𝒻𝒾𝓃. @scorpieuns - Tumblr Blog

ACTS OF SERVICE | JAKE SIM

summary: completely drunk, fed up and bored with the dramatics of casual relationships and the continuous disappointment of hookups—you and your best friend decide the best way to solve this dilemma is being fuck buddies. But that was just a joke…right?

genre: smut. college. best friends.

word count: 16.3k

warnings (+18): adult content. swearing. party themes. pet names (angel, baby). playful banter. alcohol. kissing. lots of humor. heavy petting. nipply play. dom!jake. fingering (f. recieving). rough sex (?). unprotected sex. vocal!reader and jake. light teasing. (very) minor brat taming. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. icehockeyplayer!jake and academicoverachiever!reader have slightly odd views on relationships. jake is a (nice?) fuckboy. reader and jake are very horny people. mentions of icehockeyplayer!maki, jay, heeseung and sunghoon. other brief mentions of intak, yuna, jungwon, sohee, chaewon, sunoo and isa. jay is also in a band, very ‘green day’ - ‘nirvana’ adjacent.

MINORS DNI!!

A/N: and she lives! been gone for a while (my sincerest apologies) but we’re back!! this one is pretty lengthy, the hiatus may have given me a running mouth (and a long list of future ideas too!) just hoping it hasn’t made me rusty.

It started as a joke.

Nestled into the corner of a worn leather couch that had definitely seen better days, nursing a mixture of whatever you could find on the messy drinks table—over the rowdy music that you could practically feel humming in your chest and bouncing off the walls in a way too crowded frat house.

Your teeth worried at the rim of your cup, shoes kicking at the array of streamers and confetti on the floor.

You were floating in that perfect sweet spot between tipsy and drunk, where everything felt softer around the edges—your limbs all loose and warm like honey.

Jake was mid-rant beside you, his long legs stretched out, one arm draped across the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

He looked frustratingly put together for someone five drinks deep—dark hair slightly mussed in that effortless way that probably took him zero effort, his Dicelis Hockey hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that had no business being a bit distracting.

The party sign on the wall now hung haphazardly close to floating to the floor, now just reading ‘HBD SUNGCH…’. The abandoned Cards Against Humanity game sat on the coffee table, half the white cards now decorated with pretzel crumbs and beer rings–

“(Y/N)!” Jake snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Rude.

“I’m listening!” you protested, batting his hand away with a defensive shrug.

You were listening–mostly. You were also wondering when Sunghoon would storm in and lose his mind over whoever massacred his card game with snacks and cheap beer.

Jake’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Oh yeah? Then what I was just talking about?”

“Umm…” You took a tactical sip of your drink, buying a bit of time, “your latest conquests?”

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Not just any conquest, angel. I was talking about thee Yuna Shin.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait, pause–” You shifted to face him better, nearly sloshing your drink. “All-Star cheer captain Yuna Shin?”

A slow, devastating smirk spread across Jake’s face, “so you weren’t listening.”

“…sorry?” You flashed him that sheepish smile that usually got you out of things and Jake rolled his eyes, though there was no real heat behind it.

“As I was saying, before I lost you to whatever was going on in that pretty head of yours—I thought Yuna and I were on the same page.” He gestured with his free hand, frustrated.

“Nothing serious, y’know? Just hooking up, blowing off some steam.”

“Something fun and casual.” You added, and your best friend pointed at you like you just solved a world problem.

“Exactly. I mean, you get it. You know how insane my schedule is: practice, games, film sessions. Sometimes you just need to–”

“Decompress?” You supplied, fighting a giggle.

“Right!” The man’s face lit up with vindication. “But then,” he paused, leaning in conspirationally, “two weeks in, she hits me with it.”

“...What are we.” You both chorused, dissolving into laughter.

Jake groaned like he was in physical pain, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean, we talked about this. Day one, cards on the table, and now she wants to put a label on it and make it into this whole...thing.”

“Why can't we just have…fun?” He asked basically no one but himself after a few beats of silence.

Fun.

One word. Three letters. Embossed in bold, shiny gold letters across the hardcover of Jake Sim’s ‘Relationship 101 Handbook’ that was his trusted guide to every romantic interaction he’d had since sophomore year of high school.

Jake had never been one to take relationships seriously–if you would call what he had ‘relationships’.

You’d been watching this routine repeat itself in different variants for years now.

Jake didn’t do relationships—not real ones at least.

Labels made him twitchy, commitment gave him hives and the word ‘girlfriend’ might as well have been in an ancient lost language for all the meaning it held for him.

At least he wasn’t cruel about it though. He at least had the courtesy of always being upfront and honest about what he could and couldn’t offer.

But that didn’t stop girls from hoping that their particular combo of pretty face and personality would be the exception to finally make Jake Sim want to ‘settle down’.

Spoiler alert: it never was.

The pattern repeated itself like clockwork, from the conundrum of summer flings before senior year of high school—when Jake scored the alluring job of a beach lifeguard—to senior year’s abundance of girls who wanted to wear his varsity jacket—each one lasting a few weeks before the inevitable ‘what are we’ conversation sent Jake running for the hills.

Now here you were, junior year of college and Jake was still the same: Dicelis’ Division I ice hockey star defenseman—and of course, the list of girls struck by Eros himself were an endless, constantly replenishing supply.

Most of them wanted something more: wearing his extra team shirt, going on dates—even something as simple as cuddling after sex—wrapped up in a bow of commitment, affection and the pretty title of ‘girlfriend’—all of which were things that lived on Jake’s hard ‘no no’ list, scribbled in red marker and underlined twice.

This was the third rant this month alone.

Jake sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. “I’m at my wit’s end here, (Y/N), I really am.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, because the theatrics of his chagrin were quite comical.

“Oh you poor thing,” you said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “So many beautiful women wanna date you. How do you survive?”

He shot you a look. “Don’t be a dick.”

You tilted your head, pouting your lips with insincere disappointment, “aw, but you make it so easy.”

He kicked your foot lightly. “I’m being serious. I mean, you get it right? You do the whole ‘no-strings’ thing sometimes.”

You made a noncommittal sound, swirling the contents of your cup. “Well , if you consider drowning in yearbook club projects and philosophy readings ‘fun’, then sure. I’m having a time.”

Jake’s brows furrowed in confusion, “wait, hold up. I thought you were seeing someone?”

He snapped his fingers, trying to summon the memory through his alcohol-clouded brain. “That guy—Intak! From the men’s basketball team right?”

You deadpanned. “Jake, we broke up a month ago. You're late to the party as usual.”

“A month?” He raised a brow. “Shit, really? I thought you guys were doing good.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh you know. It was the usual bullshit—spending too much time with my best friend.” You grumbled, already anticipating his reaction.

“Apparently you ‘clearly want to jump my bones’ and he couldn’t handle the competition.”

Right on cue, that insufferable smirk spread across Jake’s face, slow, inevitable and way too bright.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him threateningly. “Do not start—”

“I mean, geez.” Jake leaned back, radiating false modesty as he stroked his jaw in efforts to conceal his growing smile. “Are they really that intimidated by me?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

“I can’t help it!” His grin was shit-eating and unrepentant. “This is like the third time this has happened. Maybe fourth? I’m losing count.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware.” You sank back into the cushions in defeat, letting your head tip back. “My exes are a bunch of guys who couldn’t handle my best friend being a guy. It’s exhausting.”

And it really was.

Boyfriends, for you, were complicated in a way they never seemed to be for other people.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kept one around for longer than two months.

It always started the same: fun, sweet, easy, great sex—and then they’d notice the Jake shaped figure looming in your orbit.

The way he’d text you at random hours. The way you had inside jokes and a language that no one else could decode. How he’d show up at your apartment unannounced, or the way you’d disappear to meet him without explanation.

Somehow—every single time, “I don’t care if you have a guy best friend” would morph into “but does he really need to be around this much?” which would spiral into “I’m not comfortable with how close you two are” and eventually land on a messy breakup with the claims that either the both of you were blind, stupid—or both.

Intak had been the final straw.

The breaking point that made you throw your hands up and say fuck it to the whole institution of dating.

After two months of increasingly passive-aggressive comments about Jake, Intak had finally snapped during what was supposed to be a cozy movie night at your apartment.

You’d briefly checked your phone to see what Jake texted you and Intak had paused the movie with an irate, bitter smile.

“You know what? I’m done. I’m not going to keep playing third wheel in my own relationship while you’re clearly in love with someone else.”

“I’m not in love with Jake—”

“Oh, please.” Intak rolled his eyes with a sharp, mean laugh. “You light up when he texts. You prioritize his schedule over mine. Half the stories you tell start with ‘Jake and I.’ I’ve been competing with him since day one and I’m tired of losing to someone who’s supposedly ‘just a friend.’”

He’d stood up, furiously grabbing his things. “Here’s some free advice (Y/N): either fuck him and get it out of your system, or admit that you’re emotionally unavailable and stop wasting people’s time. But don’t pretend you’re capable of actually being in a relationship when you’re clearly already in one.”

And then he’d left.

You’d sat there, stunned and furious, his words ringing in your ears, unable to shake his absurd accusation.

After that ended, (with you telling him exactly where he could shove his pseudo-psychological analysis) you'd tried the casual hookup thing.

Just sex, no expectations, no jealous boyfriends getting territorial over your best friend.

But that had its own problems too.

The hookups themselves were usually fine, all tension and excitement and the thrill of something new.

But the aftermath? The awkward morning-afters, the forced small talk over bad coffee, the weird dance of pretending last night meant more or less than it actually did.

Then there were guys who’d say they wanted casual but then got weird when you didn’t text back immediately, those who treated it like a transaction and made you feel hollow—and others who couldn’t find the goddamn clit with a map and a flashlight.

It was exhausting in a completely different way than dating had been, and after a few particularly disappointing encounters, you’d just…stopped.

So here you were: very single, very sexually frustrated, listening to your equally single and frustrated best friend complain about the exact same problems from the opposite side.

The universe had a twisted sense of humor, you’d give it that.

You stared at the ceiling above in pensive thought, scrutinizing the crowded half-deflated helium balloons, bobbing lazily like they’d given up on floating.

“I’m just so tired of all the drama,” you said finally. “Why can’t people just…enjoy each other without all the complications? Like it’s not that serious.”

Jake let out a low hum of agreement, stretching his legs out beside yours until your knees almost touched, “right?”

You snorted. “Maybe you’re the problem.”

He turned his head toward you, grinning. “Don’t say that. I'm trying to be deep here.”

“You? Deep? That’s generous.”

“Wow, rude.” Jake grabbed a pretzel from the decimated snack pile on the table and threw it at you. “Here I am having an existential crisis about the lost art of hookups, and you’re attacking my character.”

You caught the pretzel, popping it into your mouth. “Someone has to keep your ego in check.”

“My ego is perfectly sized, thank you.”

“Is that before…or after inflation?” You pouted with artificial curiosity, and Jake laughed—that full bodied sound that always made you smile despite yourself.

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, focused on your respective drinks as you lazily people-watched.

Then Jake slowly sat up straighter, his eyes lighting up with a sudden realization. “Okay but seriously though…”

You gave him a skeptical side glance.

“What if–and hear me out–”

“Literally nothing good ever starts with ‘hear me out’.” You turned to him, suspicious. “What are you about to say?”

Jake’s eyes had that chaotic gleam they got when he was about to suggest something either brilliant or completely idiotic.

“What if the solution to our problem is kind of obvious?”

You blinked at him. “What solution? What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying,” Jake gestured vaguely between you both, his movements loose and animated from the alcohol. “What if we just…did it?”

Your brain took a moment to process. “Did what?”

“The whole no-strings thing!” Jake was warming to the idea.

“Think about it. We both want the same thing–something fun, uncomplicated, with someone who actually understands. And we’re both sitting here complaining about it when–”

“When what?” You were starting to catch on, a laugh building in your chest.

“When we could just…y’know.” He waves his hand between you again like saying the actual thing was illegal, “…with each other.”

A shocked laugh burst out of you as you slowly sat up. “Oh my god, are you serious right now?”

Jake was grinning now, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Why not? We already now each other. There’d be no games, no messy let downs–”

“No jealous boyfriends,” you added, getting into it now despite yourself. “Exactly.” Jake pointed at you enthusiastically.

You felt yourself getting pulled into the conspiracy, despite how ridiculous it sounded—listing benefits with Jake like it was a pitch idea.

There wouldn’t be any jealousy, awkward morning-afters, no wondering if they’d text back and ‘what are we’ conversations because you already knew what you were—

“Best friends who are just having fun.” you’d finished, and you found yourself mulling over it with in entertained curiosity.

There was a beat of silence.

Jake’s eyes twinkled with amusement and something else—something that made your stomach flip in a way you were too inebriated to examine.

“I mean…” Jake said slowly, “it kind of makes sense?”

“It really does actually,” you heard yourself agree, your voice almost wondering. “Like weirdly perfect sense.”

You both stared at each other for a long moment, squinting through matching mischievous smirks, the idea suspended in the air between you like something tangible.

Then, simultaneously, you both shook your heads and said: “Nah” before breaking into fits of laughter.

“Oh my god, can you imagine?” Jake wheezed, nearly spilling his drink.

“We’d be terrible at it.” You agreed, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“We’d probably get into a fight about who’s doing it wrong–”

“Uhh, you’d definitely be doing it wrong.” You nodded up at him, and Jake threw you a challenging look,“I’ll have you know I’ve never had complaints in that department.”

“That you know of, for all we know Yuna could be speaking bad on your skills right now.” You shot back, and Jake threw another pretzel at you.

“See? This is exactly why it wouldn’t work. You can’t even compliment my skills.”

“I’m not going to stroke your ego about your sex life, Sim.”

Jake fought a snicker, “the word ‘stroke' in that sentence is very unfortunate timing.”

Your mouth fell agape in comic shock, smacking his arm, “you’re disgusting.”

“I thought this was a safe space!” He shrugged with mock innocence.

“It’s never a safe space for your dirty jokes.” You chided, still laughing.

“And yet, you still gracefully endure.” Jake settled back into the couch, still grinning like an idiot.

“…But seriously though, for a second there, it almost made sense, right?”

“For a very brief second.” you admitted with a warning lift of your finger.

It was ridiculous. Funny. You even swiftly moved on to a different topic of conversation before you threw back a few more drinks and joined the dancing crowd—forgetting the entire thing completely as the night peeled away.

But now—weeks later, the bold declaration of your official dry spell started to sound extremely over ambitious and the stupid (very stupid) idea had begun to look more like a good suggestion than just an alcohol-fueled joke.

You were aggressively multitasking right now: murdering a bowl of cereal at your kitchen counter, tapping away at your computer—all while glaring daggers at your roommate while she hummed in the kitchen like the birds sung her awake this morning.

The smile on Chaewon’s face was so radiant you probably didn’t need to worry about your electric bill for the next few months. It was the kind of smile no insult could wipe away.

Last night had been peaceful, just catching up on coursework after Sunoo dragged you clubbing three nights in a row.

You’d finally made a dent in your art history essay, wrapped up on your yearbook duties for the week, and even gotten ahead on your philosophy readings.

Then you’d heard the front door click shut around midnight, and more than one pair of footsteps in the hallway—along with Chaewon’s distinctive giggles, followed by the low rumble of a decidedly male voice.

You’d smirked to yourself, amused. She’d definitely overshare at breakfast—she always did, in excruciating detail you never asked for.

It was funny, right up until her bedroom door clicked shut and you’d been reminded, once again, that your apartment had walls made of paper.

What followed was a very thorough, very enthusiastically salacious reminder of everything you were definitely, frustratingly not having.

Now she was making coffee like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire night, and you were taking out your sexual frustration on your innocent breakfast.

“So,” Chaewon started.

“No.” You shoved another spoonful into your mouth, and her shoulders dropped, “I didn't even say anything yet!”

“Well, whatever you're about to say,” you pointed your spoon at her, “the answer is no.”

She laughed pouring her coffee with an infuriating amount of grace. “I was just going to say that you seem a little tense this morning. Trouble sleeping?”

You fixed her with your flattest stare. “The walls are thin and your headboard is loud. Go figure.”

“Oh,” Chaewon had the audacity to look pleased, “yeah, Eric is pretty good with–”

“If you finish that sentence, I will move out.”

“Just saying,” The girl continued, completely undeterred by your threat, “it was mindblowing.” she supplied, staring off into the distance with a reminiscent smile, then she sighed. “I miss his dick, already.”

“Oh trust me, the entire apartment complex knows you do.” You muttered, and Chaewon turned to you with a bemused smirk, “careful babe, your green is showing.”

“I’m not jealous.” You glanced at her with a grimace. “I’d just rather prefer the noise of downtown nightlife over the sounds of a porn rendition next door.”

Your roommate laughed earnestly, “you could have that too you know? You’re hot.”

“Chae, it’s not that I can't, it's that I won't. I’m just swamped with work right now.”

Chaewon paused, eyeing you with the kind of suspicious scrutiny that made you look away too quickly, “…when’s the last time you actually got laid? Like properly laid?”

“It is way too early for an interrogation right now.” You stabbed your cereal with unnecessary force, each spoonful more violent than the last.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well, it's the only one you’re getting.” You returned to your laptop, trying to ignore the nosy figure hovering over you.

Maybe she’d eventually relent if you feigned interest in the laptop you were barely paying attention to—but Chaewon knew you far too well to ignore your badly structured facade of content.

She leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee mug, shifting her expression to something gentler. “I’m serious though, (Y/N). When was the last time you did something for yourself?”

“You’ve been on the Dean’s List for two years, your streak isn’t going anywhere any time soon, you should have some fun!”

Fun. There was that word again.

“I…have fun.” You protested weakly.

“Editing the yearbook forum at 2AM doesn't count as fun.” She elaborated.

“It does if you’re passionate about what you do.” You pointed, with a cheeky grin and an almost-questioning lift of your brows—as if daring your best friend’s disagreement.

“…Girl.” She set down her mug, fixing you with an unimpressed look.

“You’re like a soda can ready to explode. You need to blow off some steam.” She sighed insistently, like your voluntary abstinence was her problem.

“Go out. Meet someone. Have a meaningless hookup that rocks your world and leaves you useless for days.”

The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt that kind of rush—the anticipation, the foreplay, the earth shattering feeling of an orgasm that wasn’t from your fingers.

Your vibrator was getting more action that you’d had in months, and even that was starting to feel depressing.

“Hm, I’ll think about it.” You muttered.

Chaewon smiled and turned knowing. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Philosophy 302 felt like the universe was personally mocking you.

You slumped in your usual seat near the back—close enough to hear Professor Sorenson but far enough to avoid being called on unless absolutely necessary.

Your laptop was open to a fresh document, cursor blinking expectantly, but your brain felt like static.

“Today,” Sorenson announced, pacing at the front of the lecture hall with the kind of energy that suggested she had far too much coffee, “we’re driving into Socratic philosophy. Specifically his views on desire and jealousy.”

Of course. Of course this was the topic today.

You resisted the urge to drop your head onto your desk or peel away from class and risk your perfect attendance.

“Socrates believed that jealousy is, at its core, simply desire unmet,” she continued, gesturing expansively.

“Its the gap between what we have and what we want. The tension between reality and longing.”

Someone in the front row raised their hand—probably to ask something pretentious about the Symposium—but you’d already tuned out.

Jealousy is desire unmet.

Okay but really, who needed ancient philosophy to define something you could already feel gnawing at your insides?

It had been over a month. Over a month since you’d had any action that didn’t involve machinery and your own imagination.

The closest you’d come was three weeks ago—some cute guy at a club who’d bought you a drink and kissed you against the bar.

It was nice against your own judgment. Flattering even.

But Sunoo had been your ride that night and he’d been ready to leave the second Jungwon drunkenly suggested the idea of getting everyone in the place a round of shots—so you got his number and told yourself you’d text him.

You never did.

Now here you were listening to a poetic lecture about some guy that lived eons before you, while your body reminded you in increasingly aching ways that you were a living breathing human with needs that were currently being spectacularly ignored.

You’d tried to drown it out. Buried yourself in assignments, spent hours in the editing lab and even deep cleaned your apartment at 1AM last Tuesday.

You had spent plenty of ‘quality time’ with yourself, but it wasn’t enough. It was like trying to satisfy a craving with wrong food—it filled the space but it didn’t quite hit the spot.

What you wanted was the earth-shattering, knees-weak sex Chaewon was apparently having.

You’d made an attempt to settle in the blissful comfort of envied denial, chalking her dramatic retellings as mass hysteria—but who the hell were you kidding?

You too, wanted to be fucked six ways to Sunday. You needed to feel both wrecked and alive in a way that a class ten in the morning on a Wednesday definitely wasn’t providing.

“The question then becomes,” Sorenson said, pulling you momentarily back to reality, “how do we reconcile our desires with our reality? How do we bridge that gap without losing ourselves to jealousy or desperation?”

Your laptop screen blurred slightly as you stared at it.

How do you bridge that gap?

Jake’s face flickered through your mind, unbidden–that stupid smile, those dark eyes, the way he’d looked at you on that couch two and a half weeks ago.

“What if we just did it?”

You had laughed it off. Dismissed it as drunk stupid rambling.

But the idea had slowly burrowed into your brain like a splinter, small and persistent. You’d catch yourself thinking about it at random moments—in the shower, before bed, during particularly boring lectures like this one.

It was insane. Completely insane.

But…was it really?

You shook your head, trying to psychically dislodge the thought. This was stupid and wrong. You were friends. Best friends. You didn’t cross that line because some lines existed for a reason.

Even if you were currently so horny you could barely think straight.

Even if Jake was objectively gorgeous and made zero effort to hide it.

And even if the idea of uncomplicated fun with someone you actually knew wouldn’t fuck it up sounded exactly like what you needed right now.

Stop it, you told yourself firmly.

Class continued in the background, but you were too busy trying to convince yourself that Jake’s drunken suggestion hadn’t been slowly, insidiously making more and more sense over the past weeks.

Your phone buzzed in your lap.

jake from state charm: bro practice is killing meee

jake from state charm: coach has us running drills like we’re training for the olympics

jake from state charm: im dying

jake from state charm: pls send food

jake from state charm: or a medic

Despite everything, you smiled.

you: u are SO dramatic 💀

jake from state charm: im SUFFERING

jake from state charm: this is a cry for help

jake from state charm: also im rlly bored, entertain meeee

you: you’ll live

jake from state charm: ur breaking my heart

you: 🎻

jake from state charm: bros wining the idgaf war

You snorted softly.

jake from state charm: are you free friday?

jake from state charm: jays having one of his gigs again

you: what’s your gpa and answer quick 🤔

jake from state charm: chill, i study hard and party hard ✋🏻🙂‍↕️🤚🏻

jake from state charm: balance is key smarty pants

you: right right…

jake from state charm: i’ll take that as a yes, see you friday ;)

You shook your head, slipping your phone back into your bag, still smiling despite yourself.

This was fine. Everything was fine—you were fine. You absolutely were not thinking about what Jake looked like under that hockey uniform.

Nope.

Jake was going to lose his fucking mind.

He slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing through the half empty locker room.

Practice had been brutal all week—three hours of drills on ice, conditioning, and Coach riding their asses about the upcoming season.

But that wasn’t what was making him want to punch something.

“Yo, Jake!” Jay’s voice carried from the showers. “You coming to Giselle’s tonight or what? S’posed to be a rager.”

“Maybe,” Jake called back half-heartedly, yanking his t-shirt over his head.

He probably wouldn’t go.

Jake had been to three parties in the last two weeks and they’d all ended the same way: some girl would approach him, they’d flirt, she’d make it clear she was interested, and Jake would…

Nothing.

He’d do absolutely nothing.

Which was weird because Jake never did nothing.

Jake was the guy who hooked up at parties, who had girls’ numbers saved in his phone, who never spent a weekend alone unless he chose to.

But lately? Nothing. Three weeks of absolutely nothing, and it was starting to make him feel like he was losing his edge.

“Dude…you good?” Maki appeared from around the corner, towel around his waist, eyeing Jake suspiciously. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what your face says. You look constipated.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

Maki laughed, grabbing his bag. “Seriously though, what’s up? You turned down Yujin last weekend. Yujin Ahn. The girl you’ve been trying to hook up with in physics class.”

Jake had turned her down. Yujin had been perfectly willing, perfectly attractive, perfectly available. She’d been wearing a dress that should have been downright illegal and she’d made her intentions very clear.

And Jake had made an excuse and left.

Not because he wasn’t attracted to her. Not because he didn’t want to have fun. But because he’d been down this road too many times now, and he knew exactly how it would end.

“Just not feeling it lately,” Jake muttered, shoving his practice gear into his bag with unnecessary aggression.

“Not feeling it? Bro, you’re like—” Maki stopped himself, a knowing look crossing his face. “Oh. Oh. This is about the crying thing, isn’t it?”

Jake’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. This is totally about the crying thing.” The blonde sat down on the bench, looking far too entertained. “Dude, that wasn’t your fault. You were upfront with her from the start.”

“Doesn’t matter. She still cried. In the middle of the cafeteria.” He deadpanned.

“Okay, yeah, that was rough,” Maki admitted with a chuckle. “But again—not your fault. You told her it was casual.”

Jake had told her.

He’d been crystal clear about it, just like he always was—no expectations, no promises, just fun.

Yuna nodded as fast as she could manage, said she completely understood and was on the same page before crashing into his lips and pushing him into the sheets.

Three weeks later, she’d asked where they were going and Jake had gently reminded her of their initial conversation, and had tried–tried–to let her down as softly as possible.

He’d even told her she was amazing, that any guy would be lucky to date her, but he just wasn’t that guy.

Yuna gave him that doleful look, managing a weak smile even through watery eyes. She had constantly repeated that she was okay when Jake had asked—begging her not to cry–and she did anyway.

Right there in the cafeteria, mascara running, while half the room paused their lunch break to stare.

Evil incarnate was what he was apparently.

And before Yuna? There was Amber, who’d teared up when he’d ended things. And before her—Macy, who’d actually cried in his chest and told him she thought they had really had something.

By the time he’d made the fifth girl cry, the team would've coined some mortifying nickname, one that would definitely leave the locker room and follow him everywhere, stamped across his forehead for the rest of his days.

Jake felt like he wasn’t even doing anything wrong.

He didn’t ghost them or act like a dick and pretend they meant nothing. He sat them down, explained gently but firmly that this wasn’t going to turn into something more, and appreciated the time they’d spent together.

According to the rest of the team, that made him ‘the sweet one’. The fuckboy with a conscience. At least he wasn’t getting slapped like Heeseung, or screamed at in the quad like Sunghoon last month.

But ‘sweet’ didn’t stop the tears and ‘nice’ didn’t make the breakups hurt less—and Jake was getting really fucking tired of being the guy who made girls cry, even when he’d done everything inherently ‘right’.

“You’re too good at letting them down easy,” Sunghoon said, reading his mind.

“That’s your problem. You’re so nice about it that they think there’s hope.” He fished a water bottle out of his locker. “Like maybe if they just try harder, you’ll change your mind.”

“I tell them from the start—”

“Yeah, but you’re also charming as fuck, bro. Remembering their coffee orders and asking about their classes and actually listening when they talk: that’s boyfriend behavior.”

“That’s literally just being a decent human being.”

“Right, but most guys hooking up casually aren’t decent human beings. So when you are, they think it means something.” Sunghoon pointed out, shaking his hair dry.

Jake scrubbed a hand over his face with an exasperated groan. “So what, I’m supposed to be an asshole? Treat them like shit so they don’t catch feelings?”

“No,” Maki said grinning, clearly enjoying this, “he’s saying maybe you need to be more selective. Or—” he snapped his fingers.

“Or find someone who actually gets it. Someone who won’t fall for your whole ‘sweet guy’ routine because they already know all your bullshit.”

Someone who already knew his bullshit…and his mind immediately (and traitorously) went to you.

Right.

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” Jake said, standing abruptly and yanking his bag onto his shoulder.

“I’m just saying,” Maki continued, following him out, “you’ve been in a weird mood for like three weeks now. Ever since Sungchan’s party at our place—what happened that night anyway?”

Brief fragments of that night came to mind, but one stood out like a sore insistent thumb: that stupid joke about you two being the perfect fuck buddies.

You’d both laughed it off and went back to normal.

Nothing technically happened.

Except everything had shifted anyway, tilted slightly off-axis in a way Jake couldn’t quite correct.

Because that suggestion—made half-drunk and mostly joking—had been rattling around in his head ever since, getting louder and making more sense as the weeks flew by.

You did get it.

You understood the appeal of something casual and uncomplicated because you wanted the same thing.

You wouldn’t develop expectations he couldn’t meet because your friendship had already established what you were to each other.

There would be no crying. No uncomfortable conversations where he had to explain that he liked you but not like that. No wondering if he was leading someone on or breaking someone’s heart.

It would just be…easy. Fun. The way it was supposed to be.

And he couldn’t deny—had never been able to deny, if he was being honest with himself—that you were beautiful. Objectively, empirically gorgeous in a way that had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with the fact that Jake had working eyes.

He’d just never let himself think about it too much because you were you, the one person in his life who was uncomplicated and easy and safe from all his usual bullshit.

But lately, he’d been thinking about it. A lot.

About the way you looked when you laughed, head thrown back and completely unselfconscious. How you’d lean against him during movie nights, warm and comfortable in his space.

About that night on the couch when you’d been wearing that silly slogan tank top and the chilly September night made him realize that you weren’t wearing a bra.

Jake had very carefully kept his eyes on your face because anything else teetered the edge of dangerous.

But he briefly let himself think about how you’d probably kiss—rough and defiant, the same way you argued with him about.

And what you’d sound like if he got his hands on you. What you’d look like underneath him, that bratty tongue of yours finally lost for words while he—

An idiot.

He felt like an idiot letting himself think of such things. Getting a hard on from the thought of your best friend was wrong—he could practically feel the shame burning the hairs on the back of his neck.

You were his best friend. Off-limits. The one person he couldn’t mess things up with.

Even if the idea of fucking you had become impossible to ignore.

Sunghoon slapped him on the shoulder with an irritating pitying smile. “You’re a good dude, Jake. Even if you are currently going through some kind of weird celibate phase.”

“It’s been three weeks, not three years.”

He scoffed. “For you? That’s basically a lifetime.”

Jake’s eyes went skyward, though a small grin betrayed him.

Yeah. A lifetime.

If you mashed together an older brother's basement rehearsals with the scratchy, emotionally manic soundtrack of a ‘turn of the millennium’ teen movie, you’d get Jay’s band: The Fallout.

Collective was practically packed wall-to-wall with people, the atmosphere slightly thick with neon lights slicing through the gloom of fog and the overwhelming cigarette smoke—which was a headache waiting to happen if you stayed long enough.

Peeling posters of long forgotten rock bands and stars graced the brick walls, alongside a pristine collection of old Rolling Stone magazines and passionate slogans about how ‘rock ruled’ or whatever.

The people who came to these shindigs were a harmonious blend of heavily opinionated music nerds, students at their third location, and anyone who thought loud music excused questionable hygiene.

You attended one of Jay’s gigs back in freshman year, if that was what you’d call it then.

Back then, he only performed at frat parties, which somehow made the obnoxious traditions of those gatherings slightly cooler.

Now, he was performing small bar gigs and open mics, pouring himself into each note with the same passion he’d had since he was in high school, performing to no one but the entire neighbourhood from his garage—or his parents (who were clearly held hostage).

He’d once joked to you that you could still get with him before he was untouchable—be his cool girlfriend to bring on tour to make every body else jealous and you’d scoffed: “Yeah sure, because rockstars are so known for their monogamy.”

The Fallout was mid-set, and the crowd was eating it up.

You stood near the back with Chaewon and Sunoo, nursing a second vodka cranberry that was more vodka than cranberry, watching Jay dominate the small stage like he was born with a Les Paul in his hands.

Jay was good—really good. His fingers flew across the guitar strings with practiced ease, his voice rough and melodic as he leaned into the mic.

He also looked unfairly hot doing it, damp hair casted over his eyes and concentrated intensity, his t-shirt clinging to him in a way that suggested the stage lights were doing their job.

“Okay, I need to know if he’s single immediately,” Chaewon announced over the music. “Because I am already planning our future together.”

“You don’t even know his last name.” You pointed out, raising a brow.

“Park,” Sunoo supplied helpfully. “Jay Park. Hockey player, lead guitarist, and according to a few of his exes…a lot of trouble.’”

Chaewon’s eyes practically sparkled. “Perfect. I’m dressed like a rockstar’s girlfriend already.” She gestured to her outfit—an off-shoulder band tee she’d artfully cut herself, paired with leather shorts and doc martens. “This was clearly fate.”

You had to admit, Chaewon wasn’t wrong. The girl looked about ready to be splashed across a tabloid magazine, hanging off a rockstar with effortless cool.

You had gone a different direction—a patterned halter top showing more cleavage than you usually went for, paired with a mini skirt and your favorite boots, with eyeliner sharp enough to kill.

You looked good. You felt good.

The music was great, bouncing off the walls with just the perfect amount of volume and reverb.

The energy was really infectious and lively, but you were still somehow…restless.

“So,” Sunoo said, leaning in conspiratorially, “when are you going to put yourself out there tonight?”

“Not you too.” You dramatically groaned.

“I’m just saying!” The pretty man said, hands miming passionately.

“You look hot, the music is good, everyone’s got liquid courage—this is literally prime hookup territory.”

“I’m not hooking up with a random stranger at a bar.”

“Why not?” Chaewon joined in with a whine, fussily shaking her shoulders, “You need to unclench babe.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re repressed.”

“I’m…selective.” You supplied with a shrug.

“You’re pent up,” Chaewon corrected. “There’s a difference. And honestly, babe? It’s starting to show.”

You shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

“You stress-cleaned the apartment in the dead of night last week, then you reorganized the entire living room.” She quipped with an accusatory look.

“Finding my scented candles was like finding Waldo–you totally messed with my entire system.”

You glanced at her like she just asked if it was night, “I was trying to be organized? And I told you to pack away your candles after using them to ‘cleanse the vibes’.”

“Okay mom.” Chaewon drawled with an amused smirk, ignoring your simmering glare.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, ignoring your lover's spat, “you’re just channeling your sexual frustration into other activities,” he said sagely. “That’s classic displacement behavior.”

“You crash one of Jungwon’s classes and suddenly you're a psychologist.”

Sunoo shrugged, flashing you an expectant look, theatrically sipping his drink, “but I am wrong though?”

Well…no. Irritatingly so.

“We’re just trying to help!” Chaewon protested.

“Look, I know what happened with that guy Sunoo tried to set you up with last time—”

“Do not bring up Sohee.”

“—but that was one bad experience! Not every hook up ends with the guy crying mid-coitus because he misses his ex.”

“He came in about two minutes, then immediately started crying about his ex-girlfriend while literally using my tits as a pillow.” You grimaced at the memory.

“I didn’t even get to come and I had to play therapist. The worst trade deal in history.”

Sunoo winced with an apologetic smile. “Yeah sorry, that was…rough. My bad. But this time—”

“Nope.” You cut him off with a half playful warning. “No setups. No ‘I have a friend who would be perfect for you.’ Just…no.”

“Fine, fine.” Sunoo held up his hands in surrender. “But you could just, I don’t know, find someone yourself? Take initiative?”

“I don’t need to take initiative. I’m perfectly content with my current situation.”

“Your current situation is you and your vibrator,” Chaewon deadpanned.

“Oh my god, Chaewon!”

“What? It’s true! And while I do support your solo activities, they’re clearly not cutting it anymore. You need the real thing.” She insisted.

“Preferrably someone hot, very charming and yes, capable of leading a band while looking like angels sculpted him themselves.”

That was directed more so towards herself than you, catching her shifting glance to Jay with that particular look on her face.

You guaranteed somewhere in the week you’d be victim to another sleepless night and a TMI recap over your morning breakfast.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at the way she dreamily stared at the lead guitarist like he hung the moon.

Thankfully, the end of the song saved you from another failed defense against your tag teaming jury, the crowd erupting into applause and cheers as Jay grinned, adjusting the mic.

“Thank you, thank you!” His voice carried over the sound system, warm and genuine. “You guys are fucking amazing. This next one’s a new song we’ve been working on—it’s called ‘Bad Decisions’ which feels appropriate for a Friday night, right?”

The crowd cheered in agreement.

The band launched into the song and you found yourself swaying despite your mood, the bass thrumming through your chest.

“Okay, but Jay is legitimately hot,” You admitted, watching him absolutely shred on guitar. “Like, objectively speaking.”

“Right?” Chaewon was practically drooling. “The way his arms look when he plays? Criminal. Absolutely criminal.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t crawled over to the stage and tackled him.” Sunoo observed with a humored smile.

Chaewon flashed him a chaotic grin, “oh I’m considering it.”

“Give me a few more drinks and you’ll have to hold me back.” She sang with a warning, and you both told her to behave herself amidst laughter.

This was a good way to unwind from the harrowing week you spent with your nose in your books. The Fallout was good, the company was good…but that relentless thought hadn’t gone away.

If anything, it was getting worse.

“I need another drink,” You announced.

“I’ll come with—” Chaewon started, and you waved dismissively with a warm scoff, “no, it’s fine. You stay and appreciate Jay’s arms. I’ll be right back.”

You pushed through the crowd toward the bar, weaving between bodies and dodging elbows.

The music was loud enough to rattle your ribcage—and you were grateful for the excuse that it was just the bass that was making your chest do complicated things.

Definitely just the music.

Jake spotted Isa Lee the moment he walked into the bar with Heeseung and Sunghoon.

She was standing near the stage with a group of her cheer friends, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual dress that somehow looked both comfortable and perfectly put together.

Her dark hair was down in loose waves, and when she laughed at something her friend said, Jake felt…nothing.

Well, not nothing. She was gorgeous, and he’d been trying to catch her at the right time since September.

But that usual spark of interest, the rousing anticipation of a potential hookup—just wasn’t there.

“Dude, Isa Lee is totally checking you out,” Heeseung said, nudging Jake’s shoulder.

“What?”

“Three o’clock. Don’t make it obvious.” Sunghoon grinned. “She’s been looking over here since we walked in.”

Jake glanced over casually, and Isa caught his eye with a slow smile, a clear invitation.

“Go talk to her, man,” Heeseung encouraged. “You’ve been wanting to hook up with her for months.”

He had been.

Isa was smart—chem major, very talented cheerleader, genuinely nice from everything he’d heard. She was exactly the kind of girl who should interest him.

Should being the operative word.

“Yeah,” Jake said, not moving. “I will. In a minute.”

“…What are you waiting for?”

Jake didn’t have a good answer for that. Or rather, he had an answer, but it was one that would make his friends theatrically concerned and ask a conundrum of questions he didn’t want to answer.

He had to break this cycle, somehow.

But his two teammates were looking at him expectantly and mildly confused, while Isa was still smiling in his direction.

“Fine,” Jake said. “I’m going.”

He crossed the room, smoothly weaving through the crowd until he reached Isa’s group of friends who’d nudged her persistently with barely concealed grins and giggles.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in so she could hear him over the music.

“Hey!” Isa’s face lit up. “Jake, right? You’re on the hockey team with the lead guitarist.”

“Guilty. You’re Isa?”

“That’s me.” She touched his arm lightly, as she eyed him down. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss one of Jay’s shows. He’s been practicing that new song for weeks.” Jake gestured toward the stage where Jay was currently in the middle of a guitar solo.

“He’s pretty good, right?”

“He’s amazing! I love live music.” Isa moved closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Do you play any instruments?”

“Yeah, but Jay and I have different musical directions. A band breakup would be waiting to happen if I joined.”

Isa laughed, and Jake found himself going through the motions—smirking, leaning in, saying the right things.

It was all easy and familiar. He’d done this dance a hundred times.

But his heart wasn’t really in it.

You lingered at the bar, idly people-watching while you patiently waited for the bartender to remember that pouring drinks was, in fact, his primary job—not shamelessly flirting with a gaggle of far too inebriated girls clearly trying to snag free drinks.

Your fingers drummed against the sticky wood counter, letting your gaze drift over the crowd before your eyes landed on an awfully familiar tall figure.

Jake.

Had he been here the whole time?

He stood slightly off to the side, leaning down to hear a girl speaking into his ear.

Jake looked unfairly good under the haze of the colored lighting, shoulders stretched broad beneath a fitted tee layered over a long sleeve, the bottom cuffs shoved carelessly up his forearms.

Show off. You scoffed with a slight smile.

And of course he was talking to someone.

Jake could strike up a conversation with a brick wall and have it blushing in under five minutes.

The girl—you realized—was Isa Lee.

That tracked.

Isa was one of Jungwon’s all-star cheer teammates.

She was the kind of girl professors adored and campus baristas remembered, all honey warm laughs and the uncanny ability to make you feel like the most interesting person in the room.

She was a real sweetheart, almost offensively so.

You watched, faintly amused, as Isa’s hand slowly brushed Jake’s chest like she was checking its structural integrity.

She then leaned in closer, whispering something…and there it was: the beam of that smile.

Not enough to look sweet, and just enough to look dangerous—and Jake definitely knew what he was doing.

You suppressed a disbelieving laugh.

Jake always had that stupidly charming half-smile, but somewhere between sophomore year and that hockey camp before junior year it transformed along with everything.

From the adorable boy next door to what you could only perfectly describe as one of those absurdly pretty guys you noticed at the airport and felt mildly disappointed when your boarding group got called.

Back then you found it deeply annoying.

Now you just found it entertaining.

Isa laughed again, tracing absent patterns on his chest, and you lifted a brow.

Bold.

Jake’s hand hovered briefly at Isa’s waist, polite but noncommittal. He was looking down at her, nodding and listening intently.

And then his eyes shifted, finding yours.

You didn’t look away, simply curving your lips in a mild, impressed half-smile, communicating with your countenance: Busy night?

Recognition flashed across his face, followed by a slow grin that made something in your stomach flip against its will.

Jake briefly turned back to Isa, saying something that was clearly unreadable. She blinked up at him, mid suggestion before Jake began to step back, to your surprise.

He murmured something that made Isa’s face flicker—confusion? disappointment?—before he offered an apologetic smile.

And then he turned, making a direct beeline for the bar.

You found yourself straightening slightly, ignoring the flicker of something that suspiciously felt like anticipation.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jake greeted, sliding in next to you with a growing smile.

You tilted your head. “Stalking me, Sim?”

“Always. It’s my favorite hobby.” Jake leaned against the bar, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way he always annoyingly did.

He leaned back to take your outfit in properly for the first time. “Damn, (Y/N). Do you always dress like that or did I get lucky tonight?”

You smirked, striking a deliberately exaggerated gesture of throwing your hair back. “You like? I figured if Chaewon gets to dress like a rockstar’s girlfriend, I might as well make an effort.”

“An effort,” Jake repeated, his eyes trailing over the strappy top that showed off your shoulders, the mini skirt that made your legs look about a mile long.

“That’s one way to put it. You look unfair.”

“I know.” Your smile was purely unabashed.

That was your usual reaction whenever Jake harmlessly flirted with you—completely unaffected by his usual behavior in that way that was so quintessentially you.

But right now it strangely felt like you were reading lines off a script, irked by that annoying little buzz in your gut that refused to mind its own business.

“Well, I didn’t spend two hours getting ready for nothing.”

“Two hours?!” Jake raised his eyebrows with a grin that was equally amused and shocked.

“Perfection takes time, Sim. You wouldn’t understand with your three-second hair routine and your basic graphic tee and boring jeans.” You judgmentally eyed his frame.

Your feigned scrutiny faltered as your eyes betrayed you, lingering on his perfectly toned arms and the waistband of his jeans teasingly low—Calvin Klein's mocking you.

Why did it take hours for girls to get ready while guys practically slapped on whatever they could find and looked like…that.

Jake laughed with a bashful shrug, and without breaking eye contact—he casually flicked a subtle hand toward one of the bartenders. “What can I say angel? I’m just naturally blessed like that.”

“Naturally something,” You muttered with a grumble.

The man briefly shifted his attention to the bartender, ordering drinks for the two in a way that you shouldn’t have found hot, but did.

You’d been standing there for seven minutes flagging the bartender like an overzealous fangirl—your voice cycling through desperate octaves to try and get their attention and he’d just…done it.

The drinks you had so far were definitely to blame. It had to be that.

Alcohol lowered standards, it was basic peer reviewed science—and you could pull a journal article about that right now.

Sober you would never feel a flutter in her chest over a man simply summoning a bartender over with his index finger all while keeping his undivided attention on her.

Ridiculous.

Jake turned back to you, “and FYI, The Smiths?” he pointed at his shirt, “isn’t basic, you’re just uncultured like that.”

“Says you and every other performative male yearning for substance,” You said once you had your drinks. “All you’re missing are some glasses, vintage headphones and a Jane Austen book.”

Your best friend clutched his chest with mock hurt, “you wound me (Y/N), I keep you company, I buy you a drink and yet you still judge me.”

You threw him a well meaning smile and he couldn’t conceal his own any further, shaking his head with a chuckle.

You paused, searching the crowd in confusion. “Wait what happened to Isa? I saw you two looking cozy.”

The question came out before you’d really thought about it. Not that you cared exactly—Jake could talk to whoever he wanted. He always did.

But you’d noticed the way she was with him earlier, with the kind of body language that usually meant Jake would disappear in an hour or less.

And yet here he was at the bar. With you.

It was weird and out of pattern. That's all.

“She’s nice.”

“Incorrect answer.”

“That’s all I can say.” Jake took a sip of his beer, deflecting. “What about you? Having fun?”

“Define fun.”

“That bad, huh?”

You shrugged, taking a long sip.

Everything about the night should’ve been perfect, but there was this restless irritation fizzling in your veins that wouldn’t quit, and admitting your night was subpar at best, would require admitting why.

You ultimately concluded that you’d rather spare yourself more external efforts from friends to squander your sexual embargo.

It also just weirdly felt more mortifying than irritating to hear Jake have an opinion on your nonexistent sex life.

“It’s fine. Music’s good.”

Jake studied you for a moment, and you could feel him reading between the lines in that way he always did—but thankfully, he didn’t push, simply replying with an understanding nod.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, Jay’s band comfortably filling the space.

The place was still busy, with the frenzied humdrum only a Friday night could bring out, but somehow both of you felt more relaxed standing here at the bar with each other than you had all night.

“Jay looks good up there,” You observed, watching the stage. “Like, really good. The whole angsty hot musician thing really works for him.”

Jake glanced at you skeptically. “Are you thirsting over my teammate right now?”

“I’m making a simple observation about his attractiveness.” Your eyes gleamed with mischief. “Chaewon’s already decided they’re soulmates based entirely on the way he plays guitar.”

“That tracks. Jay has that effect on people.” Jake paused. “Please tell me you’re not under his spell too.”

“Relax, Chaewon called dibs. Besides, musicians are too high-maintenance for me.” You turned to face him fully, leaning your hip against the bar.

The question bubbled in your chest again—the nagging curiosity about why Jake was here instead of leaving with Isa.

It wasn’t jealousy, you just knew Jake.

You knew his patterns and knew that when a girl like Isa showed interest, he usually took the opportunity without much hesitation.

So why hadn’t he?

“How’s your night actually going? You looked like you were about to leave with Isa.”

Jake shrugged, suddenly seeming very interested in the typography of his beer label. “Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.”

“Really?” You couldn’t keep the surprise out of your tone, “you’ve been trying to hook up with her since September.”

Jake made an amusing noise of frustration, “how does everyone know that?” He threw his hand up, “have I been that obvious?”

You pursed your lips with intentional silence, darting your eyes back to the stage.

“Wow, coming for my throat tonight.”

“You’re always obvious.” You tilted your head, studying him. “But seriously, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jake considered lying—you could see it cross his face, the automatic playful smile he used with everyone else—but instead, his shoulders dropped slightly with a sigh.

“Honestly? I’m just spent,” he admitted. “Rather drown myself in hockey practice and physics homework than do that whole dance again.”

Jake took a long swig from his drink. “I don’t know. Maybe I need a break from all of it.”

“A break? You?” You looked genuinely surprised. “Jake Sim, taking a break from hooking up? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”

“Ha ha. But yeah, maybe. The whole thing is…exhausting.”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer. “Yeah. I get that.”

Something in your tone made Jake look at you more closely. You were staring at your drink, the crease in your eyes an adorable yet clear indication that you too, looked like you wished you could be anywhere else.

“...You want to get out of here?” The words came out before Jake could think about them.

You looked up. “What?”

“This place. The gig. Everything.” Jake gestured vaguely. “You wanna just leave? Go somewhere quieter?”

“What about Chaewon and Sunoo?”

“What about Heeseung and Sunghoon? They’ll survive without us.” Jake bumped your shoulder with his. “Come on. Let’s bail. But only if there’s alcohol at your place.”

Your smile was slow and considering. “Sunoo did leave a few bottles of something.”

“Sold.” Jake downed the rest of his beer, setting the bottle on the bar. “Let’s go.”

“You sure? You’re not going to regret leaving Isa behind?”

Jake looked at you in a way that made your face unusually warm, “I’m pretty sure.”

“Come on.” Jake laced his fingers through yours, tugging you away from the bar.

You tried desperately to down the rest of your drink as he pulled you toward the exit, nearly spilling it on yourself in the process.

“Jake wait—I’m still—” you protested between gulps, giggling.

“Chug faster!” He laughed, “I didn’t drag you to all those parties for nothing.”

You managed one final heroic swig before he dragged you through the door, both of you laughing like idiots as the cool night air hit your faces.

When you reached your apartment, Jake immediately gravitated to your speaker with the familiarity of someone who’d done it a thousand times before, immediately fiddling with the device.

“Oh, make yourself comfortable,” you called from the kitchen, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Already am!” Jake crashed on the couch, kicking off his shoes and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “What’ve you got?”

“Let’s see…” You stared at the haphazard arrangement of bottles left on the counter in a rush to catch an uber. “Vodka, rum, some tequila that Sunoo left here, and—oh, he got amaretto.”

“Fancy.”

“He does contain multitudes.” You started grabbing at bottles. “Want me to make something, or are we just doing shots?”

“Make something. Show off your bartending skills.”

“I don’t have bartending skills.”

“Then improvise. I believe in you.”

You laughed, pulling out glasses and starting to mix something that looked more complicated than it probably needed to be.

“So,” You said, briefly looking up from your mixing, “how’s hockey going?”

Jake looked away a bit too quickly as he cleared his throat, shrugging. “Hockey’s been the same. We’ve got a game in a few weeks, so everyone’s pretending they’re in the NHL.”

You hummed intently, dangerously pouring something amber into something clear.

Jake watched you for a second, “You should come to the game.”

You made a face, “I’ve been to games.”

“Not in months.” He pointed at you accusingly. “Fake fan behavior.” Jake clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I’ve just been…busy.” You shrugged, crashing beside him and handing him a drink.

The speaker finally came to life after he did enough damage—the harmony of East High students filling the room with way too much glee and optimism for a mellow evening.

“Shit, my phone’s still connected.” You lunged for your phone, frantically disconnecting the music amidst Jake’s unshakable laughter.

“High School Musical 3?!” He managed between laughs, shoulders shaking while you rolled your eyes with a flustered groan.

“Whatever! It’s a good movie and a good playlist, I’m not backing down on that.” You insisted, trying to fight the burn that settled in your cheeks.

“Aww.” Jake cooed, reaching over to pat your head, “you are such a dork (Y/N).” Still grinning.

“Uhh…says the guy who just ditched a sure thing to hang out with me.”

“Who says you’re not a sure thing?”

The words came out more flirtatious than Jake intended, and your eyebrows shot up nimbly. “Careful, Sim. Keep talking like that and I might actually think you actually like spending time with me.”

“I tolerate you.” Jake corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Right, that’s why you drove forty minutes to watch me tank soccer try outs in junior year.”

“That was moral support.” He defended.

“You laughed the entire time.” You said dryly, though you were still smiling.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but you were absolutely hilarious, you were playing an entirely different sport.”

“I only grabbed the ball because the midfielder hurled it right at my face!”

The rest of the night melted into something comfortable and way better than where your night had been going a few hours ago.

You had reached the point where you could feel the pleasant buzz of the alcohol in your veins, just the right amount of tipsy that made everything entertaining.

You two talked about anything and basically everything—ranging from entertaining moments in your yearbook club and hockey, to harmless gripes about your respective roommates.

Jake grumbled about how Sunghoon ran the apartment like being captain didn't leave the threshold of the ice rink, while you mentioned Chaewon’s inability to do basically anything without the TV playing ‘That 70s Show’ reruns—even if she was fast asleep.

But being slightly plastered also invited unwarranted impulsivity and honesty in you that only liquid courage could reinforce—slightly unfettered by your sober self to filter your pensive thoughts.

For the most of the conversation your mind had been embarrassingly elsewhere.

Whenever Jake had a few drinks in him, he always talked animatedly—hands waving, fingers gesturing wildly at something he was talking about.

It was adorable.

Though now, you weren’t hyper fixated on his fingers due to dramatics—but because they were nice, and pretty, and long. Your mind couldn’t help itself with the thought of his fingers at a place you ached for them be.

It was shameful, you’d admit.

Here he was talking your ear of about something you’d tuned out ten minutes ago, and your cunt practically had its own maddening pulse at though your best friend finger fucking you.

You were so horny it was driving you crazy.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Jake announced suddenly, drawing you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in another world for like the past ten minutes.”

“I was here!"

“Really? Care to repeat what I said?”

You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, and closed it. “Sunghoon…did another annoying thing?”

“Wow. Riveting summary.” Jake shifted to face you, grinning. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar, actually.”

“You’re really not. Remember poker night at mine?”

You groaned with a roll of your eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it counts.” He was already grinning at the memory. “You had a garbage hand and kept licking your lips.”

“My lips were dry!”

“Your lips are never dry, (Y/N).” He stated with light humor in his tone, and you tried to maintain a neutral expression at that clearly harmless observation.

“You were panicking.” Jake poked your side, making you squirm. “Come on, spill. What’s the deal?”

Diversion was the obvious way out.

You could change the subject, and insist on moving on—but honestly? You were way too tired and tipsy to thinking about your sexual frustrations alone. And if you couldn’t talk to Jake about this stuff, who could you talk to?

“Okay, fine.” You sighed, sitting up a bit straighter, “but you have to promise not to be weird about it.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot up, intrigued. “This already sounds amazing. I can’t promise anything.”

“Jake.”

“Okay, okay. I promise to be minimally weird. That’s the best you’re getting.”

You rolled your eyes but continued. “Remember at the party when we were complaining about hookups and relationships?”

“You mean two weeks ago when I was having my Yuna crisis?”

“Yes, that. Well, I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you shifted in your spot, suddenly hyperaware of his unwavering gaze,“…about wanting something fun without all the complications.”

Jake’s lips quirked up into something mischievous. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Don’t make this weird.”

“Too late, already weird. Continue.”

You grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to your chest. “I’m just saying, you had a point. Everyone’s either looking for their future partner or treating hookups like sports tryouts. And both options sound exhausting.”

“You’re not wrong. So what, you’ve been sitting here thinking about that?”

“Maybe. Is that so weird?”

“Not at all. I’ve been having the same crisis for three weeks.” Jake’s tone was light but his eyes still focused on you with unusual intensity.

“What brought this on? Finally tired of guys getting jealous of your devastatingly handsome best friend?”

You sighed with theatrical awe, “your humility is truly inspiring.”

“I’m just stating facts.” He grinned. “But seriously, what’s up?”

Your fingers picked at the loose threads on the pillow. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been…frustrated lately. And not in a ‘my assignment is due’ way.”

“Oh?” Jake’s grin widened. “What kind of frustrated are we talking about here?”

“You’re such a child.”

“You brought it up!”

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation!”

“About being sexually frustrated?” Jake was fully grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “By all means, continue. This is fascinating.”

“I hate you.” You threw the pillow at his face, and he caught it, laughing.

“No you don’t.” Jake tossed the pillow back.

“But okay, seriously—I get it. The whole ‘too stressed to date but too stressed not to’ thing. It’s an annoying cycle.”

“Exactly!” You gestured emphatically. “Like, I don’t have the energy to deal with someone getting clingy or possessive, but I also—” You cut yourself off, feeling the warmth blossom in your cheeks.

“But you also want to get laid?” Jake supplied helpfully.

“Oh my god.”

“What? I’m just finishing your sentence!”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame me? You’re usually so put together and now you’re over here blushing about wanting to have sex. It’s adorable.”

You glared at him. “I will kick you out.”

“No you won’t. You need me for emotional support during your dilemma.” Jake’s grin softened into something more genuine. “But for real though, I get it. It’s like… you want the fun parts without any of the dramatic parts.”

“Right! Is that too much to ask? Just something simple and uncomplicated?”

“Apparently, yes. Because people are terrible at keeping things simple.”

“The worst.”

You fell quiet, both contemplating the unfairness of modern dating.

Then Jake spoke up, voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of something else, “we could solve both our problems pretty easily.”

“Remember when I also suggested that we…” He trailed off, letting the allusion of what you two playfully conspired that night—and your heart skipped.

“Yeah. I remember.”

“I’m just saying.” Jake turned to face you fully, one arm draped over the couch back.

“It makes sense. We both want the same thing and we’re both sitting here whining about it when the solution is right in front of our faces.”

Your mouth went dry. “Jake—”

Jake’s eyes were dark with the kind of mischief that meant the gears were already turning. “We already know each other. There’s no feelings, no games, no jealousy, no crying in cafeteria halls—”

You broke into a chuckle at the memory. “Oh yeah, that was hilarious.”

“Not my point—but see? With you, there’s none of that. Just…fun. Simple. Easy.” He shifted closer, his knee bumping yours.

“We’re both adults. We’re both frustrated. We trust each other. Where’s the harm in having a little fun?”

“The harm is that it could make things weird.” You supplied, with a lift of an eyebrow.

You were mostly convincing yourself more than anything, because this was a bad idea.

But the traitorous part of your mind, honest enough to admit that you wanted to be thoroughly, enthusiastically fucked senseless seemed to scrap your sensible thought.

“Or it could make things better.” Jake’s voice dropped lower. “No messy baggage, just…two friends helping each other out.”

You chewed on your lip, and Jake couldn’t help but track the movement, his gaze sending a shock straight to your core.

“So what, we just…do it? Hook up?”

“Why not?” Jake was warming to the idea all over again.

Your eyes briefly flickered to his slender fingers, absentmindedly brushing against his lips and you wondered what it would feel like to kiss them—all soft, plump and pretty.

“Okay.”

Jake blinked, eyes going wide for a brief second.

“But—but—if we actually did this, there would have to be rules.”

Jake’s face lit up, and he had to physically school into something nonchalant. “Rules. Yes. I’m great with rules.”

“You break rules constantly.” You stated, with an unimpressed squint.

“Hockey rules. These would be different. Important rules.” He sat up straighter, all business now, “rule one: this would just be for fun. No expectations.”

“Obviously.”

“Rule two: nothing changes. We’re still best friends first.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule three: if it gets weird, we stop. No questions asked.”

“That’s actually reasonable,” you admitted.

“I have my moments.” Jake was grinning now, clearly pleased with himself.

“And rule four,” you added, “we don’t tell anyone. Not because it’s shameful, but because everyone would make it into this huge dramatic thing.”

“Makes sense.”

“And rule five—” Jake’s expression turned more sincere. “This doesn’t fuck up what we have. Because you’re too important to lose over something that’s supposed to be fun.”

Your chest felt tight, shifting to manual breathing. “Do you really think we can pull this off?”

“I think we can.” Jake reached over, softly brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “But only if you actually want to.”

Did you want to?

God, yes. Jake was right. This could work. You could make this work.

“Okay,” you said, the word coming out more confident than you felt.

Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s try it.” You nodded, feeling slightly terrified and exhilarated in concert. “But this would just be a one time thing.”

“Yeah, just a one time thing,” Jake rehashed with a dutiful nod.

You held his gaze for a second, the space between you abruptly feeling tighter, charged with something chancy—something you’d never imagined would exist with Jake.

“So…” you started, suddenly feeling awkward. “Do we just like…now?”

“I mean, we could?” Jake laughed, hand pushing through his hair. “Unless you want to schedule it? Put it in our calendars? ‘Hook up with best friend, Friday 9PM’?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You dragged your hands over your face, groaning between giggles.

“I’m just saying, we could be organized about this—”

Before Jake could get another word out, you fisted your hands in his shirt and dragged his lips to yours.

It was impulsive, born from equal parts frustration and avidity and the need to just do something before you overthought yourself out of this entirely.

Jake made a small sound of surprise before kissing you back, his hand sliding into your hair while his other arm wrapped around your waist.

And oh. Oh.

Jake’s lips were just as soft as you’d expected, moving against yours with a certainty that made your stomach flip.

He tasted like the drinks you’d been sharing and that cologne that was so distinctly him, and it was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as the kiss turned hungrier and urgent. Jake pulled you closer, eliminating any space between you, and you went willingly, your brain finally, blessedly shutting off.

This was happening. This was really happening.

And it felt right in a way that should probably concern you but currently didn’t.

When you finally broke apart for air, both breathing heavily, Jake’s gaze carried something indecipherable that had never been aimed at you before.

“So,” he said, voice rough. “Your room?”

You laughed, slightly breathless. “Well, we’re literally at my place. Seems efficient.”

“Right.” Jake blinked himself out of a haze. “Efficient.” He stood, pulling you up with him. “Lead the way?”

You grabbed his hand, leading him down the short hallway to your room. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, anticipation and nervousness and want all tangled together in your chest.

This was probably a mistake.

But god, you wanted it anyway.

The door closed with a defining click behind Jake as he leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath and his bearings.

“Okay, so how do you want to—”

His voice died completely when you grabbed the hem of your top and pulled it over your head in one swift, confident motion.

Jake’s brain short-circuited.

Whatever he’d been about to say evaporated the second your bare skin hit the air.

You adorned a black lace bra that was definitely not your usual practical style, and Jake’s eyes dropped before he could stop them.

Holy shit.

“If we do this,” you said, seemingly unbothered by his staring, “we both have to swear it’s just one time and nothing changes. I’m still the annoying girl who steals your music taste, and you’re still—”

You cut yourself off when you realized Jake wasn’t even listening to a single word. His eyes were locked shamelessly on your chest, his expression somewhere between awe and hunger.

You clapped your hands sharply. “Hey! Can you pay attention?”

Jake’s gaze jerked upward, heat flooding his cheeks. “Sorry,” he laughed, the sound stupefied and breathless. “It’s just—you’re kind of—I mean—Wow.” He signaled vaguely at you, swallowing hard, “man, do I love Victoria’s Secret.”

Despite yourself, you felt a smile tug at your lips, “god, you men are so easy.”

“No, no—that’s unfair.” Jake leaned closer, defensive but grinning. “I’m still fully dressed while you’ve already started stripping. That’s cheating.”

“Well?” You crossed your arms beneath your chest, deliberately emphasizing your cleavage as you tilted your chin up. “What are you waiting for?”

Jake huffed out a laugh, already reaching for his shirt. “You’re bossy. Are you always this bossy when you do this?”

In one quick move, he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. The fabric hit the floor, and suddenly his body was right there in front of you—all lean muscle and defined lines that you had definitely not been noticing for weeks now.

You’d seen Jake shirtless more times than you could count, but somehow, here in your small bedroom with the air different between you, it felt like the first time.

“Depends,” you said, reaching out to run your fingers through his messy hair, and his eyes softened, closing briefly with a soft groan.

“If my time’s being wasted, I take charge.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Jake’s voice dropped low, conspiratorial, as his hands found your waist. “I’ll make it worthwhile.”

You scoffed, arching a brow even as your stomach flipped at the promise in his tone.

“Sure.”

“Still doubting me?” His hands were a satisfying contrast to your skin, thumbs tracing idle circles just above your hips—pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“I’ve been let down before,” you muttered, though your heart was hammering at the gentle pressure of his touch.

“Okay, fair.” Jake reached over to brush the edge of your jaw before his palm settled warm against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just above yours teasingly, “but you just haven’t done it with me.”

The cocky murmur had your pulse tripping.

Just as Jake tilted forward to close the distance, you darted back, laughing when he immediately followed, chasing your mouth.

“Woah, ease up there, big boy. The rules—”

“One time only, nothing changes, yeah, yeah.” His words tumbled out in a rush, impatient and wanting—and before you could object again, Jake’s mouth crashed into yours.

You practically melted, all your carefully constructed defenses dissolving like sugar in water. Your arms snaked around his neck as he leaned into you with a muffled sound of satisfaction.

You were both conjectural at first. Maybe you’d both eventually change your minds and call it quits, probably laugh at this absurd night a few weeks later over watered-down liquor in some crowded house.

But his lips were so soft…so inviting—and every time you tried to briefly pull away to catch your breath, he was seeking your lips like he’d been starved for way too long, and the only thing satiating him was this.

Jake’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair, tilting your head just so, while the other pressed firm against the small of your back, bridging any remaining distance.

Heat curled low in your stomach as his tongue brushed yours, teasing, pulling a tiny, involuntary sound from your throat.

The sound made him groan into your mouth, kissing you harder, needier, until the room seemed to shrink around just the two of you.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his grip shifted—one strong arm hooking under your thighs, the other steady at your back.

In a swift, dizzying motion, he lifted you clean off the ground, your legs instinctively locking around his waist.

Jake barely pulled away from your mouth, even as he carried you, the kisses now messy, consuming, teeth grazing your lower lip before he tugged it gently between his.

You gasped, a sharp inhale against him, and he swallowed the sound like he’d been waiting for it.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his chest—the vibration thrumming against your lips, down your throat, charging through you like static.

Jake’s hand slid higher along your back, palm splayed broad and possessive, holding you flush against him as if the closeness still wasn’t close enough.

The bed eventually sank under your weight as he leaned over you, the chill of the cotton sheets against your spine a quiet counterpoint to his solid frame.

He kissed you harder, tilting his head to deepen it, his tongue sweeping against yours with a deliberate fervor that made your legs tighten around him.

Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing marks along the skin as he dragged his mouth along your neck—every brush of his lips, every nip, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Jake murmured something against your skin, too low and ruined by a groan to catch, but the sound alone had your chest heaving.

Jake felt solid beneath your grip, steady even while you were falling apart, dizzy from the heady mix of stolen breath, and the throbbing ache between your legs.

When his lips returned to yours, it was reckless—your breathless sighs lost in it, swallowed whole as his hand snuck beneath your back and searched for the clasp of your bra.

Jake only pulled away to gauge your reaction, cautious enough to ask, “are you sure want me to—“

“Now’s not the time to be considerate,” You interrupted, voice breathless and edged with frustration.

“Geez,” he laughed against your mouth, “you’re kinda hot when you’re demanding.”

“I’m hot all the time,” you rolled your eyes, “now take the damn thing off.” That came out whinier than you intended it to be, but he obliged—pulling back just enough to slide the straps down your shoulders, the lace falling away completely.

For a moment, he just stared, and you watched his expression shift from playful to something darker—hungrier.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

“Fuck,” Jake said, voice rough. “Your tits are perfect.”

You felt a flush of pride and satisfaction despite yourself, “tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m serious.” His hands came up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp.

“Like, I knew you were attractive, obviously, but this is—” He shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words. “This is unfair. You’re unfair.”

“Are you done admiring, or are we actually doing this?” Your voice came out as a breathless moan, your body already arching into his touch for more.

“Oh, we’re doing this.” Jake’s grin turned wicked as he lowered his head, his mouth trailing down your neck. “But I have to take my time enjoying this.”

“Jake—”

“Relax.” His lips brushed against your collarbone, trailing lower. “I said I’d make it worthwhile, remember? Trust me.”

You wanted to argue, and then Jake’s mouth closed over your nipple and your brain short-circuited completely.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, hands flying to his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.

Jake hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

His tongue circled slowly, deliberately, while his hand worked your other breast with the same focused attention.

Your head fell back into the pillow with a soft broken moan, eyes falling shut as your lips went agape.

Okay, maybe him taking his time wasn’t the worst idea.

“Still want me to rush?” Jake asked, his voice smug as he switched sides, swirling and sucking on the sensitive bud with satisfied groans.

“Shut up,” you managed, between gasps.

“That’s what I thought.”

His hands slid down to your hips, fingers slipping into the waistband of your skirt. He pulled back to throw you a demanding look, “these need to come off,” he rasped.

You lifted your hips helpfully and without complaint, eager to eliminate any remaining barriers between you.

Jake made quick work of your small bottoms and underwear, stripping them away in one smooth motion, groaning at the sight of your arousal practically sticking to the lacy fabric.

Then he sat back on his heels, just looking at you laid out on your bed, completely bare before him.

“You’re staring.” You pointed out, trying to sound unaffected even as your skin prickled under his gaze.

You moved to close your legs, suddenly too aware of how exposed you were.

Jake’s hands caught your knees before they could come together, gently but firmly pushing them back apart. “I can’t help it.” His hands ran up your thighs, spreading them wider. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“Being a kiss ass isn’t necessary—”

“It’s not being a kiss ass if it’s true.” His fingers traced idle patterns on your inner thighs, maddeningly close to where you wanted him but not quite there.

“Jake, I swear to god, if you don’t—”

Your complaint died in a moan as his fingers finally, finally touched you where you needed him most, practically slipping between your slick folds with ease.

"You’re so—“ his voice died in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his cock painfully throbbed in the constraint of his jeans, a shuddery breath escaping his lips.

“So fucking wet." Jake groaned, his fingers sliding through her slickness. “Is this all for me?”

A ragged moan tore from your lips as he began to pump them inside you, barely giving you the chance to respond—grabbing at his shoulders as you tried to anchor yourself.

You struggled to form a proper sentence, your hips rocking in time with his fingers—too lost on the incredible sensation.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in erratic circles and your hand practically flew to his wrist, with a sharp cry.

"Fuck, right there." You moaned, “don’t stop.”

"Are you begging?" He smirked, his eyes gleaming as he watched your expression contort, pleasure rippling through your body. “I wish this could last forever.”

"Don’t—don’t look so smug about—oh fuck—”

Jake’s expression shifted entirely, eyes going dark and predatory in a way that made you clench around his fingers helplessly.

Then his pace slowed.

The focused attention that had been driving you toward the edge became something torturously gentle and maddeningly unhurried.

“Last warning (Y/N).” His tone irritatingly calm, “Be good for me or I stop and leave you like this.”

One slow, intentional curl of his fingers made you whimper, “and we both know you won’t come nearly as hard with your fingers.”

“Okay, I’ll behave—I’ll be good I swear,” you gasped out, any pretense of your control dissolving as your hips chased the rhythm he was denying you.

“Good.” His smirk was brief but devastating before he returned to a different pace, this time with no intent of stopping—plunging into until you were a moaning mess.

“That’s it. Just like that.” He growled, his thumb finding your clit again and rubbing it in torturous circles, sending sparks of pleasure through you. “Look at you.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, helplessly bucking into his hand, the sound of your whimpers music to Jake’s ears as he pumped his fingers at a jaw dropping speed.

Your back arched, the coil inside you snapping, and waves of pleasure rolled over you as you came, a strangled cry tearing from your throat.

Jake eventually pulled his fingers out of you when your loud mewls reduced to whimpers—licking them clean, and the sight alone had you nearly begging him to finger fuck you again.

But he had better plans as the satisfying sight of him stripping met your hazy sight.

Your breath caught when Jake finally stripped off his jeans and boxers, your eyes widening slightly despite yourself.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

You’d known, theoretically, that Jake was…proportionate. Tall guy, athlete, the math checked out.

But theory and reality were two very different things, and reality was currently standing in front of you.

You clenched around nothing as you stared at his hard cock, the head glistening with pre-cum and wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you, stretching and filling you to the hilt—at least that’s what you’d hoped.

The last thing you needed was for a pretty cock to be rendered useless.

You were impressed and maybe slightly intimidated, swallowed thickly, a flutter of nervousness mixing with the sheer need for to be in you now.

Jake caught your expression, his expression softening into something gentler. “Hey. We don’t have to—”

“No,” you said way too quickly, meeting his eyes. “No, I want to. I just…give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need.” Jake moved over you, settling himself between your soaked folds, brushing it against your slick making your head spin.

“We’ll go slow.”

Slow, Jake thought, every muscle in his body tense with restraint. Right. Slow. He could do slow.

Except he wasn’t sure he could. Not when you were spread out beneath him looking like every fantasy he’d been trying not to have for three weeks.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded, before he grabbed this side of your face capturing your lips with his, stealing your air in a consuming, needy manner. Your arms looped around his neck, clinging as his mouth slanted deeper against yours.

You could feel him prodding at your center, aligning himself at your dripping entrance before he slowly slid in and both your mouths fell slack against each other as you both gasped at the sensation.

The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, your body struggling to accommodate him. Jake moved incrementally, giving you time to adjust, and you could feel him shaking slightly with the effort of holding back.

“You okay?” Jake’s voice was strained and rough.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, keep going.”

Jake pushed in further, still maddeningly slow, and your nails dug into his shoulders with a small cry. It was almost too much, riding that edge between pleasure and pain but then it shifted—and you thought you were losing your mind.

“Holy shit,” Jake breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You feel—fuck, (Y/N), you feel amazing.”

Your hips rolled experimentally, and Jake’s control nearly snapped. “Shit,” he hissed. “(Y/N), if you do that again—”

You did it again purely uncontrolled, drawing a broken moan from the both of you. “Fuck.” Jake’s hips jerked involuntarily, pulling out slightly before sliding back in, and you gasped.

He started to move then, slowly, setting a gentle rhythm that was meant to ease you into it. Long, measured strokes that had your breath hitching but weren’t quite enough.

You wanted more.

But you were also acutely aware that you would regret that tomorrow.

Hell, you’d probably regret it in an hour. Walking was going to be interesting. Sitting in class on Monday was going to be a nightmare.

But if you were only doing this once, then you wanted all of it.

“Jake,” you gasped out.

“Yeah?” His voice was breathless, his rhythm steady but clearly controlled.

“Stop—” you gripped his shoulders harder. “Stop being so gentle.”

Jake stilled, pulling back to look at you. “What?”

“I’m not—” your face flushed, but you held his gaze. “I’m not going to break.” You pulled him down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Stop playing nice and fuck me properly.”

Jake went completely still for a heartbeat, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes looked almost black, “You sure?” His voice was rough, dangerous.

“Please,” you breathed, and that was all the green light he needed.

Jake slipped out of you before snapping into you, and your head tipped back with a broken moan.

He set a new pace—still controlled but no longer careful, his cock dragging along your walls with deliberate and powerful strokes—hitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids.

Holy fucking shit.

You could feel him everywhere—deep, so deep you could barely breathe. Your body was stretched impossibly full, pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that made you shake.

It was good—so good—but that careful pace was driving you crazy.

“Jake,” you panted, your nails raking down his back. “Please” you struggled to form words, your brain short-circuiting with pleasure. “I want—I need—”

“Tell me.” Jake’s voice was rough, shockingly controlled despite everything. “Tell me what you need.”

Everything, you thought desperately. You needed everything.

“Faster,” you gasped out. “Please, Jake. Stop treating me like I’m fragile and just—fuck me.”

He shifted his grip, one hand sliding under your knee as he hooked your leg over his shoulder, opening you further as he slammed into you—over and over again.

“Like that?” Jake’s voice was rough, commanding.

“That what you wanted?”

“Yes—oh god—yes—” the cries practically tumbled out your lips at its own accord, dumbstruck by the punishing pace, all his careful restraint abandoned.

Your nails clawed at Jake’s back, his shoulders, anything you could reach marking his skin as he pounded into your relentlessly, reducing any coherent thoughts to pure overwhelming sensation

“Nobody’s ever made you feel like this, have they? Be honest.”

You shook your head. “So good, so good, so fucking good.”

The room echoed with desperate sounds of your voice, breathless moans and the obscene sounds of him pistoning into you.

You didn’t even notice you’d caught your lip between your teeth, trying to stifle the pathetic sounds, until Jake made a sound of disapproval, thumb dragging your lower lip, freeing it from your bite.

“Uh-uh, I want to hear you.” He demanded, watching you squirm beneath him with pathetic cries as he pounded into you, clenching around him like a vice.

“That’s it,” Jake growled. “Let me hear you. Want to hear you say my name.”

“Jake—Jake—oh my god, Jake—” your sounds pitched higher and higher, breaking into breathless pleas.

So much for one time, you thought.

“Fuck, (Y/N)—” Jake’s words dissolved into a groan. “So, so fucking perfect—”

You shattered, vision going blurry as your second orgasm crashed through you in waves so intense you couldn’t breathe or think.

You were wrecked, helplessly fluttering around him, distantly aware of screaming his name—probably loud enough for the entire floor to hear, but you were beyond caring.

The aftershocks rolled through your body, your mind completely white-static as your legs shaked uncontrollably—barely able to remember your own name, let alone form a sober thought.

But Jake—Jake was still moving, still buried inside you with no intent of stopping.

How the hell was he still going?

“Too much,” you whimpered, trying to push him away even though some deeper part of you absolutely did not want him to stop.

“I can’t—”

Jake caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them gently above your head with one hand.

His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he slowed his rhythm just slightly.

“Yes you can,” he said, his voice raspy and strained but somehow still demanding. “You can give me one more.”

Fuck. So close. Jake was so fucking close, and you felt incredible.

“I can’t,” you gasped, even as your body betrayed you, already building toward something else despite your protests.

The assailing sensation was intense—almost too much but not quite, toeing that perfect line between pleasure and overwhelm.

“You can,” Jake insisted, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, holding you steady as he maintained that stupefying pace. “You’re doing so good, (Y/N). So fucking perfect. Just a little more, baby.”

Jake adjusted his angle slightly, hitting that heavenly spot inside you that made you feel dizzy all over again.

“That’s it,” Jake groaned, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. “Feel so fucking good. You’re taking me so well.”

Your eyes fluttered close, your mouth open in a silent cry as the oversensitivity morphed into something else entirely, your body responding despite your exhausted protests, that familiar coil building again impossibly fast.

“Jake,” you gasped out, his name broken and desperate.

“I know. I know, baby.” His voice was wrecked now, losing that controlled edge. “Come with me. Need you to—fuck—need you to come with me.” His eyebrows drew together, his mouth falling open as his rhythm stuttered.

The steady, controlled movements were becoming erratic, punctuated by the gorgeous sounds of his deep groans, catching and transform into higher, breathier whimpers when you clenched around him.

The hand on your hip slid between you again, thumb finding you oversensitive clit, and you nearly screamed.

“Every sound you make—god, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whimpered breathlessly chasing his own release.

“Please,” Jake groaned, and you'd never heard him sound so desperate, so undone. “Please, (Y/N). One more. Give me one more.”

So pretty, your mind supplied hazily. He sounded so fucking pretty when he was losing control.

The combination of his fingers, his words, the way he was looking at you like you—it was too much.

You came apart again, harder this time, your vision whiting out as your whole body arched up into his as pleasure crashed over you in a surge that felt endless.

You felt Jake’s rhythm stutter, burying himself into you as he finally, finally found his own hit with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest.

You felt him pulse inside you, his whole body going rigid before collapsing against you, his face buried in your neck as he came with a sound that was absolutely the prettiest thing ever.

“Fuck.” His head dropped to your shoulder, his whole body shuddering, still holding your wrists above your head like he’d forgotten to let go.

Consciousness you lost for a brief second, the dark spots clouding your visions before they gradually faded away.

Both of you were trembling and gasping for air, your hearts pounding against each other.

Jake lifted his head slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his eyes still unfocused.

“You okay?”

You let out a breathless hazy laugh. “Ask me that question in five minutes.”

Jake’s laugh was weak but genuine, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity, before collapsing beside you.

You laid there in silence for a moment, both trying to catch your breath.

“That—” you couldn’t even find words. “Jake, that was—”

“Yeah.” Jake echoed breathlessly.

Fucked.

Absolutely fucked. In every sense of the word, was what you were.

There was no way this would be a one time thing.