Blurred lines 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
۶ৎ Summary: You’ve always gotten along really really with Jake during uni, so it only made sense to share a flat with him post-grad. Now you’re roommates who have a playfully physical friendship but it’s starting to mean something.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚Word Count: 10.9k, lowkey not my best work but, oh well
۶ৎ Tags: angst, smut, lawyer apprentice Jake, slice of life, shared domesticity,, smut tags: munch!Jake, jealousy, angry sex, heavy petting, pussy slapping, edging + denial,, soft dominance, possessiveness, use of blindfold, sex on the balcony
౨ৎ Content Warning: mdni, smut Extra: masterlist, taglist: @mrsjjongstby
ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐
You and Jake weren’t best friends exactly, you were more like orbiters who kept getting pulled into each other’s gravity. Same friend groups. Late-night library hangs. Group project partners who accidentally became each other’s go-to plus-one. You’d pass each other snacks during lectures and you might’ve "jokingly" sat on his lap a few times.
By the end of final year, it was just… normal to be around each other.
Fast forward to post-grad life looming. Your friend group start spiraling with “where is everyone living next year” stress.
You say “Ugh, I don’t want a random roommate. I just want someone chill.” Jake, half-asleep on the couch, goes “So… live with me then.” You blink. “You’re serious?” He shrugs. Casual, like always, “Yeah. We already practically do.”
And that’s it.
You both tour two flats, pick the one with huge windows, two bedrooms and a couch that sinks too deep, and sign a lease. It’s not even dramatic. It just makes sense.
You fight over rugs. He insists on a “muted navy palette.” You want color. He ends up secretly buying the yellow throw you liked.
On your first night together in the flat, you’re both sitting on the floor eating noodles out of the box.
“You nervous?”
“Only about what your snoring sounds like.”
He throws a pillow at you.
And after weeks of living together, you two fall into a rhythm. Jake leaves early in the morning for his part-time internship at a law firm. He was prepping to become a lawyer, so seeing him in suits, shirts and ties quickly became a regular occurrence. The first time you saw him all professional was when you had to help him with his tie.
It was kind of cute. He quietly shuffled into your room and gently woke you up. You remember how shy he was, a slight blush covering his cheeks. Still remember the way his hand rested on your waist as you worked on knotting his tie properly.
Since you’re a screenwriter, your mornings on the other hand are much slower. You shuffle to the kitchen in socks and a hoodie that might be his. Most days, you talk to yourself more than you talk to anyone else. Except Jake. Always Jake.
He’s usually gone by the time you fully wake up, but his presence lingers. A mug left in the sink. Cologne in the hallway. A post-it on the fridge that says, "Eat something real today. Instant noodles don’t count. – J"
Days you two spend apart, but evenings unanimously become a time just for you two. Sometimes you would go out for a walk, other days a party, but most evening would end with a shared dinner and watching series.
But not tonight. You had been looking forward to tonight for way too long. You had been eyeing one of your coworkers for months and finally he asked you out on a date. Sunghoon was the same age as you and Jake and while you didn’t really know him that well, there was something about him...
Which is why you spend over an hour picking your outfit, and then another hour doing your makeup. You’re just putting on your perfume when you hear a soft knock at the door.
Jake leans in, fresh from a shower — hair damp, grey tee hanging loose, one hand braced against the wood. His eyes catch your reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t smile.
“You going out with that guy tonight?”
Your mascara wand pauses. You glance at him through the mirror. “You mean Sunghoon?”
Jake shrugs. "Whatever his name is."
You turn slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”
“Just asking,” he says casually.
There’s a beat of silence. The room smells like your perfume and the faint mint of his body wash. You go back to your lashes, but he doesn’t move.
Then, he steps closer, so close you can smell his body wash, and reaches past you like he’s fixing something on the counter. Instead, his fingers brush along your temple, then tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers a second longer than it needs to.
“You look prettier with your hair like this,” he murmurs, voice low.
You freeze. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing.
Except it isn’t.
You stare at him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, a challenge tucked behind his calm demeanor. Your pulse stutters.
Then your phone buzzes on the counter.
You glance at it. A message from Sunghoon. hey… sorry. can’t make it tonight. something came up. rain check?
You deflate before you can stop yourself. Jake notices immediately.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Date’s off?”
You try to sound breezy. “Work emergency or something.”
Jake doesn’t gloat, but there’s something smug in the way he shifts back, arms folding across his chest.
“Guess that means movie night’s back on,” he says, already turning toward the living room. “Your pick. But nothing depressing.”
You don’t answer right away. You just watch him go.
It takes you a moment to move, and then you’re changing into shorts and a loose shirt. It would lowkey be a waste to take your makeup off after you just applied it, so you leave it on. No other reason.
When you reach the living room, Jake’s already half-sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest like he owns the place (he kind of does). The blinds are drawn, the fan hums softly in the corner, and Netflix’s horror menu flashes onscreen.
He looks up when he sees you, and his gaze lingers for a second longer than usual. On your legs. Your lips. Your eyes — still done up like you’re going somewhere better than this.
“Didn’t change much,” he says, smirking.
You throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”
He catches it, laughing. “I meant that as a compliment. You look…” He gestures vaguely. “Fancy. For a movie about bloodsucking sadists.”
You shrug, climbing onto the couch and tucking your feet under you. “Might as well let the vampires appreciate the effort.”
Jake’s eyes flick to your lips again, just for a beat. Then he’s clearing his throat, shifting to grab the remote. “Alright. No crying if it’s gory.”
You nudge his leg with your toe. “Please. I’ll protect you.”
Jake grins, all smug. “Oh yeah? Gonna fight off the undead for me?”
You nod solemnly. “With style.”
“Great,” he says, tossing the blanket over both of you. “Then I’m officially off-duty.”
You shift to get comfortable, letting your legs stretch across the couch. The blanket settles over you both. His thigh brushes yours. Your foot nudges his again, not quite by accident. He doesn’t move.
The movie starts — all flickering shadows and eerie violins — but your focus wavers. Jake smells like laundry detergent and that citrusy cologne he always wears. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beside you, calm and steady.
A few minutes in, another jump scare hits. You jolt. He snorts.
“Still feeling brave?” he teases.
You scowl at him, then shift closer, just to prove a point. Your knee nudges his hip. Your arm slides across his stomach.
“Shut up,” you mumble. Jake doesn’t say anything, but he lifts his arm and lets you curl against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before long, you’re draped half across his chest, cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. The room is dark except for the flicker of the screen. His fingers find your hair, brushing through it slowly, over and over.
It feels good. Too good. You let yourself sink into it for a few long breaths. Then you start to shift back. But Jake doesn’t let you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers resting gently. “You always run when I touch you,” he murmurs.
You give a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Do not.”
But your voice is too soft to sound convincing. The movie drones on in the background but your mind's gone quiet. Jake’s still stroking your hair. Your eyes flicker to the muted blue light of your phone on the coffee table.
Sunghoon’s text still sits there. You don’t say anything, but your body gives you away, in the way your shoulders curve in, the weight of your breath.
Jake notices.
“Hey,” he says softly, thumb grazing your jaw. “You okay?”
You nod. Pause. Then shake your head.
“I feel stupid,” you admit.
Jake shifts to face you more fully. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I even liked him that much.” You press your cheek against his chest, voice muffled. “I just wanted someone to like me that much.”
There’s a long pause. Jake doesn’t say anything right away, he just holds you tighter, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“You know,” he says eventually, a teasing lilt creeping back into his tone, “I bet I’m a better kisser than that guy anyway.”
You let out a tired laugh, pulling back to look at him. “Oh yeah? So confident.”
Jake shrugs, mouth twitching. “I have a good resume.”
“Oh, do you?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it.”
You don’t even know what makes you say it.
Maybe it’s the leftover sadness. Maybe it’s the way his thumb is brushing your cheek. Or the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re not just his roommate. Like you’re his everything.
But suddenly you’re leaning in, still half-laughing.
The kiss starts soft. Just lips. Barely moving. Just a pause. Just a breath. Then Jake tilts his head. His hand slides up to cup your jaw. His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth and—
He kisses you like he means it.
No teasing. No jokes.
You whimper. A quiet, involuntary sound you don’t even recognize as your own. And he pulls you closer in response.
You don’t even realize spreading your legs, straddling him from where he still lays down on the couch. Jake’s hands rest on your hip and when his tongue traces your lower lip. When you open your mouth in submission his grip on your hips tightens. You shudder, and then Jake starts guiding your hips. Back and forth, slowly. You let him.
But then, just as suddenly, you both pull back.
You’re both breathing hard. Your thighs are still locked around his hips. His hands still resting on your waist. The air between you feels charged but no one’s saying it.
So you clear your throat and go, voice light, “Okay. Yeah. You’ve… definitely got a good resume.”
Jake huffs a laugh, chest rising under your palms. “Told you.”
“But,” you add, trying to keep your voice teasing, even though your pulse is still sprinting, “I’d need references before hiring full-time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “References? Babe, I am the reference.”
You laugh, it’s shaky, breathless and slowly climb off his lap, adjusting the hem of your shirt like that’ll somehow undo the grinding you just did.
Jake shifts too, leaning back on the couch like nothing happened. Except for the pillow hat he places in his lap. And the way his gaze drops to your lips again, just for a second.
“So,” you say, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “Still wanna finish the movie, or was that your idea of a plot twist?”
Jake grins, low and slow. “Let’s see how it ends.”
You press play. But your body’s still humming. He throws his arm across the back of the couch, unbothered.
Neither of you says anything else.
But something’s changed.
And you both know it.
The next morning is weird. It’s one of those days where you can’t work from home so you wake up at the same time as Jake does. And when you step out of your room, wearing only an oversized shirt – that’s probably Jake’s – you pause.
Jake is at the kitchen table, coffee half-drunk and Kindle in hand. His hair is still damp from his shower. He’s wearing that crisp white shirt that always fits a little too well, sleeves already rolled to the elbows.
His eyes lift when he hears your bedroom door creak open, and then they drop, slowly tracing the length of your legs like they have every right to.
“Morning,” you mumble, throat suddenly dry. You don’t wait for him to answer before disappearing into the bathroom.
When you return, you’ve changed into something semi-professional and pulled your hair back. Jake’s putting on his watch by the door. His cologne hits you before his voice does.
“You good?” he asks casually, like you didn’t ride him on the couch fourteen hours ago.
“Peachy,” you say, grabbing your tote bag. Your voice is light. Neutral. A little too neutral.
The car ride is… quieter than usual. There’s no playlist. Just the sound of traffic and turn signals. Until Jake breaks the silence.
“So, Sunoo texted. He wants to do something this weekend,” Jake says, eyes still on the road.
“Oh?” you ask, eyes flicking toward him.
“Haunted house. The one near the old train station.” He glances at you. “You in?”
You shrug, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sure. Who else is coming?”
“Me, Sunoo, Jay, Heeseung. I think Yujin and Liz are joining, too.”
“Great,” you say. “Perfect for Yujin to scream into Jay’s arms.”
Jake chuckles at that. “Better than Sunoo clinging to my hoodie again.”
“You’re the designated safety blanket. You knew what you signed up for.”
Jake glances at you again. His voice drops just a touch, teasing. “You gonna cling to me too this time?”
You don’t answer right away. You let the question hang there, feel the weight of it settle between the bucket seats.
Then you say, “Only if the ghosts get handsy.”
Jake snorts, but you catch the faint smile tugging at his mouth. He taps the steering wheel lightly with his thumb.
“That’s my favorite shirt, by the way,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“This morning. You wore it last week too.” He pauses. “Looks better on you.”
You stare out the window, ears burning, pretending you don’t hear him. But your heart is a little too loud.
And suddenly, the idea of getting scared on purpose this weekend… doesn’t seem so bad.
Except when the weekend rolls around and the seven of you near the abandoned train station you don’t think you will have to pretend to be scared.
The air is colder here, even though it’s the middle of summer. Not even a breeze breaks through the stillness. Like the atmosphere has forgotten how to move. Everything is quiet in that unnatural, pressurized way that makes your ears buzz. Even the sky feels different. Dusky, despite the fact that it’s barely past sunset.
The old train depot looms ahead. All rusted beams and broken windows, the paint long since peeled away to reveal something grey and rotting underneath. Ivy curls up the corners like fingers trying to hold it shut or maybe hold something in.
Jake whistles low under his breath beside you. “Charming.”
“Nope,” Sunoo says immediately. “Absolutely not. This place is cursed. There’s, like… ghost laws being broken right now.”
Liz snorts. “What the hell are ‘ghost laws’?”
Sunoo ignores her. “Why is it so quiet? Why is the sky pink? Why does it smell like iron and regret—?”
“Stop reading Wattpad,” Jay mutters, though his own grip on the back of Yujin’s shirt is noticeably tight.
“I’m just saying,” Sunoo huffs, edging closer to Liz, “if we go missing, check the attic first. It’s always the attic.”
Heeseung says nothing, but he’s clearly uncomfortable, his hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He gives the place one slow look and mutters, “Why do I feel like something’s watching us?”
Jake laughs under his breath. “Because something is watching us. The actors are probably already inside.”
You glance at him. He looks calm. Relaxed, even. But when you brush his hand with yours, he squeezes it lightly. Just once.
You don’t let go.
By the time you reach inside, you’re glued to his side. He lets you, fingers interlocked together and your other arm gripping his bicep. You think he flexes his muscle when you touch him, but don’t comment on it.
The haunted house (train?) is all black walls and red lighting, with old train sounds whistling through hidden speakers. The air smells like dry metal and artificial fog. Each hallway is tighter than the last, cramped and dark and full of sharp turns.
It doesn’t take long before you’re pressed against Jake, your face buried in his chest after a vampire-jumpscare pops out of a hidden wall.
“Jesus,” you whisper, trying to breathe.
He chuckles and holds you tighter. “They got you good, huh?”
“You flinched too!”
“Only because you screamed in my ear.”
Up ahead, Liz and Sunoo are doing a running commentary about which horror tropes they’re about to fulfill.
“Oh my god, we split up!” Liz shrieks. “This is how I die! I’m the comic relief!”
“I’m the comic relief!” Sunoo counters. “You’re the hot one who survives ‘cause of fan demand!”
Meanwhile, Jay is trying to walk calmly while Yujin clings to his arm with a suspiciously delighted smile. Heeseung’s behind them, dead silent, bambi eyes scanning every corner like he’s prepping for actual war.
But you and Jake… are in your own little bubble. Somewhere between adrenaline and instinct, you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just holding onto him. Sometimes his arm is around your shoulders. Sometimes your hand is in his hoodie pocket. You’re never apart.
At one point, someone turns around and says, “Wait… are you guys, like, together?”
You don’t have time to respond. A vampire lunges from the shadows just then, and you shriek again, arms looping around Jake’s waist.
Behind you, Sunoo gasps, “It’s giving main couple energy!”
You feel Jake’s chest rumble against yours with laughter. You don’t look up.
But later, when the group finally exits through the heavy fire door and spills into fresh night air — breathless, laughing, buzzing — you catch Jake looking at you.
He doesn’t say anything. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s in on a joke you haven’t caught yet. You should roll your eyes. You should brush it off. Instead, you stare back. For just a beat too long. Your pulse is still racing and you know it’s not just because of the fake blood or flashing lights.
The group piles into a tucked-away corner booth at a 24-hour Korean BBQ joint, still riding the adrenaline of half-screams and nervous laughter.
Sunoo is loudly recounting how a jump-scare made him nearly cry. Liz keeps teasing Heeseung for “flinching like a grandma.” Yujin’s arm is looped through Jay’s, who’s clearly enjoying the attention.
You squeeze into the bench between Jake and Heeseung, feeling the warmth of Jake’s thigh pressed casually against yours like it belongs there.
You’re halfway through wrapping some pork belly in lettuce when Heeseung nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “You held it together better than I thought,” he says, mouth tugging into a crooked grin.
You look up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You just… seemed like the type to scream.”
“You’re the one who kept swallowing his own scream,” Liz chimes in with a laugh. “Like, Heeseung, be honest. You were dying in there.”
The table erupts in laughter. Heeseung doesn’t even deny it, just grins, eyes sliding back to you. “Still. You were pretty cool.”
Jake goes quiet beside you. You don’t notice. But his hand rests heavier on the bench now, a fraction behind your back.
The table shifts into smaller conversations. You sip your drink, unaware of Jake’s eyes watching the way Heeseung leans in when you laugh. Or how Heeseung always seems to address you when telling a story.
Jake says nothing. But the ice cubes in his water clink sharp under his grip.
You both get home after dinner. You're still laughing a little, still a bit tipsy from the soju and beer. Jake tosses his hoodie on the back of the couch, stretches. “You good?” he asks, glancing at you.
You nod, toeing off your shoes. “You were kind of a human shield back there.”
Jake smirks. “What can I say. Built different.”
You swat at him as you pass, and when you pause in the hallway, he follows. In the kitchen, you're pouring water, and he steps behind you. He’s too close, not quite touching you but you can feel his breath flutter over your neck. Goosebumps appear on your skin.
You turn around to say something and — bump into him. You both freeze.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
You laugh. He smiles. Then he tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping low around your waist. You don’t even question it anymore. Your arms slide around his shoulders. His face buries into your neck. You hold there. A few beats too long.
Then his hands start to move. Thumbs brushing over the hem of your shirt. Fingertips ghosting up your spine. You should say something, but instead you start leaning. Hips shifting closer. Your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.
You whisper, “You’re touchy tonight.”
Jake laughs, but it’s quieter now. “You didn’t mind seem to mind it in the train.”
“No,” you admit. “I didn’t, still don’t.”
When you pull back, it’s just enough to see his face. His eyes flick to your mouth. Then away. Then back again. He doesn’t let go of your waist. If anything his grip feels firmer, grounding you in this kitchen into his arms. Like you belong in them.
You tilt your head. “What?”
Jake hesitates. Then shrugs, too casual. “Nothing.”
You narrow your eyes. “No, what is it?”
He exhales slowly through his nose. “Just… you and Heeseung were talking a lot tonight.”
You blink. “So?”
He shrugs again, but it’s tighter this time. Like he regrets saying anything. “Didn’t realize you were into that.”
You stare at him, utterly confused. “Into what?”
Jake’s gaze finally meets yours head-on. “Guys who flirt like they’re trying not to get caught.”
Your lips part, startled. “What? He wasn’t— Jake. Are you jealous?”
“No,” he says immediately. Too fast. Then, quietly “Maybe.”
It’s quiet. So quiet you can hear the tick of the fridge behind you. Your fingers flex where they still rest on the back of his neck. You step in all the way now chest to chest.
And you say, softly “There’s nothing going on with me and Heeseung, we’re just friends.”
Jake’s jaw clenches. “Good.”
His hands slide up your sides. “Are we also just friends?”
You tilt your head. “I’m not sure what you mean, but you’re acting like you want to prove something.”
“I do,” he says. Then leans in. His lips find yours and it’s like a fuse short-circuits. The kiss starts hard. His hands gripping your waist, your thighs pressing closer, the edge of the counter digging into your back. Jake doesn’t ease into it this time. He kisses like he means it, like he's been waiting all night.
You gasp into his mouth. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and you moan before you can stop it.
His hands drop to your thighs, squeezing, and then he’s lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. You spread your legs and he steps between them without breaking the kiss.
One of his hands slides up your bare thigh under your shirt. His touch slow, teasing, stopping just below where you want him. The other cups your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, chasing his mouth. Jake growls softly into the kiss low and pleased and murmurs against your lips “Still just friends?”
You shake your head, breathless. “Stop talking.”
But the specialness of the moment was ruined. As soon the words leave your lips Jake pulls back. He looks like a kicked puppy. A hot kicked puppy, with swollen lips and hair a mess. And it’d be hot if it weren’t for the look in his eyes.
Hurt.
Jake steps back completely. His hands fall from your waist like you burned him. “Right,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Just… talking too much again.”
You blink. “Jake—”
But he’s already turning away, moving down the hallway. Your chest tightens, but you don’t follow. What would you even say? That it didn’t mean anything? That it did? Instead, you stare at the counter where he just stood. Your thighs are still spread. The air still tastes like his kiss.
The silence stretches between your two rooms that night like a canyon.
And it continues into the next day. You hear the door shut closed after he leaves for work. He’d usually come and say bye, sometimes even kissing the top of your head.
You’re not sure what you’re feeling when he just leaves. A strange hollowness seems to follow you throughout the day. Like a dark shadow you can’t quite shake.
You sit on the pleather couch, just staring at your screen as if the script would write itself. But no matter how much you push, no words get typed out. Or even worse, they do, but suck.
Whenever you try to concentrate your thoughts betray you. The kiss replaying like a music video over and over again. You force yourself reread your script for the fifth time.
It sucks. You have a writers block.
You want to scream, deadline fast approaching but you just can’t write today. You slam the laptop closed just as the front door opens.
Jake comes home after work, loosening his tie. Looks at you — slumped on the couch, laptop closed, a half-eaten granola bar on the table.
“You’re still in the same spot as this morning.” He notes, but you don’t register the concern in his voice.
“Congrats. You can see.” You flatly deadpan at end with your nerves. It was everything, the kiss, your confusing feelings, the writer’s block. Nothing seems to be going your way today.
He sets his bag down carefully, steps over to the couch, and lowers himself beside you. His knee touches yours.
“Is this… because of what happened yesterday?” he asks, voice softer now. Cautious. Like he’s not sure if he’s stepping on a landmine or something delicate.
You blink at him. Then scoff quietly. “No.”
His eyes flicker.
“I mean—” You sigh, finally looking at him. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s just… loud right now. In my head.”
He stays quiet. He hates not being sure of you. Hates the idea that maybe you regret it. Jake’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question makes you soften. Just a little.
“No,” you say. “It’s not you. It’s this.” You gesture at the couch. The mess. The day. Your laptop. “I have a deadline tomorrow and I’ve written nothing. I’ve been sitting here for hours and everything I type feels like garbage.”
Jake breathes out. A small sound. His shoulders relax.
“Oh,” he says, almost relieved. Then he glances at you again — closer this time — eyes flickering to your mouth. “So it’s work.”
“Yeah,” you mumble. “Just work.”
A beat passes.
“You should’ve texted me,” he says, voice casual. “I could’ve picked up something sweet on the way home.”
“I didn’t know you were taking care of me now,” you say, teasing, tired.
Jake’s expression softens in that unreadable, dangerous way he has. “Someone has to.”
Then he moves closer.
You don’t stop him. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your cheek finds the soft place between his jaw and collarbone. He smells like cologne and fabric softener and something warmer underneath, something like home.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly over your arm.
You sigh again, melting without meaning to. The hug isn’t just comforting it’s grounding. Familiar. He rubs your back, and something in your chest eases. You sit like that for a while, your limbs tangled loosely.
Then Jake leans back just a little, just enough to see your face. His hand slides down your arm, brushes over your bare knee, thumb pressing into your thigh.
You glance at him, blinking.
He tilts his head. “Want me to distract you?”
You go still. “What?”
Jake’s hand doesn’t move, but his eyes are darker now. Slower. Studying you. Like he’s weighing your silence, like he’s making sure you understand him.
You do. All too well. And the worst part is you want to be distracted. You want to forget everything.
You swallow. “Jake…”
But you don’t say no.
Not when his hand slides higher. Not when he shifts to face you fully, his knee pressing between yours, lips brushing your cheek. Not when he whispers, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”
And when you breathe out, shaky and slow, that’s the only yes he needs. You allow him to guide you, lay flatly on the couch. And watch him.
You pupils are blown. His hands are slow at first, deliberate, almost reverent as they slide beneath the hem of your shorts. Jake swallows hard when you lift your hips for him, helping him pull them down your legs. His fingers tremble slightly as he sets them aside.
Your eyes are wide. Blown.
He hovers above you for a moment, one hand pressed against the couch cushion by your head. His eyes meet yours — and it’s not teasing, not smug. Just watchful. There’s a storm brewing beneath his gaze. A question, unspoken.
Still okay?
You nod, and your breath stutters. "Jake."
He leans in, brushes a kiss against your inner thigh, then another, higher. You flinch slightly at how tender it is. How intimate.
“Relax,” he murmurs again, voice low. His hands slide beneath your thighs and he shifts you forward. Closer to him. “Let me take care of you.”
You’re not sure if he’s talking about your stress, your block, your loneliness or himself. But when his mouth meets your lower lips he’s slow and devastating and you forget the question altogether.
He’s not rushed. Not greedy. He moves like someone making up for something, like this is a confession more than an act. A worship. Each flick of his tongue purposeful, his grip tightening when your thighs threaten to close around his head. He wants to be here. He needs to be here.
You gasp when Jake licks a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. He reaches for your thighs, setting them on his shoulders and then he digs in again.
He’s rougher this time, suckling on your clit. He moans, sucking with more passion when you grab his hair.
He let’s you rock his face on your pussy, squeezing your thighs.
And you… fall apart too easily. The slow build of pressure has been sitting inside your body all day, maybe longer. Weeks. The almost-kisses, the confusing touches, the way he looks at you like he wants to ruin you gently.
It all crests as his fingers dig into your hips and he murmurs against you, low and coaxing, “That’s it. Just like that.”
It’s almost too much. Not from stimulation but from the intimacy. From how seen you feel. You hear how wet you are, can feel Jake’s jaw work. And then – he adds fingers.
He slips his middle finger into you and your mind literally melts. Pleasure is all you can focus on right now, not caring about how loud you’re being or the way your hips keep humping his fingers deeper into you.
You tangle your fingers into his hair, back arching. “Jake—fuck—why are you—”
“Shh.” He hums into you, sending another wave through your body. “You needed this. That’s all.”
And when you finally come apart — shoulders tense, mouth parted, breath catching in your throat — Jake doesn’t stop. Lapping your juices up as if he’s a starving man. But it’s too much. You’re twitching, trying to pull back – but Jake has you locked in place.
He doesn’t let you go until you’re a whimpering and squirming mess, too sensitive, gasping his name like it’s a question.
He looks up at you from between your thighs, lips slick, eyes dark and unreadable.
You blink. “What the hell was that?”
Jake just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts forward so he’s hovering over you again, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back.
“You needed it,” he repeats, soft and serious. “That’s all.”
But you both know that’s not all. It’s not sex. But it’s not not, either. And neither of you have a single word for what this is now.
Instead of answering him, instead of letting yourself ruminate over what just happened, you pull him down into a kiss.
Jake seems surprised, gasping when your lips meet. But you don’t mind taking lead. You cup his face, legs wrapping around his waist as you kiss him as if your life depended on it.
He kisses you back, matching your urgency, your need. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the saltiness of it making you moan as you grind down against his thigh, chasing more.
He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist tighter.
“You’re—” a breathless peck to his lips, “such—” another kiss, “a good friend.”
The words slip out, stupid and soft, the kind of thing you didn’t really mean — or maybe meant differently in your head.
Jake freezes.
His mouth is still on yours, but he doesn’t kiss back this time. His brow creases, and after a beat, he pulls away. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes flutter shut like he’s trying to hold something in. His body is still hard against you, unmistakably turned on — but that fire dims as he slowly leans back.
“I need to shower,” he says quietly, voice low and clipped. “Watch a movie when I come back?”
You nod, feeling his absence instantly as he pulls away. Your chest aches not just from arousal but something else now. Regret? Confusion? You’re not sure. You didn’t mean it like that. Not like just a friend.
But the damage is done.
When he returns, fresh from the shower, his hair damp and curling at the ends, he wraps you in a blanket before joining you on the couch.
You expect warmth. Closeness.
Instead, the blanket settles like a barrier that’s soft, but solid. His arm curls around you from behind, sure, but there’s distance in the way he holds you now. A subtle restraint, like he’s afraid of touching too much.
Your chest twists.
You almost say something about earlier, about the kiss, about what you meant, but the words sit thick in your throat.
Because the truth is, you didn’t mean to call him a friend like that. Not in that moment. Not when you were half out of breath, high off his touch. But it was easier to label it safe than admit how much you were spiraling inside. How close you felt. How badly you wanted him to stay.
You fidget under the blanket. Jake doesn’t speak.
Your hand twitches like it wants to reach for his. It doesn’t.
And maybe this is what hurts more than anything — not the silence, not even the awkwardness. But the knowing. That one wrong word was enough to push you back behind this invisible line neither of you knows how to cross again.
So you let him hold you. Quiet. Still.
Not because you're fine with it, but because you're scared if you speak, the rest will tumble out. Everything you don’t know how to ask for. Everything you're afraid he doesn't want.
And maybe… just maybe, if you wait, this will pass. If you keep the quiet gentle, maybe you can find a way to fix it later. To talk when the air doesn’t feel so fragile. When it won’t sound like a confession.
So you press your face into the pillow, trying not to breathe too loud. Trying not to need too much.
Behind you, Jake shifts a little closer, just barely. His arm tightens for a second, like he almost forgets the wall between you.
But then it loosens again.
And neither of you says a word.
The next morning, Jake comes into your room just before leaving for work. He leans down. Presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Like it's nothing. Then he straightens, gives you a small smile that’s polite and distant and he disappears.
You lie there, frozen.
At first, you try to brush it off. Tell yourself this is what you wanted, right? Just friends. No pressure. No awkwardness. But that kiss stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. So you do the only thing that makes sense in the moment.
You start ignoring him back.
When he texts, you leave him on read. When he walks into the room, you don’t look up. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. But beneath the chill, the silence, the shoulder-turning — your heart aches. You’re not mad. Not really. You just don’t know how to say I didn’t mean it like that.
You miss him. And worse — you want him. Not just the way he touched you, but the way he looked at you. Like you weren’t just some girl, but someone he couldn’t stop wanting.
You crave that again.
So by the time Thursday rolls around, your pride is fraying, your patience thinning. You need a reaction. Any reaction.
Which is why you’re sitting on the couch in shorts that toe the line between indecent and illegal, a tank top clinging to you like it’s been shrunk in the wash — waiting.
Not because you think this’ll fix it. Not because you're confident. But because it's the only language you know how to speak right now.
The door clicks open.
Jake walks in.
You don’t turn your head. Not right away. You hear the jingle of keys. The sound of shoes being kicked off. A pause.
Then, finally, his voice — calm, clipped, guarded.
“Didn’t realize this was a lingerie party.”
You glance up slowly, eyes wide with innocence. “Oh?” you murmur. “This? Just comfy.”
And even though you smile, your heart's pounding in your chest. Because you're not teasing — you're reaching.
Jake drops his bag by the door, loosens his tie, and walks past you — like it’s nothing. But his eyes… his eyes say something else entirely.Lingering. Burning.
You push further.
“I was feeling a little hot,” you say casually, stretching your arms overhead. The hem of your tank rises with you.
He opens the fridge. Grabs water. Doesn’t look at you.
“You don’t say.”
You blink. So he’s going to act like he doesn’t care?
You rise. Pad toward the kitchen on bare feet. “You’ve been quiet,” you say, voice light. “Everything okay?”
Jake shrugs, drinks. “Busy week.”
He won’t meet your eyes.
You step closer. “Or is it the fact that you had your mouth on me, and now you’re acting like we’re just roommates again?”
That gets his attention.
Jake finally turns — cool gaze sweeping over you, lingering a second too long on the slope of your chest, the bare skin of your thighs. Then his mouth quirks. Not a smile — more like a warning.
“We are just roommates,” he says. “Friends. You said so yourself.”
You blink. “Right,” you say tightly. “So friends can do that? Friends can—”
You don’t finish. You’re flustered now, and Jake sees it. Smirks.
You move closer, fast, needing the upper hand. Bold. You press a hand to his chest, slide your fingers down to his waistband. Your other hand rests on his shoulder. You glance up at him, lashes low.
“You’re hard.”
Jake doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. “So are we taking turns stating the obvious now?”
Your breath catches.
His voice is calm. Controlled. Cold.
“You’re the one who wanted no label,” he continues, tone light but jaw tight. “So this? It doesn’t count. Just a reaction, right?”
You falter.
He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.
“But you’re not really looking for just reactions, are you?”
And then he walks past you. And now you’re confused.
You tried not letting it get to you, but insecurity starts to seep in. Was something wrong with you? You’re chilling in your room when your phone pings. It’s the groupchat.
🌞noo:
PARTY THIS FRIDAYYYY BY THE RIVER. pls someone else bring the aux tho. jake’s taste in music makes me want to bite drywall
Jake:
you’ve literally danced to my shit before????
🌞noo:
yeah because i’m hot and adaptable not bcs it was good
💋 Liz:
sunoo let jake have one win this week 😭
Jay:
where is this exactly?
Yujin:
next to the trail behind the docks. we used to go there for bonfires remember?
You respond, half-joking:
cute. will there be skinny-dipping or should i bring a towel
🦌 Hee:
you can borrow mine 👀
You do a double look as you read his reply. Your stomach swoops but before you can reply Jake’s responding.
Jake:
relax.
🦌 Hee:
lmao. you relax. what, scared she’ll get cold?
🦊 you:
i love it when the groupchat turns into a pissing contest <3
Jay:
anyway i’m bringing tequila. yujin said she’s making jello shots.
Yujin:
no i didn’t
Jay:
you will tho 😇
💋 Liz:
can we all agree on one thing?
🌞noo:
no drama
💋 Liz:
no hookups between friends
🦊 you:
girl be serious
Is what you type, but your mind is already wandering traitorously to a boy with black fluffy hair and a puppy persona.
It’s Friday. Jay picked you and Jake up and now here you were. Golden hour is kissing the riverbank. Music drifts lazily through bluetooth speakers. There's a cooler full of drinks half-submerged in the water. People are arriving in waves — towels, sandals, skin on display.
You're in a two-piece with a light cover-up that’s definitely more "slip" than "dress." You clock Jake the second he gets in Jay’s car. Black swim trunks. Messy hair. Oversized tee hanging off his shoulder. He meets your gaze once and looks away.
Heeseung’s the one who whistles when he sees you.
“You always gotta show up looking like a vacation?”
You snort. “And you always gotta flirt like it’s your job?”
He grins. “Not a job if I enjoy it.”
Jake’s nearby. Not close. Not far. Just watching with a drink in hand, jaw tight. Sunoo and Liz are already loudly arguing over who makes better playlists. Jay and Yunjin are sitting side by side but not touching, throwing little glances every few minutes.
But Jake?
He’s not talking much. Not laughing. He hasn’t really been spending any time with you over the past week. Not texting as much. And suddenly it matters more than it should.
You pretend you’re not flirting with Heeseung. Yes, you lean in when he jokes. Yes you laugh too loudly at something stupid he says. And maybe you’re watching Jake’s reactions when you do so.
And he sees it. He sees the way you touch Heeeung’s shoulder when he makes you laugh. Sees the way Heeseung’s eyes seem to linger too long on your top. And something in him snaps.
Just then you lean into Heeseung, Jake sees you saying something to him and then you’re leaving.
He follows you before Heeseung can.
The bass from outside the bathroom thumps through the tiled walls. You’re alone, fixing your lip gloss in the mirror, but your hands are shaking from nerves. You had a feeling he followed you.
The door creaks open. Jake steps in. Locks it.
You meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Bathroom’s taken,” you say, tone flat.
He doesn’t leave. Just watches you. “You and Heeseung having fun?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
Jake shrugs. “You’ve been laughing at all his jokes. Hanging off him like he’s your boyfriend.”
You spin around slowly, still leaning against the sink. “So what? You jealous?”
He doesn't answer right away. Just stares at you, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster than normal.
“Should I be?”
You swallow. “I don’t know. Should you?”
Jake takes one step closer. Then another. He’s toe-to-toe with you now, his hand brushing your hip.
You don’t back down. “We’re just friends, remember? Isn’t that what we are?”
He exhales through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitches.
Then, without warning, he steps between you and the sink, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.
You’re breathless.
“I was doing just fine,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes scanning your face, “telling myself we’re just friends.”
Your heart stutters. “What changed?”
Jake leans in, nose brushing yours. “You.”
You blink. “Because I flirted?”
“Because you know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice sharpens, heated now. “Wearing that dress. Touching his arm. Laughing like that.”
“I was just being nice—”
“No, you were provoking me. And you wanted me to see it.”
Your stomach flips.
Jake’s hand slides to your hip, pulls you flush against him. You can feel him. Hard and restrained. His voice stays low and even, but it cuts through you.
“You wanted a reaction?” His hand slips under your cover-up, skims bare skin. “Now you’re going to deal with it.”
He presses you harder against the sink. His other hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming. You half whimper half gasp, chest rising and falling deeply as you let him do with you whatever he pleases. After all, this was what you wanted.
“I’m not gonna say it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “Not yet. But I’ll show you.”
You gasp as he hooks your leg up on the sink, exposing you. You dress hikes up, bunching by your waist as your panties are put on display.
His hand slides between your thighs, brushes over the fabric clinging to you, wet and sticky.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, amused. “And you’re trying to act like you don’t care.”
You clench around nothing, lips parted.
He pulls your panties to the side but doesn’t give you what you want. Just strokes you slow, maddening. Teasing. Fingers never quite brushing over your clit. He plays with you like that until you react.
You whimper.
“Use your words,” he murmurs, fingers circling your hole.
“Jake…”
“Say it louder.” He commands, stopping his movement.
“Please—”
He gives your pussy a sharp slap. The sting oddly pleasurable. But the unexpectedness of it, makes you flinch.
Your eyes fly open. “What—?”
“You like begging?” he says, tone cool, eyes half-lidded. “I think you do.”
He sinks to his knees, pulls your hips forward on the counter. You scramble for grip. His mouth is hot and unrelenting — but he keeps you right on the edge. Tongue circling your clit, tugging, sucking on it but never in the way he knows you like.
Eventually he gives in, circling your clit with his tongue, before working with his jaw. Loud suckling sound can be heard mixed with your loud whimpers.
But every time you start to fall apart, he backs off.
By the third time you’re panting. Desperate. “Jake—!”
He looks up at you, lips wet. “Say you want me.”
“I want you.” You cry out, rocking your hips (or trying to) against any surface. You’re practically buzzing with the need to release, shaking in want.
“No. Say you want to be mine.”
You falter. The words feel too big.
He doesn’t push. Just pulls back slightly — and the emptiness is unbearable.
“Say it,” he says again, softer now. “Or I’ll stop.”
Your hands fist in his hair.
“I’m yours.”
His eyes flash with something akin to victory and hunger.
“That’s better.”
He stands, yanks your panties down, and pushes into you in one smooth thrust. You want to curse, the stretch almost too much. You feel too full and at the same time you want more.
Your moan is caught halfway in your throat. He kisses you like it’s punishment, like it’s worship. One hand on your throat. The other cradling the back of your head like you’re glass.
“You make me fucking insane,” he groans, hips snapping up into you, rougher now. “You want danger? You want someone to claim you?”
“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes.”
He fucks you like it’s a message. Like he’s carving his name into you. Hips relentlessly pushing into you.
You whimper, the rough pace Jake set making you cock drunk.
Jake notices, the hand around your throat sinks lower, covering youe tit as Jake leans down.
He kisses your neck softly, his hips snapping into you. He’s so close to you that he’s almost humping into you. Your body moving with his whenever he thrusts into you.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling harshly and Jake bites you. Literally bites you. And then, he’s sucking a love bite on your skin. Right below your throat. For everyone to see.
After, when you’re trembling and dazed and the mirror’s fogged with heat, he doesn’t say a word. Just adjusts your cover-up gently, tucks your hair behind your ear, and kisses your forehead like you didn’t just break each other in a public bathroom.
The morning after the party you’re tired. Hungover. Emotionally tapped. You fumble through your kitchen, making tea like your body doesn’t ache with memory — like Jake didn’t fuck you in a bathroom last night so hard you still feel him in you.
He’s already sat behind the kitchen table, almost as if he was waiting for you to wake up. At first neither of you say anything.
Until you can’t take it anymore.
“What?” you ask with more bite than you intended.
Jake’s jaw is tight. “We need to talk.”
You cross your arms. “There’s nothing to—”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t do that again.”
You blink. “Do what?”
“Pretend it didn’t matter.”
Silence.
“You always do this,” Jake says, voice low. “Something happens, and you brush it off. You act like I’m imagining it.”
You open your mouth — and he shakes his head.
“You’re not confused. You’re scared.”
Your breath catches. You hate how right he is. He always sees you. Even when you don't want to be seen.
You try again. “Jake, we were drunk. The party—”
“I wasn’t drunk,” he says. “You know I wasn’t.”
His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “Were you?”
You hesitate. Shake your head once.
He exhales, jaw flexing — then takes a step forward. “So just say it.”
You take a shaky step back. “Say what?”
“That you want me.”
Your back hits the wall. “Jake—”
He pins you with his eyes, chest rising and falling. “Say it.”
You can’t look at him. “Why? So you can say I told you so?”
“No,” he says quietly. “So I can finally touch you without wondering if you’ll run the second we’re done.”
You grab his shirt, fisting it near his stomach, and pull him in until your breath fans his lips. “I want you,” you whisper. “All of you.”
His hands lift slow, intentional, and cup your face like you're something breakable. His thumbs brush your cheeks. He tilts your chin up, studies you.
"Okay," he says, like a vow.
When he kisses you, it’s not hurried or hungry. It’s deep. His mouth moves over yours like he’s memorizing, reclaiming. And when he finally pulls back, you're breathless.
“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “How you sound. How you taste. How you fall apart.”
His hand slides under your shirt, resting over your stomach not rushing, just feeling.
“And I’m not gonna stop this time,” he says. “Not until you forget anyone else ever looked at you.”
You gasp when his fingers dip lower, but he still doesn’t move fast. He lingers. Draws circles on your thigh like he’s playing with patience, watching you twitch.
He likes it. The way you can’t stay still. The way your breath comes shorter now, even though he’s barely touched you.
“You’re squirmy,” he murmurs, amused. “Already?”
“Jake,” you whisper, nails digging into his arms.
His gaze flicks up, sharp and dark. “Use your words.”
“You want me?” Jake asks, voice quiet but laced with heat.
“Yes,” you breathe, eyes wide.
He studies you, gaze steady. “Then prove it.”
Your heart skips. “I will. Jake—” you reach for him, desperate now, “I swear, anything.”
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.
“Yeah? Then let me try something,” he murmurs.
He produces a silk tie. The same one he wore this week. The same one that still smells faintly like cologne and heat and him. You hum in anticipation, you think he’s probably going to tell you to turn around and tie your wrists together. But you’re caught off guard when he speaks.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.
You do. The tie ghosts across your cheek, a featherlight tease, before he slips it around your eyes and knots it behind your head — tight enough to hold, loose enough to keep you comfortable. Your breath catches as darkness wraps around you. It heightens everything. And everything is laced with Jake. It’s like you’re in a personal Jake-terrarium, his scent all around you, his hands ghosting over your arms, shoulders and back. He laces your fingers when you feel him against your ear, warm and close.
“You’re not gonna run this time?” His voice is low, close, threading against the shell of your ear.
“No,” you whisper. “I want this.”
“You want me,” he corrects. His fingers brush your jaw, tracing down your neck. “Say it.”
“I want you,” you repeat, voice needy.
Jake hums — satisfied, not smug. Then his hands take yours, and he guides you. Carefully. Silently. Every step feels electric. You don’t know where he’s taking you — until the air shifts, cooler now, tinged with the crisp morning air.
You’re on the balcony.
The city hums below. Too far to hear, close enough to feel. You’re hidden from view — probably. Not completely. It doesn’t matter.
Your hands rest on the railing, and Jake’s voice returns, low and calm behind you.
“Stay still.”
You do.
He steps in close, chest against your back, fingers slipping under your shirt, sliding it up, baring you to the sky.
“This okay?” he asks.
You nod, but it’s not enough.
“Words,” he reminds you, breath warm on your shoulder.
“Yes, Jake.”
The tie around your eyes tightens with your inhale. The air is cool, but Jake’s hands are fire.
He kneels behind you.
You feel his mouth first — soft, reverent — trailing kisses along the backs of your thighs, then up higher. You slightly bend over, hands gripping the balcony railing as if it’ your lifeline. And in a way it was. Because just one slip ad it could end badly – but you trust Jake. Trust him to take care of you.
His hands grip your hips. Gently at first. Then firmer. Possessive. And he holds you in place, watching as you try to rub your thighs together, but when his grip is too tight you switch to rocking your hips back and forward. it doesn’t give you any friction and that’s when Jake’s hands slide towards your butt, then under your butt, before he’s slippin one hand to your inner thighs.
But he doesn’t touch you there yet. He simply pushes his face into your clothed butt, nose pressing right where you need him. And then he says,
“You smell like you’ve been thinking about this all day.”
You whimper. He chuckles — low, pleased.
Then his fingertips glide up inside of you and you gasp. He was gentle, yet powerful. You spread your legs further, bending down even more so your chest presses against the cold railing.
“You’re soaked,” he says as he keeps pushing two digits in and out of you in a scissoring motion. Your hips twitch. He presses you still with one hand, the other pulling at your lacy panties.
“Did you wear these for me?” he asks.
“Yes,” you breathe, wiggling your cunt over his hand.
“Did you want me to find you like this? Desperate. Squirming.”
“Yes,” you breathe, your pretty hole practically vibrating with the way you keep doing kegles.
His finger circles your clit — barely there. And you moan, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding onto the railing.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
You try. You fail.
He tsks under his breath and let’s go of the panties. They snap. The touch stinging. You immediately still completely. “Didn’t I say still?”
You gasp. “I’m sorry—”
Jake strokes deeper once, then pulls away. You whine at the loss.
He loves this. You can feel it in the way he exhales — slow, in control. You’re on fire. He’s the one holding the match. He stands up then, hugging you from behind. He presses his hips against you and you moan, rocking yourself back into him. Jake kisses your neck, and it’s all you can focus on.
But his hands are already pulling your panties down, he lightly pats you on your butt and you step aside a bit, letting them fully fall down. You don’t worry about someone seeing you two, you were too high up for pedestrians to see and your neighbors had the view obstructed by the railing. But still, you shiver once he bares you to the outside world.
But Jake doesn’t worry, he’s back on his knees as soon as your panties hit the ground. Then one finger slips back in. Then another. He keeps them deep as he pushes them in, and out. In a hook motion, reaching the most pleasurable spot inside of you. His whole palm is on your cunt, with his thumb teasing your clit in light, endless circles.
“You feel that?” he whispers, mouth against your ear now. “How perfect you are like this? Bare. Open. Mine.”
You whimper. “Jake—”
“Not yet.”
He pulls his fingers out. You nearly sob.
Then he brings them to your lips. “Open.”
You do. He pushes them past your mouth, slow and steady, watching as you suck him clean.
“Good girl,” he says.
You nearly come from those two words alone.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod frantically, tie still in place, heart pounding out of your ribs. Jake pushes and hold you into his desired position. Now you’re standing straight, looking as if you’re just looking over the city (if only it weren’t for the tie still tied around your head), and Jake is holding you from behind – as if he’s just hugging you.
Your head cocks to the side, and Jake nuzzles into it. His right hand disappears behind you and you can hear him shuffling behind you.
Then you feel it — his cock, thick and warm against your entrance.
“You sure you’re not gonna run again?” he murmurs, teasing the tip against you.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Just—please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself against his dick. And Jake finally pushes his hard dick into you. You don’t think you’ve ever been stretched by a dick this good and you kind of stop breathing. The lack of oxygen and vision made the feeling of his dick ten times better.
And you know Jake feels it too. He groans as soon as his cockhead stuffs you, hips stilling and stuttering for a moment.
You whine, squeezing him in a silent command to give you more, more, more.
“More Jakey, please,” you whine, he tsks but complies. Slowly stuffing you full.
He doesn’t give either of you time to move before he’s thrusting into you. Slowly. So slowly you think you know how every vein looks, how every ridge looks and you still want more.
Jake fucks you with intent. Deep, deliberate strokes that claim you inch by inch. You’re crying out, gripping the railing, blindfolded and desperate. He fucks you like he’s memorizing every sound you make. Like this isn’t just sex it’s proof.
That you’re not going anywhere.
That you’re his.
And when he finally lets you fall apart, it’s to the sound of his voice behind you, whispering like a spell
“That’s it. Good girl. Let them hear how mine you are.”
Your body’s still trembling, silk tie slipping down your nose, the air cooling your skin. Jake doesn’t speak right away. He just holds you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder — then another, higher this time, near your neck.
You feel his heartbeat against your back. Fast. Just like yours.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
You start to laugh, just a little. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe because you don’t know what else to do.
Jake gently unties the blindfold, letting it fall away. He cups your jaw, turns you to face him, and really looks at you.
“Too much?” he asks softly.
“No,” you say too quickly. Then realizing that might sound dismissive you add, “It was… good. Intense. But good.”
He studies you for a beat, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. You think he might tease you, say something cocky but instead, he kisses your forehead.
Then your temple.
Then your lips.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to protest.
Carries you in, literally. Like you weigh nothing. Like you’re something precious.
He runs a warm bath and adds eucalyptus salt like it’s routine. His hands are all over you — not sexually now, just present. Stroking your back as you sink into the water. Brushing damp hair from your face. Letting you lean into his chest when you finally relax.
You close your eyes. Not because you're tired. Because it’s easier than letting him see how much this is affecting you.
He still sees it.
“You okay?” he asks again, quieter now, as if he knows you’re trying not to feel anything too real.
“I’m fine,” you mutter. But your fingers are clinging to his forearm.
Jake notices. Smiles a little.
“I always kiss your temple after,” he says casually, like it’s a fact. “Even before tonight.”
Your eyes snap open. “You do?”
He nods. “It’s where you melt the most.”
You scoff. “That’s not—” But you trail off. Because yeah. You probably do.
Once you’re dry, wrapped in a soft towel and oversized shirt that smells like him, he pulls you into bed. Doesn’t let go.
You lie there together, limbs tangled, and it should be awkward, but it’s not. Not until the words slip out of your mouth — too fast, like everything else with you lately.
“So… what now?”
Jake shifts to look at you. “Now I take you on a real date.”
You blink. “Even if we’re already fucking?”
“Especially if we’re already fucking.”
That makes you laugh. So does he. Your noses bump as you kiss again, slower this time. Lazy. Sweet.
Afterwards you head to a late lunch — the usual post-party ritual. Sunoo picked the spot: some cozy place with overpriced eggs and bottomless mimosas. Everyone’s a little sluggish, mildly hungover, and deeply curious.
You and Jake walk in together.
At first, no one clocks it.
But then you slide into the booth next to Jake. And his hand is still resting on the small of your back when you sit. You’re glowing. He looks way too pleased.
Sunoo is the first to notice.
His eyes narrow. “Wait…”
Jake doesn’t say anything. Just leans back, throws his arm casually behind you like it’s nothing like it’s normal and smirks.
Sunoo gasps.
“WAIT.”
Jay lifts an eyebrow over his coffee. “Here we go.”
“Is this—are you two—” Sunoo points between you like he’s solving a murder. “Did you finally do it?”
Liz drops her fork. “Finally?”
Yujin gasps, slapping Jay’s arm. “I told you something was up after the haunted house.”
Jay just sips his drink. “Yeah, but I figured we’d all be grandparents before they figured it out.”
Heeseung doesn’t say anything at first. He just tilts his head, eyes flicking between the two of you. There’s a little smile tugging at his mouth — you think it’s fond, but you also see the tiniest flicker of something else. Surprise, maybe. Something more complicated. Still, he raises his glass like a toast.
“Well,” he says smoothly. “I guess Jake finally manned up.”
You look at him, curious, but Jake doesn’t flinch. “Someone had to,” he replies, calm and steady.
Sunoo clutches his chest. “So it’s real? Like real real?”
Jake nods. And then like it’s not a big deal at all he laces your fingers with his under the table.
You don’t pull away.
“Wait,” Liz says, eyes darting around. “Have you guys, like… had the talk?”
Jake looks at you. “Have we?”
You smile at him, that private kind of smile only he seems to get. “I think last night counted.”
Sunoo practically combusts.
“OH MY GOD THEY TOTALLY FUCKED.”
You slap your palm over your face. Jake just laughs, entirely unbothered. “Thanks for keeping it classy, Sunoo.”
Heeseung raises his brows. “Bathroom?”
Jay chokes on his drink.
“Not confirming or denying,” Jake says but he’s grinning now, actually grinning like he just won the lottery and isn’t even trying to hide it.
“You’re disgusting,” Yujin says through a laugh, but she’s clearly happy for you. “But like, in a cute way. I guess.”
“Disgustingly overdue,” Liz mutters. “Seriously, this has been months of tension. I deserve a gift basket.”
Sunoo nods, dead serious. “With candles. And at least one thank-you note.”
You roll your eyes but you’re still smiling.
And underneath the noise, the teasing, the laughter, Jake leans closer to your ear. Low enough that no one else hears.
“Mine,” he murmurs.
You look at him. “Yours.”
And for once, saying it feels easy.
