.
Jake turned to you, a familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, Mrs. Sim, ready to go home?"
The name hit you like a Bludger to the chest. Mrs. Sim. You were married. To Jake. Your best friend. Your—
Your thoughts scattered as Jake stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Hey," he said softly, "you okay?"
You nodded, trying to find your voice. "It's just... a lot."
His expression softened. "I know." Then, with a gentleness that made your heart ache, he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. "But we've got this. Together."
The simple gesture, so tender and protective, threatened to unravel you completely. This was Jake—your Jake—but there was something different now, something changed by the golden magic still warming your veins.
As you left the Ministry, his hand found yours again, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that belied the newness of your situation. In the atrium, you passed Jay and his match, heading in for their own ceremony. Jake nodded to them, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.
"There's no way I'm living in one of those Ministry-designed love nests," he said as you stepped into the late afternoon sunlight outside the Ministry. "I've heard they've got all sorts of monitoring charms and 'romantic enhancements.'" He made air quotes with his free hand, his expression comically disgusted.
You couldn't help but laugh, some of the tension finally breaking. "What exactly are 'romantic enhancements'?"
"No idea, but I don't want the Ministry deciding when our lights should dim and the mood music should start." He grinned, looking more like himself than he had all day. "Ready to see your new home, wife?"
The word sent another jolt through you, but you managed a smile. "Lead the way, husband."
As you walked toward the Apparition point, you were acutely aware of his hand in yours, of the magical bond humming quietly between you, of the certificate in his pocket that declared you legally wed.
This wasn't how you'd imagined marriage—not even close. But as Jake pulled you close for Side-Along Apparition, his arm secure around your waist, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
You just had to make sure your inconvenient feelings didn't complicate things any further than they already were.
-
The Ministry had given you exactly twenty-four hours to relocate to a shared living space.
You stood in the doorway of Jake's flat—your flat now, technically—a shrunken trunk of belongings clutched in your palm, still trying to process how quickly your life had transformed. Yesterday, you'd been independent, single, living in your own cozy space in London. Today, you were married to your best friend and moving into his home because a piece of parchment with a purple seal said you had to.
"Home sweet home," Jake announced, stepping aside to let you in. His Australian accent seemed more pronounced than usual, something that happened when he was either excited or nervous. You weren't sure which applied right now.
Jake's flat was surprisingly spacious for London—a large open living area with comfortable, if slightly mismatched, furniture, a decent kitchen (rarely used to its full potential), and a hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. You'd been here countless times before—for dinners, for movie nights, for those occasions when you'd both had too much Firewhiskey and you'd crashed on his couch. But now, stepping through his front door with your possessions ready to be integrated with his, it felt entirely different.
This was home now. Your home. With Jake.
"I cleared out some space in the closets and drawers," Jake said, gesturing vaguely toward the bedrooms down the hall. "Left bedroom can be yours. It gets better morning light."
You nodded, grateful he wasn't suggesting you share a bedroom immediately. "Thanks. That's... thoughtful."
"I figured we've got three months before the Ministry forces us to share, so might as well be comfortable until then." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, a habit when he was overthinking something. "Unless you want to just get it over with now? I can take the couch—"
"No," you said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "The separate rooms plan is good. For now."
Jake nodded, looking almost relieved. An awkward silence fell between you—something that had never happened in all your years of friendship. You'd always been able to talk about anything, fill any silence with comfortable banter. Now, standing in what was legally your shared home, neither of you seemed to know what to say.
"I'll... go unpack," you finally said, moving toward your designated bedroom.
"I'll make tea," Jake offered, immediately heading for the kitchen, seemingly grateful for the excuse to do something with his hands.
Your new bedroom was simple but nice—a double bed with navy blue covers, a wooden dresser, and a small desk by the window that overlooked the busy London street below. Jake had indeed cleared space for you, emptying half the closet and the top two dresser drawers. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand—peonies, your favorite. The small gesture made your heart twist uncomfortably.
This was so typical of Jake—thoughtful in ways that made it impossible not to care for him. Which was precisely the problem, wasn't it? You'd been fighting against caring for him too much for years.
You placed your trunk at the foot of the bed and enlarged it with a tap of your wand. With a deep breath, you began the process of unpacking your life into this new space, trying not to think about how permanent it all felt.
By the time you'd finished arranging your clothes in the closet and placing a few personal items around the room, the scent of tea and something delicious wafted through the flat. You followed the aroma to the kitchen, where Jake was stirring something on the stove—a rarity, as his cooking skills were famously questionable.
"Are you... cooking?" you asked, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.
Jake turned, a wooden spoon in hand, looking almost sheepish. "Don't sound so shocked. I do occasionally use my kitchen for its intended purpose."
"Since when?"
"Since my wife moved in and I wanted to make a good impression." He winked, the word 'wife' rolling off his tongue with surprising ease, as if he'd been saying it for years instead of hours.
The casual way he said it—my wife—sent a flutter through your stomach that you immediately tried to squash. This wasn't real. This was a legal arrangement, nothing more.
"It's just pasta," Jake continued, oblivious to your internal turmoil. "Nothing fancy. But I reckoned we could both use a decent meal after that nightmare of a ceremony."
You nodded, moving to help set the table—a familiar action in an unfamiliar context. As you reached for plates from the cabinet above the sink, Jake moved behind you to grab glasses, his chest briefly pressing against your back. The contact was fleeting, casual—the kind of physical proximity that had never registered before. But now, every brush of his arm, every accidental touch, felt charged with a new awareness.
You both settled at his small kitchen table with plates of surprisingly edible pasta, and Jake poured wine into the glasses.
"To surviving the Ministry's idea of romance," he said, raising his glass in a toast.
You clinked your glass against his. "To making the best of a ridiculous situation."
The wine helped ease some of the tension, and gradually, you found yourselves slipping back into something resembling your normal dynamic—Jake telling stories about his latest Auror training mishap, you filling him in on the office gossip from International Magical Cooperation. It was almost like any other night spent together, except for the gold band now adorning your left hand and the Ministry pamphlet sitting unopened on the counter, its bold title visible even from across the room:
A Guide to Magical Marital Expectations: Understanding the Unity Act.
Jake followed your gaze to the pamphlet and grimaced. "We should probably go over the rest of the rules at some point."
"Not tonight," you said quickly. You'd had enough reality for one day.
"Agreed." He topped off your wine. "Tonight we celebrate our newfound domestic bliss."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. That was Jake—always finding humor in the darkest situations, always making you feel like everything would be okay even when it clearly wasn't.
After dinner, you both moved to the living room, settling on opposite ends of his worn leather sofa. The distance between you felt deliberate in a way it never had before. Jake flicked his wand at the fireplace, igniting the logs with a warm, crackling flame.
"So," he said after a moment, "we should probably discuss some ground rules. For... coexisting."
You nodded, grateful he was addressing the elephant in the room. "Like what?"
"Well, bathroom schedule, for one. I usually shower in the mornings, but I can switch to evenings if that works better for you."
"Mornings are fine," you said. "I prefer evenings anyway."
Jake nodded, seeming relieved by this easy compromise. "Kitchen? I'm not much of a cook, as you know, but feel free to use anything. Mi casa es su casa, literally now."
You smiled at that. "I'll cook sometimes. But we should split food costs."
"Deal."
The conversation continued in this vein—practical matters, household logistics, the mundane details of sharing a living space. It was almost comforting, focusing on these ordinary concerns instead of the larger, more complex reality of your situation.
Until Jake hesitated, then added, "And, um, about the bedroom situation..."
Your heart rate picked up. "What about it?"
Jake set his wine glass down, his expression growing more serious. "According to that pamphlet they gave us, we're supposed to share a bedroom by the third month. Something about 'promoting a natural and successful union' or whatever bureaucratic nonsense they're spouting."
You'd skimmed that part in your initial reading of the letter. Clause 7.3 - Marital Cohabitation. "Yeah, I saw that."
"We don't have to worry about that yet," Jake said quickly. "We've got three months to figure it out."
You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the thought of sharing a bed with Jake. "Right. Three months."
Jake watched you for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he seemed to shake himself and smiled again, the familiar, easy smile that had always made you feel like everything would be okay.
"Look at us, being all mature and discussing domestic arrangements," he said lightly. "Next thing you know, we'll be arguing over whose turn it is to walk the dog."
You raised an eyebrow. "We don't have a dog."
Jake's eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. "But we could! I've always wanted one, you know. Just never home enough to justify it. But now there'd be two of us..."
Despite everything, you found yourself laughing. "We've been married for all of six hours and you're already trying to adopt a dog?"
"What better way to make this place feel like a real home?" Jake countered, his enthusiasm infectious. "Plus, the Ministry can hardly fault us for trying to create a proper family environment, right?"
Before you could respond, a knock at the door interrupted your conversation. Jake's expression immediately shifted to alert, his Auror training kicking in. Few people had access to his building, and he wasn't expecting company.
"Stay here," he said quietly, drawing his wand as he moved toward the door.
You ignored him, of course, drawing your own wand and following a few steps behind. Jake peered through the peephole, then his shoulders relaxed.
"It's Jay," he said, lowering his wand and opening the door to reveal Park Jongseong, Jake's colleague from the Ministry's legal department. He looked as impeccably put together as always in dark robes, his expression carefully neutral.
"Sorry to interrupt," Jay said, his voice measured. "Ministry sent me with your official registration forms. They need to be filed by tomorrow to confirm your chosen address instead of Ministry housing."
Jake invited him in, and Jay handed over a manila envelope stamped with the Ministry seal. "Congratulations, by the way," he added, though his tone suggested this was a formality rather than a genuine sentiment.
"Thanks," Jake replied with a wry smile. "You're next, from what I hear?"
Something flickered across Jay's usually stoic expression. "Tomorrow."
"Poor mate," Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, at least we'll all be miserable together, right?"
Jay didn't respond to that, instead turning to you with a polite nod. "The forms need both signatures and must be returned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within seven days. I'd suggest not delaying."
"Always the stickler for regulations," Jake teased his friend.
A faint smile finally crossed Jay's face. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble, Sim."
After Jay left, promising to check in after his own ceremony tomorrow, you and Jake sat at the kitchen table to review the forms. They were tediously detailed—requiring information about your living quarters, sleeping arrangements, even asking for a floor plan of the flat.
"This is invasive," you muttered, reading through the questions.
Jake nodded grimly. "Welcome to marriage, Ministry-style."
You were halfway through the paperwork when a soft whimpering sound came from outside the flat's window. Jake looked up, head tilted like a curious dog himself.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, already moving toward the balcony door.
You followed, curious, as Jake stepped onto the small balcony overlooking the street below. The whimpering came again, louder now, and you both looked down to see a small dog huddled against the building's steps, shivering in the light rain that had begun to fall.
Without hesitation, Jake was heading for the front door. "Poor little mate's out in the rain."
You grabbed an umbrella and followed him down the three flights of stairs to the building's entrance. Outside, Jake was already crouched down, speaking softly to the frightened dog—a small, scruffy thing with mud-caked fur that looked to be some kind of terrier mix.
"Hey there," Jake murmured, extending his hand slowly. "You're alright. No one's gonna hurt you."
The dog cowered, tail tucked between its legs, but didn't run away. Its big brown eyes darted between you and Jake, wary but hopeful.
"He's scared," you said softly, crouching down beside Jake. "And hungry, by the look of him."
Jake nodded, still speaking in that gentle tone you rarely heard him use. "Think we've got some of that leftover chicken in the fridge?"
You smiled at the 'we.' "I think we do."
It took some coaxing and a bit of the chicken Jake ran back upstairs to fetch, but eventually, the small dog allowed Jake to pick him up. You wrapped him in your jacket as the rain began to fall harder, and together, you carried him up to the flat.
In the light of the kitchen, you could see the dog was indeed half-starved, his ribs visible beneath the wet fur. But his tail had begun to wag tentatively as Jake carefully dried him with a towel, murmuring reassurances.
"There you go," Jake said, offering another small piece of chicken. "That's better, isn't it?"
Something about the scene—Jake sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, tenderly caring for this small, vulnerable creature—made your heart twist painfully in your chest. This was a side of Jake that few people saw: beneath the confident Auror exterior, beneath the jokes and easy charm, he had an incredible capacity for gentleness.
"We can't just put him back outside," you said, though you knew Jake wouldn't suggest it.
"Of course not," Jake agreed immediately. "He's staying with us." He glanced up at you, a hint of his usual mischief returning. "See? I told you we needed a dog."
You laughed softly. "I don't think this is what the Ministry had in mind when they paired us."
"All the more reason to keep him," Jake replied with a grin. "What should we name him?"
The dog, having finished the chicken, was now looking between you with much more interest, his tail wagging with growing confidence.
"Padfoot?" you suggested, recalling the famous Animagus from wizarding history.
Jake made a face. "Too obvious for a wizard's dog." He studied the small terrier, who was now cautiously exploring the kitchen floor. "What about Snitch? He's small and quick."
"We're not naming our dog after a Quidditch ball."
"Our dog?" Jake's eyebrows shot up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So we're keeping him?"
You hadn't meant to say it like that—our dog, like this was all real and not just a government-mandated arrangement. But looking at the hopeful dog now licking Jake's fingers, and at Jake's expectant expression, you couldn't imagine any other outcome.
"I guess we are," you conceded with a smile. "But not Snitch."
"Bludger?"
"Even worse."
This continued for nearly an hour, both of you tossing increasingly ridiculous names back and forth while the dog, apparently content with his sudden change in fortune, curled up between you on the kitchen floor.
"What about Mischief?" Jake suggested finally. "Because he's managed to cause plenty already, and he's only been here an hour."
You looked down at the small dog, now sleeping peacefully against your leg. There was something fitting about it.
"Mischief," you tried. The dog's ear twitched. "I think he likes it."
Jake's smile was triumphant. "Mischief it is, then." He reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the dog's back. "See? Already building our little family."
His touch was warm, casual, and yet it sent a current of awareness through you that was anything but. This—sitting on the kitchen floor late at night, a dog between you, Jake's hand on yours—felt dangerously close to the domestic fantasy you'd occasionally allowed yourself to imagine.
"We should finish those forms," you said, carefully extracting your hand. "And get some sleep. It's been a long day."
Jake nodded, though something in his expression suggested he'd noticed your withdrawal. "Where should Mischief sleep?"
You looked down at the contentedly sleeping dog. "He seems pretty comfortable here."
"We could put a blanket down for him," Jake suggested. "Though he might get lonely out here by himself."
You knew what he was angling for. "You want him to sleep in your room, don't you?"
Jake's smile was sheepish. "Just until he's settled in. He's had a rough night."
You shook your head, unable to suppress a fond smile. "Fine. But you're responsible for taking him out in the morning."
"Deal."
Later, as you got ready for bed in your separate rooms, you heard Jake moving around in the bathroom—the sound of running water, the soft pad of his feet on the tile floor, followed by the clickety-click of Mischief's paws trailing after him. Such intimate, domestic sounds. You wondered if you'd ever get used to them.
You were just settling into bed when there was a soft knock at your door.
"Come in," you called, sitting up.
Jake opened the door, leaning against the frame with Mischief at his heels. He'd changed into sleep pants, his chest bare—a sight you'd seen before, but now it sent heat rushing to your face. Droplets of water still clung to his hair from his shower, one trailing down his neck to his collarbone.
"Just wanted to say goodnight," he said, his voice softer than usual. "And check if you need anything else."
You shook your head, trying to keep your eyes on his face. "I'm good. Thanks."
He nodded, but didn't leave immediately. "Listen, Y/N... I know this isn't what either of us planned. But I meant what I said earlier. We'll figure it out."
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. "I know we will."
Jake smiled, a gentle, private smile you weren't sure you'd seen before. "Goodnight, then. Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Jake."
He closed the door softly, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the unfamiliar sounds of someone else moving around on the other side of the wall. From beyond your door came Jake's footsteps, the creak of his bedroom door, the muffled thump of him dropping onto his own bed, followed by what could only be Mischief jumping up to join him.
So close, yet separate. For now.
Three months, you reminded yourself. You had three months before you'd have to figure out the shared bedroom situation. Three months to get used to this strange new reality. Three months to strengthen your defenses against the feelings you'd spent years carefully containing.
But as you drifted towards sleep, one thought kept circling in your mind: how much harder it would be to maintain those defenses now that Jake was no longer just your friend, but your husband in every legal sense. Now that you'd be waking up to his sleepy smiles and bedhead, sharing meals and living space, and apparently, co-parenting a dog.
The Ministry might have forced you into this marriage, but they couldn't force your hearts to align. And that, you reflected as sleep finally claimed you, might prove to be the most painful part of all. Because while Jake saw this as an inconvenient arrangement between friends, you'd been half in love with him for years.
And now you were his wife in name, but nothing more.
-
Two weeks after moving in with Jake, you were just settling into a morning routine. You'd discovered Jake was serious about his pre-work coffee ritual—a complex process involving specialty beans from Australia and a manual brewing method that seemed unnecessarily elaborate but produced admittedly excellent results. In exchange for a cup of his liquid perfection each morning, you'd taken over making breakfast, finding a strange comfort in the domesticity of it all.
This morning, you were flipping pancakes while Jake leaned against the counter, still in his sleep pants, watching Mischief devour his breakfast with typical enthusiasm. The small dog had settled in remarkably well, already acting like he'd always lived with you. His formerly matted fur was now clean and soft, and he'd gained enough weight that his ribs no longer showed. He followed Jake everywhere, though he'd developed a habit of sleeping at the foot of your bed for a few hours each night before inevitably returning to Jake's room.
"We should take him to a vet healer," you said, sliding a pancake onto Jake's plate. "Make sure he's healthy."
Jake nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "I've got a mate in the Magical Creatures Department who specializes in companion animals. I'll owl him today."
You were about to respond when a sharp, official knock came at the door. Three precise raps that immediately set Mischief barking.
Jake stiffened, suddenly alert in a way that reminded you of his Auror training. "We're not expecting anyone, are we?"
You shook your head, already knowing what this was. The Ministry had mentioned "regular compliance checks" in the marriage packet, but you hadn't expected one so soon.
Jake set down his coffee and moved to the door, picking up Mischief on the way to quiet him. He peered through the peephole, then let out a soft groan.
"Ministry," he confirmed, looking back at you. "Official robes and clipboard. Ready for this?"
No, you weren't ready. You were wearing Jake's old Quidditch t-shirt over sleep shorts, your hair was a mess, and your left sock had a hole in it. But you nodded anyway. "As I'll ever be."
Jake opened the door to reveal a severe-looking witch in plum-colored robes, her dark hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to be stretching her skin. She held an enchanted clipboard that was floating just beside her right hand, a quill poised above it.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sim?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question. "Matilda Fairweather, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Marriage Compliance Division. I'm here for your first home inspection."
Jake shifted into what you'd mentally labeled his "professional charm" mode—the disarming smile and relaxed posture he used when dealing with authority figures.
"Good morning, Ms. Fairweather. We weren't expecting you quite so early." He stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. "Please, come in."
The woman stepped into your flat, her critical gaze immediately sweeping the space. The quill beside her began scribbling notes without her touching it.
"Surprise inspections are standard procedure, Mr. Sim. It allows us to observe authentic living conditions." Her eyes landed on Mischief, who was now tucked under Jake's arm, watching her suspiciously. "A pet. Interesting. Not mentioned in your registration paperwork."
"Recent addition," Jake explained smoothly. "We're still completing the updated forms."
She made a small "hmm" sound that somehow conveyed both skepticism and disapproval. "I'll need to see all rooms, examine your living arrangements, and conduct a brief interview. Standard procedure."
You nodded, suddenly very aware of the domesticity of the scene—breakfast half-prepared, both of you in sleepwear, Mischief creating the picture of a small family morning. At least this part would look convincing.
"Of course," you said, finding your voice. "Would you like coffee first? We were just having breakfast."
"No, thank you. I prefer to conduct inspections efficiently." She glanced down at her clipboard. "I'll begin with the tour."
For the next twenty minutes, Ms. Fairweather inspected every inch of your flat, making notes about everything from the arrangement of furniture to the contents of your bathroom cabinet. She lingered particularly long in the bedrooms, noting with obvious disapproval that you were clearly using separate rooms.
"I see you've maintained distinct sleeping quarters," she observed, watching her quill scratch rapidly across the parchment. "You are aware of Clause 7.3 of the Magical Unity Act?"
Jake, who had been following her with Mischief still in his arms, nodded. "The shared bedroom requirement. Yes, we're aware."
"It is required that both parties sleep within the same quarters by the third month of marriage," she recited, as if reading directly from the manual. "You have approximately two months and two weeks remaining before this arrangement will be considered non-compliant."
The way she said it—clinical, impersonal—made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. The thought of sharing a bedroom with Jake was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying, and having it discussed so coldly made it worse somehow.
"We're aware of the timeline," you said, perhaps a bit more sharply than intended.
Ms. Fairweather's eyebrows raised slightly, but she made no comment, simply writing something else on her clipboard.
"The Ministry will be checking, and there are magical ways to verify compliance," she added, her tone making it clear this wasn't an idle threat. "Now, if you'll both join me in the living area, we can proceed with the interview portion."
You and Jake exchanged a glance as you followed her back to the living room. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, but there was tension around his eyes. This was real. This was happening.
Ms. Fairweather seated herself primly on the edge of your sofa, clipboard hovering beside her. "Please, sit."
You both sat across from her, Jake still holding Mischief, who had decided the Ministry official was definitely an enemy and was growling softly.
"First, I'll need to assess the progress of your marital integration," she began. "How would you describe your adjustment to cohabitation?"
Jake answered smoothly, his hand finding yours in what appeared to be a natural gesture of affection. "It's been surprisingly easy. We were close friends before the arrangement, so there's already a foundation of compatibility." His thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a sensation so distracting you almost missed his next words. "Y/N is remarkably adaptable."
"Is that so?" Ms. Fairweather turned her sharp gaze to you. "And how would you describe Mr. Sim as a husband so far?"
The word 'husband' still felt foreign in relation to Jake, but you forced yourself to sound natural. "He's considerate. Makes sure I have space while still... making me feel welcome." You were painfully aware of his hand still holding yours, warming your skin. "He's been very supportive through the transition."
Ms. Fairweather's quill continued to scratch away, recording everything. "And your physical compatibility? The Ministry has found that early physical affection is a strong indicator of successful pairings."
Heat rushed to your face, and beside you, Jake stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"We're taking that aspect at our own pace," Jake said, his voice still casual though his grip on your hand had tightened slightly. "But we have no concerns in that department."
The way he said it—confident, almost suggestive—made your heart rate pick up. For a moment, you could almost believe he meant it.
"I see." Ms. Fairweather made another note. "The consummation requirement must be fulfilled within one year of your marriage date. You understand this is magically binding and will be verified?"
"We're aware," Jake replied, his voice cooler now.
The rest of the interview continued in this vein—invasive questions about your relationship, your future plans, your compatibility—all delivered with clinical detachment. Throughout it all, Jake maintained a convincing performance of a man adjusting well to marriage, occasionally touching your arm or smiling at you in ways that felt almost real.
By the time Ms. Fairweather finally stood to leave, you felt emotionally drained.
"Your compliance status is provisionally acceptable," she announced, consulting her now-filled clipboard. "However, I must remind you that the shared bedroom requirement is not optional. The Ministry has found that physical proximity is essential for developing the bonds necessary for successful magical offspring."
Jake's jaw tightened at the mention of offspring, but his voice remained level. "We understand."
"Excellent. You'll receive notice of your next inspection in due course." She paused at the door. "Oh, and do register the dog properly. Unregistered magical dependents can result in additional scrutiny."
The moment the door closed behind her, Jake's shoulders slumped, and he let Mischief down to the floor. The dog immediately darted to the door, sniffing suspiciously around the frame as if ensuring the intruder was truly gone.
"Well," Jake said after a moment, running a hand through his hair, "that was..."
"Invasive? Uncomfortable? Dehumanizing?" you supplied.
"I was going to say 'a bloody nightmare,' but yours work too." He gave you a weary smile, then glanced down at Mischief, who had returned to sit protectively at his feet. "Sorry about the hand-holding and everything. I figured we should look... you know."
"Like we're not completely repulsed by each other?" you offered, trying for humor to mask how much his touch had affected you.
Jake's laugh seemed a little forced. "Right. Exactly."
An awkward silence fell between you—something that was happening more frequently since the wedding. It was as if the easy rhythm you'd always shared had been disrupted, replaced by this strange new awareness.
"The bedroom thing," Jake finally said, staring down at Mischief rather than meeting your eyes. "We've got time to figure it out, but... she wasn't kidding about them checking."
"I know." You swallowed, trying to sound casual. "We have options. You could take the couch. Or we could alternate."
Jake shook his head. "They'd know. Ministry's got ways of tracking these things." He hesitated, then finally looked up at you. "We could share. The bed's big enough. It wouldn't have to be... weird."
The thought of sharing a bed with Jake—feeling the heat of his body beside you, hearing his breathing as you fell asleep, waking up to find him next to you—sent a flutter of panic and something else through your stomach.
"Right," you said, your voice slightly higher than normal. "Not weird at all."
Jake studied your face for a moment, then sighed. "Look, we've got time. Let's not worry about it right now." He glanced at the clock and grimaced. "I've got to get ready for work. Robards will have my head if I'm late again."
As he disappeared into the bathroom, you sank onto the couch, Mischief immediately jumping up to lay his head on your lap. You scratched behind his ears absently, your mind still replaying the inspection.
What had struck you most wasn't the invasive questions or the clinical assessment of your marriage. It was how easily Jake had slipped into the role of attentive husband. How natural it had seemed when he held your hand or touched your shoulder. How, for brief moments, you'd almost forgotten it was all for show.
And that was dangerous. Because the line between pretending and wishing was already far too thin, and you weren't sure how much longer you could walk it without falling.
-
The third week of your marriage to Jake brought an unexpected heat wave to London. The flat, charming in most weather, became stifling as the summer sun beat down relentlessly on the windows. Even cooling charms struggled to keep up, dissipating after an hour and requiring constant renewal.
You'd come home from work early, desperate to escape the suffocating Ministry building where the ancient ventilation charms had failed spectacularly. The flat was quiet—Jake wouldn't be home from his Auror shift for at least an hour—so you took the opportunity to indulge in a cold shower, letting the water wash away the day's sweat and frustration.
After your shower, dressed in nothing but a thin cotton slip that was the coolest thing you owned, you sprawled across your bed with a book, Mischief curled at your feet. The small dog had become a comfort in the strange new reality of your marriage, a neutral third party who demanded attention from both of you equally.
You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, the flat's front door was closing and Mischief was scrambling off the bed, nails clicking against the floor as he raced to greet Jake.
"Hey, buddy," Jake's voice drifted down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of him cooing nonsense to the dog. It made you smile despite yourself—tough Auror Jake Sim, baby-talking to a terrier.
You stretched and sat up, realizing with a start that the door to your bedroom was wide open, offering a direct view into the hallway. You were about to get up and close it when Jake appeared in the doorway, Mischief at his heels.
"Hey, you're home early—" he began, then stopped abruptly, his eyes widening slightly as they took in your state of undress.
The thin slip had ridden up during your nap, exposing a significant portion of your thighs. The fabric, made nearly transparent by lingering dampness from your shower, clung to your body in ways that left little to the imagination.
For a long moment, Jake just stared, something flashing in his eyes that made heat pool low in your stomach. Then he seemed to catch himself, quickly averting his gaze.
"Sorry," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "Didn't realize you were... I'll just—" He gestured vaguely back toward the hallway, already stepping away.
"It's fine," you said quickly, tugging the slip down and grabbing a throw blanket to drape over your legs. "I fell asleep. How was work?"
Jake still wasn't quite meeting your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. "Hot. The office cooling charms kept faltering. I swear I lost half my body weight in sweat."
As if to emphasize his point, he ran a hand through his hair, which was damp with perspiration. His Auror robes were undone at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat and a glimpse of collarbone. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt, and you found yourself following its journey with perhaps too much interest.
"I'm going to grab a quick shower," he said, seeming not to notice your staring. "Then I thought maybe we could go out for dinner? The idea of cooking in this heat is actual torture."
You nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Sounds perfect."
He lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, his eyes finally meeting yours. Something unspoken passed between you—a current of awareness that had been building steadily since the wedding. Then he gave a quick nod and disappeared down the hall, Mischief trailing after him.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. This was getting ridiculous. Jake was your best friend. You'd seen him in various states of undress before—at the beach, after Quidditch matches, during that camping trip where he'd fallen into the lake. Why was it suddenly affecting you this way?
The answer, of course, was simple. Because now he was your husband, and in less than two months, you'd be required to share a bedroom. The thought sent a shiver through you despite the heat.
You got up and pulled on a sundress, trying to push the image of Jake's heated gaze from your mind. It didn't mean anything. He was just surprised to find you half-dressed. Any man would have reacted the same way.
By the time you'd fixed your hair and applied a cooling charm to your dress, the sound of the shower had stopped. You stepped into the hallway just as Jake's bedroom door opened, and for the second time that day, you found yourself frozen in place.
Jake stood in his doorway wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, his hair dripping water onto his shoulders. Droplets traced paths down his chest, over the defined muscles of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the towel. His skin was golden in the evening light filtering through the window, highlighting old scars from Auror missions that you'd never had the opportunity to study so closely before.
"Sorry," he said, noticing you standing there. "Forgot to bring clean clothes to the bathroom."
You should look away. You knew you should look away. But your eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the lean strength of his arms, the trail of light hair that disappeared beneath the towel.
"It's fine," you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathless. "It's your flat."
"Our flat," he corrected automatically, and something about the casual way he said it made your heart stutter.
For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at each other from opposite ends of the hallway. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something you weren't ready to name.
Then Mischief, oblivious to the tension, darted between Jake's legs, breaking the moment. Jake laughed, steadying himself against the doorframe.
"I should get dressed," he said, his voice lower than usual. "Give me five minutes?"
You nodded mutely and retreated to the living room, your heart pounding. You pressed your hands against your heated cheeks, trying to regain your composure. This was Jake. Your Jake. Your best friend. Nothing had changed.
Except everything had changed, and you were finding it increasingly difficult to remember why this arrangement was supposed to remain platonic.
The restaurant Jake chose was a small Italian place in Muggle London, blessedly air-conditioned and dim enough to hide the blush that seemed permanently affixed to your cheeks. You were both quieter than usual, the earlier encounters hanging unacknowledged between you.
"So," Jake said finally, after your food had arrived. "The bedroom thing."
Your heart lurched. "What about it?"
He took a long drink of his wine before answering. "We've got less than two months before the Ministry forces the issue."
"I know." You pushed your pasta around your plate, suddenly not very hungry. "We could start looking for a bigger place? Something with two proper bedrooms instead of the current setup?"
Jake shook his head. "I already asked Jay about it. According to him, the monitoring spells track proximity, not just whether we're in the same room. We have to be within a certain distance of each other for a minimum number of hours per night."
"That's..." You struggled to find the right word. "Intrusive."
"Yeah." Jake's expression darkened momentarily before he forced a smile. "But it's only for sleeping, right? We're adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."
The way he said it—so casually, as if the thought of sleeping beside you hadn't been consuming his thoughts the way it had yours—both relieved and disappointed you.
"Right," you agreed, taking a hasty sip of your wine. "Just sleeping."
Jake was watching you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. "Unless..."
Your breath caught. "Unless what?"
He seemed to catch himself, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing. Forget it."
But you couldn't forget it, couldn't stop wondering what he'd been about to suggest. The rest of dinner passed in a fog of awareness, every accidental brush of hands as you reached for the bread basket, every shared glance over your wine glasses, charged with new meaning.
By the time you returned to the flat, the earlier awkwardness had evolved into something different—a heightened consciousness of each other's movements, a deliberate care to maintain space between your bodies.
"I should probably take Mischief for his evening walk," Jake said as he unlocked the door, his voice unnaturally formal.
"I'll come with you," you found yourself saying, not ready to be alone with your thoughts.
The night air offered little relief from the heat, but it was better than the confines of the flat. You walked in silence for a while, Mischief trotting happily ahead, until Jake suddenly spoke.
"Do you ever think about what would have happened if we hadn't been matched?" he asked, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "If you'd been paired with someone else?"
The question caught you off guard. "Sometimes," you admitted. "It could have been worse. Much worse."
Jake nodded slowly. "That's what I keep thinking. Of all the people they could have stuck me with, at least it was you." He glanced at you, something vulnerable in his expression. "I trust you. More than anyone."
"I trust you too," you said softly, and it was true. Despite the complicated feelings swirling inside you, despite the increasing difficulty of keeping your physical attraction in check, Jake was still the person you trusted most in the world.
He reached out and took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. It wasn't the first time he'd held your hand—he'd done it during the Ministry inspection, after all—but this felt different. There was no one watching now, no performance required.
"Whatever happens," he said, squeezing your hand gently, "we'll figure it out together. Like we always do."
You squeezed back, your heart somersaulting in your chest. "Like we always do."
You walked the rest of the way in silence, hands still joined, both pretending not to notice the way your palms fit perfectly together, the way neither of you seemed in any hurry to let go.
And if you held on a little tighter than friendship strictly required, well—that was just another thing you weren't talking about.
-
The walk back to the flat felt different somehow, charged with possibilities neither of you were acknowledging. Jake's hand remained firmly entwined with yours, his thumb occasionally brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent shivers up your arm despite the summer heat.
Mischief seemed to sense the change in atmosphere, glancing back at you both with what looked suspiciously like canine amusement. The streets of London were quieter now, the worst of the heat fading as night settled in. A warm breeze rustled through the trees lining the street, carrying the distant sounds of a city preparing for sleep.
"We should do this more often," Jake said softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you. "Just... walk. Talk. Without Ministry officials breathing down our necks or work emergencies interrupting."
You nodded, acutely aware of how his shoulder occasionally brushed against yours as you walked. "It's nice. Almost feels normal."
Jake glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. "Is that what you want? Normal?"
The question carried weight, layers of meaning you weren't sure how to unpack. "I don't know if normal is possible anymore," you admitted. "But this—" you squeezed his hand gently, "—this is good."
His smile in response made your heart flutter embarrassingly. When had his smile started affecting you this way? Or had it always, and you'd just gotten better at ignoring it?
By the time you reached the building, the earlier awkwardness had transformed into something else—a humming anticipation that made every movement, every glance, seem significant. Jake held the door open for you, his free hand coming to rest briefly on the small of your back as you passed him. Such a casual touch, but it left heat blooming across your skin.
The three flights of stairs to your flat had never seemed so long. You were painfully conscious of Jake behind you, of his eyes on you as you climbed. Mischief raced ahead, reaching the landing first and waiting impatiently at your door.
"Someone's eager to get home," Jake commented, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"Can't blame him. It's been a long day." You fumbled with the keys, suddenly nervous for reasons you couldn't quite articulate.
Inside, the flat was mercifully cooler than it had been earlier, the cooling charms finally catching up now that the sun had set. Mischief immediately headed for his water bowl, leaving you and Jake standing somewhat awkwardly in the entryway, hands still joined.
"I should probably..." you began, vaguely gesturing toward your bedroom with your free hand.
"Right," Jake said, but made no move to release your hand. Instead, his eyes locked with yours, searching for something. "Y/N..."
The way he said your name—soft, almost reverent—made your breath catch. "Yes?"
He took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. "I've been thinking about what you said. About this feeling normal."
You swallowed hard, finding it difficult to concentrate with him so close. "What about it?"
"Nothing about this situation is normal," he said, his voice low. "The Ministry, the law, being forced into marriage..." He paused, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. "But this—you and me—that's always felt right. Hasn't it?"
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain he must hear it. "Yes," you whispered, unable to say more.
Jake's eyes dropped to your lips for a brief, telling moment before meeting your gaze again. "I keep telling myself we should stick to the plan. Keep things simple. But then I look at you, and simple doesn't seem possible anymore."
The air between you felt electric, charged with weeks of unacknowledged tension and years of buried feelings. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, gentle but insistent.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your lips. "If this isn't what you want, tell me now."
Instead of answering, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened as years of restraint crumbled. Jake made a sound low in his throat—surprise mingled with desire—before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him.
His lips were softer than you'd imagined, but his kiss was more demanding, more confident. There was nothing tentative in the way his mouth moved against yours, in the way his hand tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss further.
You'd imagined kissing Jake more times than you cared to admit, but nothing had prepared you for the reality—the heat of his body pressed against yours, the slight scratch of evening stubble against your skin, the intoxicating taste of him that made your knees weaken embarrassingly.
When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if trying to regain control.
"That," he said hoarsely, "was not part of the plan."
A laugh bubbled up from your chest, slightly hysterical with relief and lingering desire. "No, it wasn't."
His eyes opened then, searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch again. "I don't regret it," he said firmly, his hands still holding you close. "I probably should, but I don't."
"Me neither," you admitted, your fingers tracing the nape of his neck, feeling the soft hair there. "Though it does complicate things."
Jake laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. "Sweetheart, things have been complicated since the day that owl arrived with our names paired together." His expression grew more serious, his thumb brushing gently across your lower lip. "But that doesn't mean they can't also be good."
The tenderness in his voice, in his touch, made your heart ache with longing for something you'd convinced yourself you couldn't have. "So what now?"
He sighed, pressing a softer kiss to your forehead. "Now we talk, I suppose. Figure out what this means." His arms tightened around you briefly. "But not tonight. Tonight I just want to enjoy the fact that I finally got to kiss you."
"Finally?" you echoed, pulling back slightly to look at him properly.
A sheepish grin spread across his face, transforming his features into the Jake you'd always known—your best friend, your confidant, your constant. "Let's just say I might have thought about it once or twice. Before all this."
The admission sent warmth spreading through your chest. "Really?"
"Really." He brushed another quick kiss against your lips, as if he couldn't help himself. "But that's a conversation for tomorrow. When we're both thinking clearly and not standing in a dark hallway after a very long day."
You nodded, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. The loss of contact felt physical, a sudden coolness where his warmth had been. "Tomorrow, then."
Jake reached out, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss that made your pulse race all over again. "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Jake."
As you retreated to your bedroom, closing the door softly behind you, you pressed your fingers to your lips, still tingling from his kiss. Everything had changed—again—and you had no idea what tomorrow would bring. But for the first time since that Ministry owl had arrived with your names paired together, the uncertainty felt like possibility rather than dread.
On the other side of the wall, you heard Jake moving around his room, the familiar sounds of his nighttime routine. Only now, those sounds carried new meaning, new awareness. And when Mischief scratched at your door a few minutes later, you let him in with a smile, knowing he'd probably snuck away from Jake's room to check on you.
"What do you think, Mischief?" you whispered, scratching behind his ears as he settled at the foot of your bed. "Have we completely messed everything up, or is this the start of something real?"
The small dog tilted his head, his expression comically serious, before giving your hand a reassuring lick. For now, that was answer enough.
-
The weekend after your first kiss, things between you and Jake existed in a strange limbo. You'd talked the next morning, awkwardly agreeing that there was definitely something between you worth exploring, but neither of you seemed sure how to navigate this new territory. The physical awareness remained, heightened now by the memory of his lips on yours, but you'd both silently decided to take things slow—testing the waters with casual touches, longer glances, and the occasional brief kiss that always left you wanting more.
One unexpected development, however, was the way you'd both leaned into your role as Mischief's parents. It had started as a joke when Jake had called himself "Dad" while feeding the dog breakfast, but somehow it had stuck, evolving into a strange domestic roleplay that was half humor, half something else entirely.
"Has Mischief been on his walk yet?" you asked Saturday morning, pouring yourself a cup of the coffee Jake had already brewed.
Jake looked up from the Daily Prophet, grinning. "Mum's asking about your morning constitutional, buddy. What should I tell her?"
Mischief, who had been curled up under Jake's chair, perked up at the mention of a walk, tail wagging frantically.
"I'll take that as a no," you laughed, leaning down to scratch the dog's ears. "Does baby want to go to Diagon Alley with Mummy and Daddy? We need to get you some proper toys."
Jake's smile softened at your use of "Mummy and Daddy," something tender passing across his face before he masked it with his usual playfulness. "I think he's saying yes. Aren't you, Mischief?"
The way Jake babied his voice when talking to Mischief was possibly the most endearing thing you'd ever witnessed—this strong, capable Auror who faced dark wizards for a living, baby-talking to a scruffy terrier as if it were his firstborn child.
"He needs a proper collar too," Jake added, reaching down to adjust the makeshift one you'd transfigured from an old belt. "Something with his name on it. And maybe a charm to help us find him if he gets lost."
"Look at you, being all responsible Dad," you teased, but the words came out softer than intended, carrying a weight neither of you acknowledged.
Jake's eyes met yours, that same tender look flickering across his face. "Well, can't let anything happen to our boy, can I?"
The "our" hung between you, loaded with implications beyond the dog.
An hour later, the three of you were strolling down Diagon Alley, Mischief proudly sporting his new emerald green collar with a shining gold tag bearing his name and your address. Jake had insisted on the colors, claiming that any dog of his needed to show proper Quidditch team spirit.
"He's a Falmouth Falcons fan, I can tell," Jake had declared with absolute certainty as he paid for the collar. "Aren't you, Mischief? You've got that Falcon attitude."
You'd rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling at Jake's enthusiasm. There was something so charming about the way he'd thrown himself into pet parenthood, treating Mischief like a combination of beloved child and trusted sidekick.
"I need to stop by Flourish and Blotts," you said as you walked, Mischief trotting happily between you. "There's a book on magical law I want to check. Something Jay mentioned about the Marriage Act."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried? Are you looking for loopholes already?" His tone was light, but there was a hint of genuine concern beneath the teasing.
You shook your head quickly. "No, nothing like that. Just trying to understand some of the more obscure clauses. Knowledge is power and all that."
He seemed relieved, his hand finding yours as you walked. This was new too—the casual public displays of affection that now felt natural rather than performative. His fingers interlaced with yours, warm and secure.
"You go ahead," Jake said when you reached the bookshop. "I promised Mischief we'd check out the pet store next door." Mischief's tail wagged in apparent agreement. "We'll meet you back here in fifteen."
"Don't spoil him too much," you warned, already knowing your words would fall on deaf ears. Jake had been talking about buying Mischief a magical self-throwing ball since breakfast.
"No promises," Jake grinned, bending to kiss your cheek before heading toward Magical Menagerie, Mischief prancing happily at his heels.
The unexpected kiss left you momentarily flustered, the casual affection still new enough to make your heart skip. Shaking your head with a small smile, you entered Flourish and Blotts, the familiar scent of parchment and leather bindings welcoming you.
The book you were looking for was in the legal section at the back of the store. You were just reaching for it when a familiar voice spoke from behind you.
"Y/N? Is that really you?"
You turned to find Ethan Davies, your ex from three years ago, standing there with a surprised smile. He looked good—tall, dark-haired, with the same charismatic grin that had initially drawn you to him. Your relationship had ended amicably enough when he'd moved to France for work, but seeing him now sent a strange jolt through you—like encountering a character from a previous chapter of your life.
"Ethan! What are you doing back in London?"
"Transferred back last month." His eyes dropped to your left hand, noting the wedding band. "And I see things have changed for you too. Married? Who's the lucky wizard?"
Before you could answer, Ethan moved closer, his hand coming to rest on your arm in a familiar gesture. "You look amazing, by the way. Marriage clearly agrees with you."
You shifted slightly, creating a bit more space between you. "Thanks. It's been... unexpected but good."
"Unexpected?" He raised an eyebrow, his hand still on your arm. "Don't tell me you got caught up in that ridiculous Marriage Act? I heard about it when I was in France. Barbaric policy."
"It's complicated," you said, not wanting to get into the details. "But yes, the law was involved."
Ethan's expression shifted to sympathy, his hand sliding down to grasp yours, examining your wedding ring. "Poor Y/N. Forced into marriage by Ministry decree? That doesn't sound like the independent witch I knew."
Something about his tone irritated you, but before you could respond, a shadow fell across you both. You looked up to see Jake standing there, Mischief in one arm and a package from Magical Menagerie in the other. His expression was carefully controlled, but you recognized the tightness around his eyes, the slight clench of his jaw.
"Making friends, sweetheart?" Jake's voice was light, but there was an edge to it you'd never heard before. His eyes fixed on where Ethan's hand still held yours.
Ethan straightened, releasing your hand but not stepping back. "Actually, Y/N and I are old friends. Very old friends." The emphasis wasn't subtle.
"Is that right?" Jake's smile didn't reach his eyes. He shifted Mischief to his other arm and extended his hand. "Jake Sim. Y/N's husband."
The way he said 'husband'—possessive, definitive—sent an unexpected thrill through you.
Ethan shook Jake's hand briefly. "Ethan Davies. Y/N and I dated for about a year. Before I moved to France."
"How interesting." Jake's voice suggested it was anything but. He moved to your side, his free arm sliding naturally around your waist, pulling you against him in a gesture that was unmistakably proprietary. "Y/N's never mentioned you."
You could feel the tension radiating from Jake, his body unnaturally stiff beside yours. You'd never seen this side of him—this barely contained possessiveness. It was both unsettling and, embarrassingly, a little exciting.
"Jake," you said, placing a calming hand on his chest. "Ethan was just saying hello. He's recently moved back from France."
"Hmm." Jake's noncommittal response spoke volumes. Mischief, sensing the tension, growled softly at Ethan from his perch in Jake's arms.
"Good instincts, Son," Jake murmured to the dog, making no effort to hush him.
Ethan raised an eyebrow at 'son,' looking between you and Jake with growing amusement. "Son? Don't tell me you two have a child already?"
"Mischief is our dog," you explained quickly. "We just..."
"We're a family," Jake finished for you, his tone challenging Ethan to comment further. "Dog included."
The possessive declaration should have annoyed you—you'd never appreciated men acting territorial—but coming from Jake, it sent warmth spreading through your chest. The casual way he claimed you, claimed this family unit the three of you had formed, felt right in a way you weren't ready to examine too closely.
Ethan seemed to finally register the tension, taking a step back with his hands raised slightly. "Well, I should get going. It was good seeing you, Y/N." He glanced at Jake, his smile turning slightly knowing. "Interesting meeting you too, Sim. Take care of her."
"I always do," Jake replied, his arm tightening around your waist.
As soon as Ethan was out of earshot, you turned to face Jake, raising an eyebrow. "What was that about?"
Jake had the grace to look slightly sheepish, though there was still a stubborn set to his jaw. "What was what about?"
"You know exactly what. The whole possessive husband act. The growling—and I don't just mean Mischief."
Jake shifted uncomfortably, looking down at Mischief as if seeking support. The dog licked his chin in apparent solidarity. "He was touching you."
"He was saying hello."
"While holding your hand and standing way too close." Jake's eyes darkened as he recalled it. "He shouldn't be touching what's mine."
The words hung between you, Jake looking immediately startled by his own vehemence. "I mean... what I meant was..."
Your heart was racing, the raw possessiveness in his voice affecting you far more than it should. "What did you mean, Jake?"
He sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "I didn't like seeing him touch you, okay? I didn't like the way he was looking at you, or the way he emphasized that you used to date." He looked genuinely confused by his own reaction. "I've never felt that before. Not with anyone."
The admission hung between you, heavy with implications neither of you were ready to voice.
"It's probably just the marriage bond," Jake added quickly, as if trying to rationalize his behavior. "Some kind of magical side effect."
You knew that wasn't true—the binding spell created a legal union, not emotional entanglement—but you let him have the excuse. The alternative was too complicated to address in the middle of a bookshop.
"Let's go home," you suggested softly. "I think Mischief needs his nap."
Jake seemed grateful for the change of subject, glancing down at the dog who was indeed yawning widely in his arms. "Can't disrupt the little guy's schedule. He gets cranky without his afternoon nap."
Mischief whined in apparent agreement, nuzzling into Jake's chest.
"Just like his daddy," you teased, the tension dissipating slightly. "Absolutely unbearable when he's tired."
Jake's expression softened at your use of 'daddy,' the possessiveness fading into something warmer, more tender. "You're one to talk. Have you seen yourself before your morning coffee, Mum?"
The easy way he fell back into the family roleplay made your heart twist. It was getting harder to remember this was all pretend—that Mischief wasn't really your child, that Jake wasn't really your husband in anything but legal technicality, that this family you were playing at wasn't real.
Except, as Jake shifted Mischief to one arm so he could wrap the other around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked toward the Leaky Cauldron, it felt real. As he pressed a kiss to your temple, as Mischief licked your hand when you reached up to pet him, as passersby smiled at the picture the three of you must have made—it felt like the most real thing you'd ever experienced.
And that night, when you lay in your bed listening to Jake moving around in his room next door, hearing him murmur nonsense to Mischief as they settled for the night, the distance between you felt more unbearable than ever.
The Ministry's three-month deadline for shared sleeping quarters was approaching, but suddenly, it seemed far too long to wait.
-
Two weeks after the Diagon Alley incident, the heat wave had finally broken, giving way to a pleasant summer evening. You and Jake had settled into a strange new pattern—moments of intense connection followed by careful distance, as if neither of you quite knew how to define what was happening between you. The kisses had continued, growing more frequent and heated, but always stopping short of anything more, pulling back just as things threatened to spiral out of control.
Tonight, you both sat on the small balcony of the flat, sharing a bottle of Firewhiskey while watching the sun set over London. Mischief was curled up at Jake's feet, occasionally lifting his head when a particularly interesting sound caught his attention.
"I got another Ministry owl today," Jake said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you. He took a long sip of his drink, staring out at the darkening sky.
"What did they want now?" you asked, already dreading the answer. Ministry correspondence never brought good news these days.
Jake pulled a folded parchment from his pocket, handing it to you without meeting your eyes. "See for yourself."
The parchment bore the now-familiar purple Ministry seal. You unfolded it with trepidation, scanning the official text.
To Mr. and Mrs. Jake Sim,
This serves as your official reminder that in accordance with Clause 7.3 of the Magical Unity Act, you are required to begin sharing sleeping quarters within fourteen (14) days. Compliance will be magically monitored beginning on the night of August 15th.
Failure to comply will result in immediate investigation and possible penalties, up to and including mandatory residence reassignment to Ministry-approved housing with enhanced monitoring charms.
Regards, Matilda Fairweather Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Marriage Compliance Division
Your stomach tightened as you read. Two weeks. In just two weeks, you and Jake would be required to share a bedroom—and a bed, most likely, given the nature of the monitoring spells.
"Lovely bedtime reading, isn't it?" Jake said dryly, refilling both your glasses with generous portions of Firewhiskey.
"Enhanced monitoring charms," you read aloud, unable to keep the disgust from your voice. "They really don't believe in privacy, do they?"
Jake snorted. "Privacy died the moment they started matching people by magical decree." He took another long drink. "I ran into Jay at the Ministry today. Mentioned the bedroom deadline. Apparently, he and his match have been complying with that part from the beginning."
This surprised you. Jay had always struck you as more reserved than Jake, more likely to resist the Ministry's intrusions. "Really? I wouldn't have expected that from him."
"That's what I said," Jake replied, absentmindedly reaching down to stroke Mischief's head. "But according to him, it's more practical. The monitoring spells are quite thorough—they can detect not just whether you're in the same room, but proximity, duration, all that." He grimaced. "Jay said fighting it just leads to more scrutiny."
You stared at your glass, watching the amber liquid catch the last rays of sunlight. "So in two weeks..."
"In two weeks, we'll be official roommates," Jake finished for you.
The thought sent a flutter of both excitement and anxiety through your stomach. Sharing a bed with Jake—falling asleep beside him, waking up to his sleep-rumpled face, the intimacy of nighttime rituals—it was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
"It's just sleeping," you said, as much to convince yourself as anything else. "We can handle that."
Jake was quiet for a long moment, swirling the Firewhiskey in his glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than usual, careful. "What if it wasn't?"
You looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
He met your eyes, something dark and intent in his gaze that made your breath catch. "What if it wasn't just sleeping?"
The air between you suddenly felt charged, heavy with possibilities. "Jake..."
"Look," he said, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. "We've been dancing around this for weeks. The tension, the kisses, the... whatever this is." He gestured between you. "And now we're going to be sharing a bed."
Your heart was racing now, your mouth suddenly dry despite the Firewhiskey. "What are you suggesting?"
Jake ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you'd come to find endearing. "I'm suggesting that maybe we should stop fighting what's happening here. Physically, at least."
"Physically," you repeated, the word hanging between you.
"We're attracted to each other," Jake stated bluntly. "That's been obvious since the wedding. Probably before, if I'm being honest." A slight flush colored his cheeks, though whether from the alcohol or the confession, you couldn't tell. "And we're already married on paper. Already going to be sharing a bed in two weeks."
You sipped your drink, trying to calm your racing thoughts. "So what exactly are you proposing?"
"Friends with benefits," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "We're already best friends. We already care about each other. Why not... enjoy the physical aspects too?"
The suggestion hung in the air between you, laden with implications and possibilities. Friends with benefits. Sex without complications. Physical without emotional entanglement. Could you do that? Could you share Jake's bed, his body, without letting your already complicated feelings deepen further?
"We're already going to be forced to share a bed," Jake continued, perhaps interpreting your silence as hesitation. "We're already legally married. Why not take advantage of the situation? Make it easier on ourselves."
"Easier," you echoed, something twisting in your chest.
Jake leaned forward, his eyes intense in the fading light. "Think about it. No awkward tension. No wondering what would happen if we crossed that line. Just... friends who happen to be married and happen to sleep together." He attempted a casual smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "With the added bonus of keeping the Ministry off our backs about the consummation requirement."
That was true—the marriage had to be consummated within a year. That deadline was still months away, but it loomed on the horizon nonetheless.
"What about... feelings?" you asked carefully, watching his face. "Doesn't sex usually complicate things?"
Jake shrugged with a confidence that seemed slightly forced. "We're adults. We can keep things separate. Physical is physical. Friendship is friendship." He reached for your hand, his touch sending a familiar warmth up your arm. "You're my best friend, Y/N. That doesn't change. We just... add benefits."
You looked down at where his fingers entwined with yours, larger and stronger, the calluses from Auror training rough against your skin. "And if one of us... develops feelings?"
Something flickered across Jake's face—too quick to identify—before he masked it with his usual easy smile. "Then we talk about it. Like adults. But I think we can handle this. We've handled everything else the Ministry has thrown at us, haven't we?"
You couldn't argue with that logic. Since the day the owls had arrived with your matching, you and Jake had faced each new challenge together, finding ways to adapt and even thrive despite the circumstances forced upon you.
"So," Jake said, his voice dropping lower, "what do you think? Friends with benefits?" His thumb traced circles on your palm, a simple touch that nevertheless sent heat spiraling through your body. "No pressure. If you're not interested—"
"I'm interested," you interrupted, the Firewhiskey making you bolder than you might otherwise have been. "I just... want to be sure we know what we're getting into."
Jake's smile turned genuine then, relief and something else—something hungrier—flashing in his eyes. "Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea." His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there. "We should probably set some ground rules, though."
"Ground rules," you repeated, finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly with the way he was looking at you.
"Rule one," Jake said, shifting closer, "either of us can call it off at any time. No questions asked, no hard feelings."
You nodded. That seemed reasonable. "Rule two: it doesn't change our friendship. That comes first."
"Absolutely," Jake agreed. "Rule three: we keep emotions out of it. This is physical only."
Your heart gave a painful twist at that, but you nodded anyway. "Physical only."
Jake was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the Firewhiskey on his breath mingled with his cologne. "Rule four," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "we don't overthink it."
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was different from the ones you'd shared before—deeper, more demanding, with an intent that had previously been absent. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as he explored your mouth with a thoroughness that left you breathless.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils dilated. "So," he said, his voice rough, "do we have a deal?"
You knew you should think about this more carefully, should consider all the ways this arrangement could complicate your already complex situation. But with the taste of him still on your lips, with his hand still warm against your skin, rational thought seemed beyond your capabilities.
"We have a deal," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jake's smile then was slow and heated, promising things that made your pulse race. "Should we seal it properly, then?"
At your nod, he stood, pulling you up with him. Mischief, disturbed from his nap, looked up at you both with curious eyes.
"Come on, baby," Jake said to the dog, his voice softening as it always did when he addressed Mischief. "Time for bed. In your own bed tonight."
He scooped Mischief up, pressing a kiss to the top of the dog's head before setting him inside on his plush dog bed in the corner of the living room. "Be a good boy for Dad. I'll be... busy tonight."
The implication in his words sent a shiver down your spine. When Jake turned back to you, still standing on the balcony, his expression had transformed into something predatory that made your knees weak.
"Now," he said, crossing back to you with deliberate steps, "where were we?"
As he pulled you against him, as his mouth found yours again with newfound purpose, as his hands began to explore with an urgency that had been absent before, one thought flashed through your mind—this might be the best terrible idea you'd ever agreed to.
Or the worst brilliant one.
Either way, as Jake led you toward his bedroom—soon to be your shared bedroom—you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Not tonight. Tonight, you would enjoy the benefits of this strange friendship that had evolved into something neither of you had anticipated.
-
to be continued.
TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @naurwayyyyy @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @mellowgalaxystrawberry @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @dreamy-carat @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @lamin143 @ureuphoriasworld @juicygirl4life @betda @sievenderz @letwiiparkjay @fancypeacepersona @adoredbyjay @hoonkishoe @lightxo @gazelover666
















