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Hiiiiii Jam! Hope you're doing well xx I have a request and it's kinda specific sorry.
But can you do a friends-to-lovers trope where reader is a virgin and she lets it slip to Jake, and they've been friends for years but he never knew that about her and she's embarrassed and tells him she wants to just give it up to the next guy who comes along and Jake is like "Let me do it" and they.. yknow.
I know if anybody can make this come to life, you can
Ooh this is good, I like this. Starting on this immediately omg!!!!
warnings: drunk reader, sleepy Jake, a missing shoe, SMUT 18+!, drunk sex, established relationship/prior consent, not-so dry humping, unprotected sex, dirty talk, choking, crying during sex, insanely in love emotional shit, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: this is based off of this dear sweet ask I received ♡ hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
The porch light is still on.
The sight of it makes you stop in the yard, frowning as your heart aches at it. The fact your boyfriend was kind enough to do something so small brings tears to your eyes.
Now normally, you wouldn't be so torn up over this. But, with half of an entire bar running through your system— coupled with the fact you'd been thinking about him all night— you're emotional.
You bring your gaze to the front steps. Concrete steps that you know you're going to stumble over. So you take them slowly, one daunting, solid step at a time as they sway slightly in front of you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, grabbing onto the railing like your life depended on it. Finally you make it up, and you rumple your lips as you raise your purse, searching for your keys.
You feel lopsided, all warm and floaty as you dig through your purse, cursing yourself for not cleaning it out before you left for the bar.
Fuck it, you think after you've come up empty— no keys. Did you even bring them?
You make it to the door, leaning all your body weight against it as you twist the knob. You gasp in elation as the door opens.
You stumble inside, leaning against the door as you shut it, calling out his name loudly.
He's been racing through your mind all night. From the time you left with a kiss on your cheek from him, he's practically all you've thought about.
And with the liquor in you, your thoughts have turned less PG, to more R-rated. The past hour alone, your brain has been plagued with filthy things you want to do with him.
You're halfway down the hallway when your bedroom door opens. You stop in place, a grin growing on your face as Jake steps out into the hallway. He's been asleep, his hair sticking up in places, his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, and a sleepy furrow between his brows as he blinks at the light of the hallway.
“Hi honey,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hi, lover,” you giggle, “Oh, I've missed you.”
He grins as you make your way to him, throwing your arms around his shoulders, “You smell like a bar, sweetheart,” he murmurs as you start to leave sloppy kisses over his lips.
“S'cause I was at one,” you say, kissing along his jaw. “You smell good. All yummy and shit.”
He hums a quiet laugh, “God, you're drunk,” his hands are warm and steady at your waist.
“Yeah, so?” You ask, peppering tiny wet kisses down the column of his throat. Before he can respond, you lick a thick stripe up the side of his throat, ending it with a wet, messy kiss at the edge of his jaw.
“Hey,” he starts, his voice low, “Maybe we should get you to bed—”
“I don't wanna,” you melt into his, laying all your weight into him as you pout up at him.
“Okay, but—”
You stand on your tiptoes, pressing your lips directly over his and swallowing down his words. He hums in disapproval, but he kisses you back, never one to deny any affection when it comes to you.
You push him back into the room, “Let me love on you,” you say, sliding your hands down his bare skin, “Please, Jakey? It's all I've thought about all night. I missed you so bad.”
He looks like he wants to say yes, but he hesitates, so you grab the waistband of his pajamas and nudge him toward the bed.
“How am I ever gonna say no to you?” He asks, his lips pressing to yours, holding you gently as you try to maneuver him onto the bed.
“You don't,” you say, mustering enough of your wits to shove him back.
He huffs a breathy laugh, before he frowns, “Baby, where's your other shoe?”
You look down, finding only one strappy heel on your feet, “Dunno— I thought I had them both on.”
He grins, helping you into his lap when you lift your foot and start to crawl up. He leans to the side, reaching over and unclasping the little buckle at your ankle.
You pout your lips, your heart softening, as he slips your shoe from your foot, before he tosses it out of the way.
“I love you,” you tell him quickly before you grab his face and kiss him hungrily.
He hums, as if caught off guard, his hands moving back to your hips as you settle completely over him.
“What has gotten into you?” He asks, breathless as you start to kiss his throat again.
“Take off your pants,” you demand, your hands going down to the waistband, tugging at them, not fully processing that you're in the way.
“God damn,” he breathes.
"Take off your fucking pants."
"Maybe we should—"
"You should shut up and get fucking naked right now.”
He nods, an uneven sigh leaving him, “Okay.”
You reach for his pants again, tugging them down and whining as his cock is revealed to you.
You press your hips against him tightly, rocking slowly as you attack his neck with kisses yet again, loving the way he tastes and feels beneath your lips.
Even when you're sober, you love the taste of his skin, it's warm and woodsy, mixed with a natural something that you can only describe as Jake. And when you've been fucking for a while, you love to lick and kiss the sweat from his heated, soft skin.
“I wanna fuckin' eat you up,” you tell him, still rocking your hips against him, sighing at the lace still in the way, “I want these fucking clothes off.”
He hums in amusement, reaching up and easing the zipper of your dress down, before he pulls the dress off of you completely. You lean into him completely, resting your head against his shoulder as he manages to find a way to slip your panties off of you.
When his hands settle at your hips, you sigh immediately as he pulls you back against him, your bare, wet center pressing against him with nothing in the way.
You reach up to his shoulders as you straighten up, and push him back until his back is against the mattress. You grind in his lap for a moment, choking out a sound as you slip along his hardened length.
He looks absolutely delicious like this— his hair fanned out around his head, his eyebrows furrowed together, his lips kiss swollen and red, parted around heavy breaths, and his cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink that makes you whine.
“You're so fuckin’ beautiful,” your voice is breathless, each rock of your hips making your body tense as you realize you can most definitely come like this.
“So are you, baby,” he murmurs, his hands trailing up your waist, smoothing back down and guiding you as your movements become uneven.
“I'm gonna fuck you stupid,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves you against him in a rhythm that does more for you than the sloppy, uncoordinated one you were trying.
You melt back into him, pressing your lips to his chest, sighing against the firm muscle. Then you stick out your tongue, licking over the curve of his pec before you suckle at it.
You hum lazily, tilting your chin down and flattening your tongue directly over his nipple.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes in surprise, grunting when you smile and wrap your lips around it.
Then you kiss your way to the other one. repeating the actions sloppily as he keeps you rocking tightly over him.
“You're fuckin’ filthy,” he murmurs when you pull back to grin at him, his face flushed darker red than before.
“I just love you,” you sigh, leaning in and pecking a kiss to his lips.
“I love you too,” he says, “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”
You nod, grabbing his shoulders as he keeps you rocking over him, “Yeah,” you whisper, your breathing shaky as your body starts to tremble.
Your clit is throbbing, each drag of it over his cock making you gasp and sigh with pleasure as your orgasm draws closer.
“Jake…”
“I know,” he moves you over him quicker, nodding when you start to roll your hips in tandem with his guidance, “That's it, baby, just like that. You can do it.”
You let out a weak sob, your upper half collapsing against him as your orgasm crashes through you. You bite down into the muscle of his chest, muffled cries escaping you as he works you over him. Each roll of your hips draws out your orgasm, making your body twitch and tremble as it starts to slowly fade away.
You melt into him, taking just a moment to recover as he slows you to a stop. His hands glide along your heated skin, pressing kisses to your hair as your chest heaves against him.
“Fuck,” you whine, your voice rough, as you push yourself back up.
Jake watches you with a lazy, half-lidded smile, brushing your hair away from your face, “You good?”
You wrap your hand around his cock again, slowly stroking up and down before you position it at your slick, greedy entrance.
“That's it, baby,” he murmurs, letting you do it yourself, but still encouraging you as you ease down on the top of him.
Your mouth falls open the second the thick, plush head slips inside, stretching your pulsing walls as you greedily take him in. You don't stop until you have to, your backside pressed snug against his thighs, his length completely nestled inside your wet heat.
“Fuck, Jake,” you whine, your hands gripping tightly at his shoulders.
He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly to him, “You feel so good,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “S'this what you needed all night? Needed me inside, filling you up just right?”
You nod as he grins, not cocky like he usually is, but a little lovestruck and in awe, “Needed it all fucking night, baby,” you breathe, lifting your hips up and humming when it sends the head of his cock gliding directly over the soft, sensitive bump inside of you.
You lower back over him just to feel that again, your bottom lip snagged between your teeth as you repeat the entire movement.
“Take what you need, sweet girl,” he murmurs, “I've got you.”
You whine, his words stirring up something heated and primal inside of you as you grab his hair with one hand, your other hand moving to his jaw as you start to move up and down in a set rhythm.
You struggle to keep your eyes completely open, it feels too good, but you're desperate to see his face. He takes your breath away from the sight alone. His eyes hooded, jaw slack as he watches you move on top of him, his eyebrows pinched together in pleasure.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” your voice is choppy, each movement making your backside hit against his thighs with a dull, wet sound, your breasts bouncing in tandem with your body.
“So do you,” he murmurs, his hands wandering from your hips up to your chest, grabbing your breasts and squeezing tightly, groaning at the sob you let out. “You're so fuckin’ pretty, baby, look at you go…”
“My legs hurt,” you admit, still moving up and down despite the burn in your thighs.
He grins, “Want some help?”
You nod, slowing to a stop as he wraps his arms around you, his hands grabbing your backside mercilessly. He moves closer to the edge of the bed, and you cling onto him as you frown over your shoulder at the floor, “Don't let me fall.”
He huffs a laugh, “I'm not gonna let you fall, Y/n, I've got you.”
You nod, burying your face into his neck as he starts to move you up and down, his hips rocking up to meet you on every thrust.
“Fuck,” you sigh, “This feels so much better when you do it…”
He hums, “You're fuckin’ spoiled rotten, aren't you, baby?”
You can't help but smile as you start to trail little kisses along his skin yet again, “Yeah,” you agree mindlessly.
You are spoiled. Jake's always taking care of you, no matter the circumstances. Not just sexually, not only like this, but in every way possible. Tomorrow you know he'll be nursing you through a hangover, all soft words and gentle touches, making sure you eat, keeping you hydrated.
He loves you.
And right now, that makes you really emotional.
And you can't help but let out a weak sob as the emotions overtake you.
He stops immediately, pulling you back with a soft, “Hey,” as he cradles your face in his palms, “What's wrong, honey?”
You shake your head, tears blurring your vision as you sniffle, “I just love you. You're so good to me, Jake,” you breath in shakily, wiping at your eyes as he frowns at you.
“Y/n…”
“M'okay,” you tell him, “I just love you a lot and you make me really happy.”
He blinks, “You're— Happy?”
You nod, pouting as he brushes a tear away with his thumb. “I just… thought about how much we love each other… and it makes me really happy,” you tell him around shaky inhales and teary sighs.
He grins hesitantly, “Baby,” his voice is gentle, too gentle for your emotions, “We can stop if you—”
“I don't wanna stop,” you say quickly, “I just wanna love you, and I can't even fuck you right because I'm dizzy and my thighs hurt.”
“I don't mind helping,” he assures you, “You know that, honey.”
“I know,” your shoulders slump. The tears are drying, but you're still emotional about your love for him, “I started it though.”
He huffs a laugh. “We can finish it together, how's that sound?”
And you know it's the alcohol that's making your moods bounce all over the place, because as soon as he says that, you're overwhelmed now with an aggressive need to fuck him until you're both completely spent.
You shove him back against the bed, placing your hands at his shoulders as he stares up at you in shock, “Y/n—”
“Shut up,” you breathe, resituating on your knees so you can have better leverage to fuck him.
His face flushes pink again, but his hands move to your hips. You lift up, letting out a content moan as you ease back down.
You repeat the motion, before you start up a steady rhythm, the sounds making your eyes roll back in your head. Your backside hits his thighs with sound smacks, mixing with the wet noises of your cunt taking him in deep.
You start to rock your hips with each upward movement, gasping at the angle of his cock inside of you.
“Fuck, Jake,” you whine, your hands moving, one just at his throat, the other at his ribcage as his eyes darken.
“Do it,” he murmurs, nodding encouragingly as you hesitate for just a second. And then you tighten your hold on his throat, just enough to make his breath hitch before he groans in pleasure, “Fuck—”
“Touch me,” you plead, your clit throbbing as it begs for his attention, "Help me, baby, I'm so close—”
His hand is there before you ever even finished your plea, his fingers dextrously rubbing over you as his other hand moves to the one you have at your throat.
You think for a second he's going to pull your hand away, but he tightens your grip.
And that's what undoes you completely. You cry out, your grip tightening as your upper half collapses into him, your body convulsing on top of his as he takes over, fucking you through it perfectly.
Pleasure explodes through you, your walls pulsing and rhythmically squeezing his throbbing length.
“That's it,” he grits out, “Fuck, baby, that's a good girl— So fuckin’ pretty— Oh, God, fuckin’ ook at you.”
It only takes a few more thrusts before he curses loudly, his hand still over yours at his throat as his hips still for a beat, before he comes, letting out the prettiest sound you think you've ever heard from him.
You keep your hips moving slowly, rocking over him as you try your damnedest to fuck him through his own release, before you both slow to a stop.
You let out a weak sound as you slip your hand from his throat to his chest, “Fuck.”
He huffs a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you roll off of him, laying beside him, completely spent.
Your skin is sweat-slick, sticky where it meets his, and it's really hot in there, but you couldn't care less as he turns to his side, trailing his fingers up your side, “You alright, baby?” He asks gently.
You nod, your eyes falling shut, “M'great.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your hair, “C'mon, I gotta get you ready for bed, sweet girl.”
You whine as he gets up, but you make no effort to move.
Finally, you're cleaned up, adorned in one of his shirts, and tucked beneath the blankets as he slips in beside you.
You cuddle into him, closing your eyes because the room is still spinning just a little bit, “Didn't know you liked to be choked,” you say, half asleep.
He laughs, pulling you closer into him. “Me neither.”
“I really did miss you tonight,” you whisper.
“I missed you too, baby,” he murmurs, leaving a small kiss at your temple, “I'm glad you're home.”
“I lost my shoe,” you say suddenly, frowning up at him.
“We'll look for it tomorrow, sweet girl, just get some sleep, okay?” He tries to ease you back down to him, mentally, not physically— because you wouldn't dare move while he's this close and warm and smelling so good.
“Okay,” you sigh. “What if we can't find it?”
“I'll get you a new pair,” he says without a second thought.
“You wonder why I'm spoiled,” you grumble, “It's your fault.”
You feel him grin against your skin, “I know it is.”
Can we get something similar to Three In The Morning but where eeader is drunk and touchy with Jake? Like basically kinda the same but with her being the way that he was instead of him?
whoops forgot to respond to this and just started writing it instead... lol it'll be out in about fifteen minutes... ♡
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
warnings: drunk Jake, dorkass Jake, SMUT 18+!, drunk sex, oral sex (f. rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, “keep me in there tonight”, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: I was trying to write another fic and got the idea for this one after the tiktok GVF posted, so I hope yall enjoy this until I can get to some more of the requests!
Masterlist
You wake to a loud noise. A clatter that makes you shoot up in a half-asleep panic.
Your first initial thought is that you're about to be robbed. Your second, less sleep-filled thought is that your boyfriend is finally home from the bar.
You hear a loud curse, but it's not from inside the house— He's still outside.
You sigh.
Knowing him, he's either lost his keys again or still hasn't managed to get the key into the lock. It's the same cycle every time he drinks. And when you're drunk alongside him, it takes the two of you far too long to piece your brains together and get the door open.
You toss back your blankets, already making your way to the front door, eager to see your lover.
You pull open the door with a frown, immediately softening when you see Jake near the edge of the porch, tossing your watering can to the side without a care, “I watered your plants.”
“I—” You glance at the watering can, your frown deepening when you see it's landed on its side under the porch swing, “Be careful with that—”
He hums, making his way up the steps and stopping right in the doorway as he squares his shoulders, “Daddy's home. M'here to take care of everything.”
He's drunk. Eyes glassy, cheeks a pretty pink, and his skin lightly shining from sweat. His hair is messy, sticking up in places, but he looks just as beautiful as ever.
“Did you just now get home?” You ask with a laugh when he pushes you back gently, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
“I wanna touch you inappropriately,” he says, very matter-of-fact, before he holds up his hand at the side of his mouth as if he's telling you a secret as he whispers, “In all the places I'm not supposed to.”
“God,” you breathe, grinning at him, “You're really drunk, aren't you?”
“My level of sobriety has nothing to do with wanting my girl,” he frowns, “I always wanna touch you.”
“I saw you just this morning,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when he grabs your waist and pulls you to him.
“I'm insatiable,” he says, one of his hands wandering down to your thigh, “Like a wild animal— An untamed beast.”
“And a total fucking dork,” you add, your hands sliding up and cupping his face as you smile warmly at him.
He squints in offense, before he rakes his eyes over you, “You smell good,” he murmurs as he leans in, his nose at your throat, taking a deep breath. He lets out a loud sound of annoyance on his exhale, “I wanna be inside you.”
You pull back, placing your hands at his chest, “You're drunk, honey—”
“Shut up and sit on my face,” he murmurs, tugging you right back to him, “Will you do that for me? Let me have a taste? Just a little bit— I'll be so good to you, baby.”
Your cheeks burn hot, your eyes wide, “I don't… wanna suffocate you…”
He groans, his eyebrows tilting up, “Fuck, that's my life's dream, sweet girl.”
“Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, your hands settling over his, holding them still and stopping them from where they were dragging over you and grabbing at random.
“You hate me,” he pouts.
“I do not. I love you to bits, Jakey,” you say around a giggle, “But it's three in the morning.”
“If we go into that bedroom, I'm making you come in my mouth,” he warns.
You let out a breath, “No.”
His jaw drops when you push back, but this time he doesn't yank you back to him. It takes everything in you not to laugh at him.
You step towards the hallway, “It's late, I have a busy day tomorrow. Just come to bed.”
“Fine,” he mutters, “But I don't like it.”
“I know,” you murmur sympathetically as he trudges along behind you.
Getting him undressed is a nightmare. He grumbles the entire time, complaining about your shared bedroom being hot, pouting when you tell him he's sweaty.
You're not sure how long it takes, but finally, you're both laying in bed, you beneath the blankets and Jake sprawled out over them.
“My mouth's dry,” he whispers after you'd thought he'd started to doze off.
“Do you want some water?” You ask, peeking at him over your shoulder.
“No,” he says, “I want you.”
“Stupid,” you mutter, grinning wide as you turn back onto your side.
He sighs loudly, and you feel the bed dip as he moves. He's still again only for a second, before you're jostled as he moves yet again.
“Jake.”
“I'm trying to get comfortable,” he defends.
You hum, letting your eyes fall shut again. Then you feel the bed dip behind you, before you feel his hair tickling your cheek. You open your eyes to find him leaning over you, frowning at you.
“What are you doing?” You ask, turning onto your back as he hovers over you.
“I'm just looking at you,” he murmurs, “You're pretty.”
“That's creepy,” you laugh despite yourself, “Don't do that.”
But he keeps looking at you, his lips turning up just a little bit, “I don't care if it's creepy. I like to look at you.”
“Watching me sleep is a bit much,” you say, reaching up and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.
“Mm, but you're not asleep,” he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your wrist beside his face, “Which leads me to my next question.”
“And what might that be?” You ask, trailing your fingers down his jaw.
“What if,” he starts, his hand already snaking beneath the blankets, “I make you come so hard you fall asleep?”
You let out a soft sigh, your thighs subconsciously falling apart as his fingers ghost against the edge of your panties, “You really are insatiable.”
“You don't have to do anything,” he leans in, pressing his lips against your cheek, “Just lay there and let me lick into that sweet cunt.”
You trail your hand down to his hips, brushing your fingers just barely against where he's already hard and straining against his underwear, “What if I want this?”
“Think you can come twice for me?” He asks, already slipping his hand in your panties, petting gently just centimeters away from your clit, “Once in my mouth and another around my cock?”
You let out a dreamy sigh, “I think I can manage that.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his hand disappearing from your panties and pulling the blankets away from you, “Too tired, my ass,” he mutters, moving down and grabbing your thighs, splitting them apart for him to fit in between, “You're just mean.”
“M'not mean,” you say weakly as he tugs your panties down, “I am tired.”
“Mm, I know,” he says, “Poor baby's got a busy day tomorrow and here she is in the middle of the night with her pretty thighs spread for me.”
“Jake,” you nudge him with your foot, your cheeks burning.
He groans as he pushes your legs impossibly wider, taking a moment to stare between them, “You're fuckin’ soaked, baby,” he uses his fingers to spread your folds apart, his eyes heavy as he just stares. “I can't let my sweet girl go to sleep all wet and needy, now, can I?”
“No,” you sigh, your fingers twisting into the sheets beside you, eager for his mouth.
“No,” he repeats, dragging a single finger from your slick entrance up to your clit, circling the bud before he pulls it away completely.
Before you can plead, he leans in, and places a kiss directly to your clit, then another, and another, each one slower and wetter than before.
“Fuck,” he groans, flattening his tongue at your entrance and teasing it by almost pushing inside, before he licks up to your clit.
You gasp when he wraps his lips around it, lulling his tongue with a low hum, before he pulls back to look at your most intimate area.
He grabs your inner thighs, fingers digging in as he goes back in with a low growl, kissing and sucking your clit all at once. Your mouth falls open, your hands tightening in the sheets as he makes out with your cunt.
You're amazed every time he does this— How attentive he is, how into it and passionate he is.
You pull a hand away from the sheets, tangling your fingers into his hair as you let out a soft sound. He hums in response, his eyes finding yours as he smirks against your slick skin.
Your hips rock up into his mouth, gasping a quiet, drawn out, “Nooo,” when he pulls back, “Jake— Please…”
“Shh,” he uses his thumbs to spread you open again, “I'll be right back, babydoll, let me just look at you.”
“I want your mouth,” you sigh, knowing that your little pleas and desperate words always make him weak.
And sure enough, he's back within seconds. Your eyes roll back as he starts to flick his tongue over your clit. That low fire in the pit of your tummy that he's been steadily stoking all night burns hot now, making your thighs tremble and your body tighten as your orgasm draws closer.
“I'm so close,” you gasp, now freely rocking your hips as you tighten your hold in his hair.
“Then fuckin’ come for me,” he says it like a demand, no room for arguing— not that you would at this point.
It smacks into you before you really even fathom that he'd just commanded an orgasm out of your body. Your thighs tighten around his head, your back arching off the bed as you helplessly cry out into the black of the night.
He hums and groans against you, not letting up even a bit until you collapse back against the mattress, panting and whimpering as you try to push his head away.
He leaves one final kiss to your throbbing clit before he pushes himself up, dragging your shirt up your body as he climbs over you.
He leans in, running his tongue over your nipple before he draws it into his mouth and sucks at it. Your legs twitch around him when he lets go with a sound pop, before he does the same thing to your other breast.
Your body is still thrumming intensely, your chest is rising and falling as you try to catch your breath, your eyes are shut as you hear him move.
They pop wide open when you feel the hot, plush head of his cock teasing over your pulsing cunt.
“I want it,” you breathe, letting your thighs fall wide open once again.
“It's yours,” he says lowly, his eyes heavy as he watches himself move over your wet slit.
“Then give it to me,” you try to demand it, but it comes out weak and needy, desperate.
He hums, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “Oh, she thinks she's in charge,” he mutters to himself.
You whine, wrapping your thighs around his hips, trying to angle them enough for him to slip inside.
Instead of letting you struggle for much longer, he grabs your hips, pulling them up just right and easing into you in one slow, easy push of his own hips.
Your eyes roll shut as you let out a content sigh, hyperaware of every thick inch of him inside of you.
He leans over you, his hands on either side of your head, gripping the pillow tight as he lets out a strained hum.
“Fuck, Jake,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering open.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to cover your eyes as he settles onto his forearms.
“Why?” You ask, pouting at him even though you can't see him.
He shushes you sweetly, pressing his lips to your cheek, “Just lay there, baby— Let me fuck you to sleep.”
You whine, biting your bottom lip as he pushes your hair back with the hand that was covering your eyes, but you keep your eyes shut as he starts to rock his hips.
“Fuck,” he whispers beneath his breath, so quiet you almost didn't hear it.
His cock grinds into you in slow, rhythmic rolls, every ridge and curve of it sliding along your walls perfectly.
“You feel so good,” you breathe, your jaw falling slack as he leans into you, more of his weight pressing you into the mattress.
You wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly pulling him to you to kiss him. His hand slides down to your hip, holding you tightly as he works his lips against yours, “My sweet girl,” he murmurs between kisses, “I love you.”
“I love you,” you whine it directly into his mouth, lifting your legs higher up, wrapping them around him and holding tightly as he starts to move quicker and harder.
Each thrust sends the head gliding directly and perfectly against that sensitive, spongy bump inside of you that makes you see stars. His pelvic bone is grinding against your clit, rubbing in a way that could send you over the edge rather quickly.
“Fuck, I love your cock,” you gasp when you feel the blunt, warm head brushing against your cervix. “You feel so fucking good.”
He presses his forehead to your temple, and you can feel his lips turned up in a grin, “Listen to you,” he murmurs, “Is that all you can say, baby? Hm? Just telling me how good it feels?”
“Yeah,” you agree mindlessly, your eyes quickly opening when he starts to fuck into you with more force than you expected.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he stills completely, his hand covering your eyes again, “Keep ‘em fucking closed, Y/n.”
You whine his name, and he slides his hand from your eyes to your mouth, covering it completely as he peppers tiny kisses over your cheeks.
He starts fucking into you again, “You gotta listen to me, baby,” he chides softly, his hips slamming into you in contrastingly harsh thrusts, “Just listen to me, be a good girl for me, I know you can do it.”
You let out a weak uh-huh that makes him throb inside of you, and that almost makes you come undone completely.
“I'm gonna come,” you warn him, grabbing tightly onto him, your nails digging in as his hand moves from your mouth to your clit, where he starts rubbing tight, quick circles over the swollen bud.
“Fuckin’ do it,” he breathes, “Come all over my cock, baby, let me feel every fuckin’ bit of it.”
It swells inside you, before it explodes through you like a dam breaking, the waters bursting forth and wrecking everything in sight. Your vision goes white as your thighs clamp around his hips, your breath frozen in your lungs as stars shoot wildly behind your eyelids.
You sob, your nails dragging down his back as he grunts and moans out filthy praise.
“Fuck, that's it, Y/n— Just like that, honey, c'mon,” he lets out a choked sound, “Fuck—”
His own release washes over him with a gasp of your name. His hold is gentle and harsh and loving and possessive all at once, and it all draws out your orgasm as he fucks you both through your respective endings.
You keep your eyes shut, but now it's from a content exhaustion that makes your entire body heavy.
“Fuck,” you sigh, your chest heaving in tandem with his.
“Yeah,” he breathes, pulling back as he slips out of you with a quiet hiss.
“I know we should clean up,” you start, peeking one eye open to find him already staring at you with a half-drunken, lovestruck expression, “But I'm so fuckin’ tired.”
“No,” he says lowly, glancing down between your thighs, “I want you to keep me in there tonight.”
You nod, whispering a soft, “Okay,” as he moves to lay down beside you.
You both lay in the quiet for a moment, enjoying the afterglow, the warm satisfaction lulling you nearly to sleep.
Then he pats your thigh and says, "The beast has been tamed," he pauses, "...For now."
warnings: drinking, creepy guy, creepy guy grabbing reader's arm, bar fight, mentions of blood, bloody nose, split lip, friends-to-lovers, admission of feelings, L word, longtime friendship (like a decade at least), kissing, SMUT 18+!, more kissing, fingering (f. rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, unexpected proposal, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: So so so sorry it has taken me so long to post again! This is based off of this beautiful ask here, I hope I did it justice! Enjoy xx
Masterlist
You love Josh.
You love Sam.
You love Danny.
They've become the sort of people that settle into your life so completely you can't remember what it looked like before them. They're familiar voices in group chats at two in the morning. The people who know exactly which stories make you laugh and which songs you'll skip every single time. They're constants. Safe places. Home, in a way.
But most of all, you love Jake.
You always have.
Jake is the first person you text when something good happens and the first person you want when something goes wrong. He's the name that appears on your phone so often your friends tease you about it.
He's late-night drives with no destination, just music humming through the speakers while the two of you talk about everything and nothing. He's coffee brought to your apartment because he happened to be passing by. He's falling asleep on opposite ends of a couch during movie nights and waking up tangled in the same blanket hours later.
But Jake has always been different.
You've never really questioned it, and neither has he. Maybe that's why neither of you ever says anything. It's easier this way.
Easier to pretend the warmth that spreads through your chest whenever he smiles at you is normal. Easier to ignore the way everyone assumes you're together the first time they meet you. Easier to laugh it off when Danny calls Jake your boyfriend and Jake just rolls his eyes instead of correcting him.
Because he isn't your boyfriend— Jake is your best friend.
And that's exactly why you're standing in a packed bar, nose wrinkled and posture rigid.
Because the boys had just finished their first show of the tour and they wanted to celebrate. Because if Jake asked, you'd probably follow him anywhere.
Even here.
And you hate bars.
If Sammy hadn't been late to show up with you, you probably would've just skipped out on tonight.
You scan the room for Jake, because you're anxious and he's the one you want right now.
You sigh when you can't find him, considering catching another Uber and feigning an illness, when you feel a hand settle at your waist.
You turn, ready to snap at whatever creep it may be.
"Jake," you say softly, the anxious knot in your chest softening the moment your eyes land on him.
"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs, his eyes dragging slowly over you.
"Hi," you mumble, glancing down at his shirt, because you can't handle the way he's looking at you right now.
"Been waiting for you to get here," he says, taking a drink from the glass in his hand, his other still at your waist and his eyes intense as they stay locked onto yours.
"Yeah, I, uh, couldn't decide what to wear," you say around a breathy, nervous laugh.
"Mm. I like that dress," he says, his thumb circling slowly at your waist.
"Oh— Thank you."
"C'mon," he says, nodding his head toward where you assume he's sitting, his arm slipping around your waist, "Josh has been complaining about you and Sammy being missing for half the night— It almost makes me jealous."
"You should be jealous," you tease, eyes focused on his hand as it slides down your wrist and he tangles your fingers together.
He grins back at you, "I know better than that, sweetheart."
You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy.
You aren't surprised to find Jake has already saved your usual spot. Your drink is waiting on the table, condensation beading on the glass like he ordered it the second he walked in.
You slide into the booth, trying not to think about the way his hand settles against the small of your back as you do. Trying not to notice how natural it feels.
"There she is!" Josh calls, weaving through the crowd with a pair of shot glasses balanced in one hand. He drops into the booth with a grin. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you and Sam decided to stay in tonight."
He punctuates it with an exaggerated wink.
"Wrong brother," Sam says dryly as he shoves Josh farther into the booth and claims the seat beside him.
You snort under your breath, wrapping your fingers around your drink and taking a long pull through the straw, grateful for something to do while the conversation moves on.
Jake's arm drapes itself across your shoulders.
Normally, you wouldn't think twice about it. Neither of you has ever been weird about casual affection. It's just... Jake.
Tonight, though, every point of contact feels impossible to ignore.
Even so, you lean into him, because pulling away would feel stranger.
"Where's Danny?" you ask, scanning the crowded bar until your gaze lands on the pool tables.
Josh hooks a thumb in that direction. "Currently getting his ass handed to him." He slides one of the shot glasses across the table toward you, "C'mon. One shot. We're celebrating."
You eye the clear liquid like it's poison, "You know I hate this shit, Josh."
"You don't have to," Jake says quietly before Josh can answer, his voice as calm as ever. He's always the first one to let you off the hook, no matter how small the thing is.
Josh immediately nods. "Yeah, you don't have to." Then a grin spreads across his face, "...Since you're a huge baby."
You meet his smirk with a raised brow, "Oh, fuck you."
Before you can reconsider, you snatch up the shot and toss it back— And instantly regret it.
The liquor burns all the way down, making your eyes water as a cough tears its way out of your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, grimacing so hard your face aches.
"Seriously," you rasp, glaring at Josh. "Fuck you."
Jake is already nudging your drink into your hand.
You take it without hesitation, chasing the burn with a long sip and silently wondering why anyone willingly drinks something that tastes like that.
Josh laughs, "Worth it," he says.
"You're the worst."
"You keep hanging out with me."
"I'm not here for you,” you say before you can stop yourself.
“Yeah,” Josh's grin widens, before he glances over at Jake, who's got a small smirk playing at his lips, “We know.”
Jake's hand squeezes your shoulder, and you grab your drink, completely embarrassed you'd said that.
Danny finally wanders back over from the pool tables, grumbling about a scratched shot that "absolutely didn't count," immediately launching into a retelling that has Sam arguing before he even finishes the first sentence.
The conversation shifts just as easily as it always does— one story bleeding into another, someone cracking a joke, someone else talking over them.
Josh keeps trying to rope everyone into another round, Danny swears he's getting revenge at the pool table, and Jake's thumb absently traces slow circles against your shoulder without either of you acknowledging it.
Somewhere between the laughter, the teasing, and finishing your drink, the knot that's been sitting in your chest all evening finally starts to loosen.
For a little while, you let yourself stop overthinking.
—
"That's bullshit!"
Jake grins up at you as the black eight ball rolls into the pocket in front of you. Again.
He straightens up, leaning against the cue stick in his hand, "Are you being a sore loser right now?"
You glare at him, downing the rest of your drink before you set the glass down on a random table behind you, "I'm not a fuckin’ loser," you grumble, pushing past him as you grab the only two solids you'd hit the entire night from the pocket beside his hip, "C'mon, I'm challenging you again."
He laughs, the sound making you warm despite your annoyance at losing your third round of the night, "You're oh for three, sweetheart."
You wrinkle your nose, "So?"
"Stubborn," he murmurs, resetting the table as you sneak a sip of his drink.
"I like a good challenge," you say, leaning against the edge of the table beside him, lifting your chin when he straightens and gives you a skeptical look, "Besides. I'm letting you win."
"Oh, is that right?" he asks, leaning just a little closer to you.
"Yeah," you lie, grabbing his drink once more, not bothering to hide your thievery this time, earning a small smile from him, "I'm just sparing your pride tonight."
"How thoughtful," he says, glancing down at your lips as you pull away from the straw. And you have to admit, that gives you butterflies. "Let's raise the stakes then."
"Oh?" You ask, mouth suddenly dry. "What do I get when I win?"
He leans in even further, inches away from you now, "It's up to you."
"And if you win?" You ask, your voice nearly gone.
"That's up to me."
You could do it. You could lean in and kiss him. But not only are you terrible at pool, you're also a total fucking pansy. So you grin and straighten, pushing yourself away from the table and stealing yet another drink from his glass.
"Shut up and break the table, Kiszka."
He grins, "Yes ma'am."
—
You swear your eye twitches.
"Alright," you mutter, crossing your arms as he studies how to pocket the eight ball, "What's your prize?"
He hums, pretending to think about it, before he shrugs, "I dunno yet."
"You bastard," you say around a laugh. "You're gonna choose the most random shit at the most inconvenient time, aren't you?"
"Probably," he says with a grin, "You don't wanna go again?"
"No," you say flatly, "Pick your prize."
"I already have," he says, his voice a little lower now, something in it that makes your entire body perk up.
"Oh."
His eyes are heavy, focusing on your mouth without any shame or pretenses now. And when you both start to lean in, you suddenly turn your head, pushing away as you force a laugh, "You haven't won yet, Jakey."
His jaw flexes, but he grins, "I'm willing to throw this round. Unless you wanna get your ass handed to you again."
"By you?" You ask, your bravery back now that you've put some distance between the two of you, "Doesn't sound so bad."
"You know what I think?" He asks, stepping closer yet again, "I think you're full of shit."
"You wanna test that theory?"
"You know I do."
You grin up at him, before you hand him your cue, "I'm gonna get us another drink," you say, stepping back because you want to lean further into him.
"Alright," he murmurs, his tone a little too aware for your liking. "Want me to come with you?"
"No," you say with a breathy laugh, "You just— Stay here."
He grins as you take another step away, "Put it on our tab, honey," he says, leaning your cue against the wall as he eyes the pool table, measuring his next shot.
You turn away without another word, because you know if you don't, you'll make a bad decision.
By the time you finally make it to the counter, you're already regretting offering to grab the next round.
The bartender catches your order with a distracted nod before disappearing into the crowd behind the bar, leaving you standing there waiting.
Instinctively, your gaze drifts across the room.
It finds Jake immediately, like always.
He's where you left him near the pool tables, one shoulder now resting against the wall, drink loose in his hand. He's looking at you. The realization sends a familiar warmth curling low in your stomach.
You raise an eyebrow, and his mouth twitches.
As if he's caught you checking on him and wants you to know he's been watching the whole time.
He usually is.
You don't know when it started. Maybe he's naturally protective. Maybe he's just observant. Or maybe Jake simply has a habit of keeping track of you no matter where the two of you are.
Whatever the reason, every time you catch him looking, it makes your chest feel strangely tight. You glance away before he notices the effect he has on you.
"You here alone?"
The voice beside you instantly ruins the moment. You turn to see a man leaning against the bar far closer than necessary. His eyes sweep over you slowly, and your skin crawls.
"No."
His smile widens, "Could've fooled me."
You turn back toward the bar, conversation over— At least, it should be.
Unfortunately, he doesn't seem interested in taking the hint. He shifts closer, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Let me buy you a drink."
"I'm good."
"Come on."
"No."
He laughs like you've made a joke.
Your jaw tightens, "I have a boyfriend."
His gaze flicks around the room, "Who?"
You don't answer.
Instead, your eyes find Jake again. Across the crowd, he still hasn't looked away. The second your gaze meets his, something inside you settles.
The man's expression hardens, "Nah."
You stare at him, "What?"
"I don't buy it."
"I really don't care."
His smile disappears, and something ugly takes its place, "You don't even know me."
"And I'd like to keep it that way."
The bartender is still nowhere in sight. Of course.
The man's face twists. Like he's genuinely offended you aren't interested, "You're kind of a bitch, you know that?"
You don't bother responding to that, but you say, "Leave me alone."
For one brief second, you think he might. Then he reaches for you, and your stomach drops. His fingers close around your wrist— hard.
You immediately try to pull away, "Let go."
His grip tightens, "Relax."
"I said let go."
"Come on," he says. "Let's get out of here."
Panic flares hot and sharp beneath your ribs, and your pulse stutters. Because the second Jake sees what's happening, you know it's over.
"Just give me a chance," the man speaks again, and you cut your eyes back to him, a newfound confidence in you because you know Jake is seconds away.
"Let go of me, you fucking creep," you snap.
"You're a fucking bitch—"
"Take your hand off her."
You didn't even see him arrive. One second he's across the room, the next he's there. Close enough that the heat radiating from him brushes against your skin.
The stranger finally lets go.
Jake immediately steps in front of you like it's instinct. Like there was never another possible outcome.
One hand settles against the small of your back.
His eyes never leave the other man.
"We were just talking," the stranger says.
Jake glances over his shoulder, checking you once.
The concern in his eyes lasts a heartbeat before he's looking at the man again, every trace of warmth gone, "Didn't look like talking."
The stranger scoffs, "Mind your own business."
Jake's arm stays firm behind you, "She is my business."
His gaze slides past Jake and lands on you, "If she wasn't acting like such a tease, you wouldn't have to worry, buddy."
Jake goes completely still.
Your hand immediately wraps around his arm, "Jake."
His jaw flexes.
The stranger laughs, "What? You gonna defend your little whore—"
The punch lands before he can finish. The crack of it echoes through your skull as the man's head snaps violently to the side.
For a second, the entire room seems to freeze.
Then the man swings, and his fist lands right at Jake's mouth. You let out a squawk, but Jake's quick to hook another punch directly into the man's nose.
You know you should be horrified. You should be grabbing Jake and dragging him away while yelling at him for being an idiot. Instead, your pulse kicks hard against your ribs.
Because he looks unfairly good. Because he did that for you. Because some embarrassingly soft part of your heart has been in love with him for years, and apparently that part finds protective rage extremely attractive.
"Jake!"
You finally grab the back of his shirt and yank. He takes a step back. Not because you move him, but because he lets you. The stranger is shouting now, blood pouring from his nose, but you're barely listening as strangers rush between the two of them.
You're too busy staring at Jake. He still looks ready to lunge forward again. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you snap, shoving at his chest, "What the fuck, Jake?!"
His arm slides around your waist, "C'mon," he mutters.
You glare at him the entire way outside. The cool night air hits your skin immediately, but you hardly feel it, you're too hot and worked up, adrenaline and fear and something else coursing through your veins.
Jake runs his tongue over a split in his bottom lip before looking down at his shirt, checking for blood. Like he didn't just punch a man in the middle of a crowded bar.
"Jake—"
"Don't start." His voice is calm. Far too calm.
"You just—"
"I did." He finally looks up, "And I'd do it again. Shut up."
Your mouth falls open, "You shut up!" The words burst out of you before you can stop them, "You can't just go around punching everybody who says mean things about me!"
"Yes, I can." The frown he gives you is almost offended— like you're the unreasonable one here.
You let out a frustrated sound, "Jake, I've told you that I can handle myself—”
“And I know that,” he says gently, “But he touched you, and I just— God, I couldn't even think straight.”
“You're ridiculous,” you mutter, grabbing his jaw and angling his face toward the street lights so you can get a better view of his injury. “You could've gotten hurt.”
“I didn't.”
You sigh, tracing your thumb carefully near the tiny laceration, thinking a little more clearly now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off.
To correct yourself— you're not thinking clearly.
You're thinking about how fucking good he looks right now, and how good he looked in that bar. You know it's not okay, but the complete masculinity and the sheer manliness of what had transpired has you staring at his mouth.
Because it's Jake.
The Jake you've spent practically every day with for the past ten years or more, watching him grow, growing with him, seeing all he's accomplished and done.
And you want him.
You're still staring at his lips, the heart shape of his mouth, “What?” He asks, his lips twitching upward as his eyes flit over your face.
“I love you.”
Eloquent. Perfect, dumbass.
“I love you too,” he says easily.
You shake your head, your throat tight as you whisper, “Not like that.”
He huffs a laugh, before he nods, “I know what you meant.”
His tone leaves no room for misunderstanding.
You let out a quiet breath, “I shouldn't,” you finally say, “You're my best friend. But, I don't know, it's just… Knowing you, seeing how far you've come— watching you punch a man in the face for me— God, I want you so bad, Jake.”
His lips are parted around a breath that's lodged in his throat, his eyes are a bit widened with surprise, but he plays it cool, “Why shouldn't you?” His voice is gentle.
“You're my best friend,” you repeat, as if you haven't read tons of books based upon that trope.
He tilts his head, “You remember when I used to be scared to play in front of people?”
“Yeah,” you say weakly, crossing your arms.
“And you told me that if I kept being a little bitch then I'd never be able to do great fuckin’ shit?”
“Pretty sure I didn't word it that way,” you mutter as he steps forward, his hands warm as they settle, one at your waist and the other cupping your face.
He lifts an eyebrow, “I'm telling you that now, sweetheart,” he says gently.
You stare at him for a beat, before it clicks to you what he's saying.
“Oh,” your lips part, and for a second or two, you just stand there, before you grab his face in both of your hands, and you kiss him.
His lips are soft and warm, but he lets out a quiet sound of pain, and you jerk back when you remember the cut on his lip, “Fuck, I'm sorry—”
“Shut up,” he murmurs, pulling you back to him and slotting his lips against yours.
His lips move with an easy confidence that makes your stomach flip, unhurried but certain, coaxing instead of demanding.
His thumb strokes lazily along your jaw while his other hand stays firm at your waist, pulling you impossibly close until there's barely any space left between you.
His mouth parts just enough for his tongue to brush your bottom lip in silent invitation, and the moment you answer it, your knees nearly give out.
God, this is so much better than every stupid fantasy you've ever let yourself have.
He tastes faintly like mint and whiskey, warm and familiar, and he kisses like he's been thinking about this for just as long as you have.
When he finally pulls away, it's only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His nose brushes yours as he smiles, a little breathless. “You wanna go back to the hotel?”
You're nodding before he even finishes the question, “Yes.”
“C'mon.”
—
The hotel door barely shuts before you're panicking. Your stomach flips as you turn to Jake.
"What are we doing?" you blurt, laughing under your breath even as your heart threatens to beat its way out of your chest.
Jake turns from the door, one shoulder resting against it for a second as he studies you, "You're freaking out."
"A little," you admit, twisting your fingers together. "I'm not— I mean, I'm not scared. I'm not uncomfortable. I just..." You shake your head, smiling because the words refuse to come out right. "I don't want to screw this up, Jake."
His expression softens instantly, "You won't."
"How do we know that?"
He starts toward you, unhurried, impossibly calm. Every step somehow makes the room feel smaller.
You instinctively take one back. Then another, until your calves brush the edge of the mattress.
His eyes flick downward before returning to yours, warm and amused, "Keep going," he says quietly.
You blink, "What?"
He nods toward the bed behind you, "You're right where I want you."
Heat rushes straight to your face, "Jake," you say, trying for scandalized, but it comes out breathless instead.
He smiles— that crooked, completely unfair smile that always makes you forget whatever point you were trying to make.
Before you can recover, his hands find your waist. He pulls you toward him with enough force to steal the tiny gasp from your lungs.
You meet him halfway, your hands lifting instinctively to cup his face. Your fingers slide into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as your lips find his.
The kiss lands gently at first. Like he's giving you every chance to change your mind.
His mouth curves faintly against yours, and something about that tiny smile makes your chest ache. He kisses with impossible patience, not rushing or demanding. He lingers just long enough that every brush of his lips feels intentional, like he's memorizing you one heartbeat at a time.
It's maddening and comforting and it makes your thoughts dissolve into nothing.
His thumb traces a slow curve against your side through your dress, grounding you while simultaneously making it impossible to remember why you were panicking in the first place.
Your heart is still racing. You smile into the kiss without meaning to. He catches it immediately, smiling back against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, stealing another shaky breath from you.
You barely notice you're moving until your knees bump the mattress.
One hand slides carefully to the small of your back, steadying you, while the other remains at your waist. His forehead brushes yours for the briefest second.
His hands are comfortingly steady at your waist as he eases you back against the mattress. His lips find yours again for a brief moment, before they trail to the side of your throat.
Your lips part around a shaky sigh when he presses a warm kiss just below your ear, before moving down to your collarbone.
You tilt your head, angling your chin to watch as he kisses to the strap of your dress, his fingers pushing it down your upper arm as he kisses where it had lain.
You lift your foot, wrapping it around the back of his leg and pulling his lower half against yours. He hums low in his throat, pressing his hips tighter to you as his lips move down your chest.
His teeth bite into the top of your breast, just enough to sting, and your hips buck up of their own accord.
“Fuck, Jake,” you breathe, pushing your chest into his face, nodding mindlessly when he reaches behind you to pull open the zipper.
He slips the dress down with ease, pulling back to take in the sight of you, laid bare before him aside from your panties.
“God,” his jaw flexes, before he leans back in, and without any warnings, takes your nipple into his mouth.
Your jaw falls slack as he swirls his tongue over the hardening bud, and his hand comes up to cup your other breast.
You let out a weak noise, tangling your fingers into his hair. You really, really like his mouth. It's warm and soft and somehow he knows exactly what to do with it.
“Touch me,” you whisper, your hips rocking up into his, “Please, Jake, I need—”
His hand is in your panties before you can even finish your plea. Your moan comes out broken as his fingers brush over your slick center, before circling slowly over your swollen clit.
“Fuck,” he curses, pulling off of your breast for a moment to glance down at the way his hand disappears beneath the lace of your panties. “You're so fucking wet, honey.”
“Shut up,” you whine, heat coloring your cheeks red as his fingers move back down to your weeping entrance, before he eases two inside without any resistance.
“You shut up,” he murmurs, throwing your own words back at you, curling his fingers slowly, and grinning when you let out a choked sound, “Oh, is that it?” He curls them upward again, “Is that the spot, baby?”
Like he doesn't know.
“Fuck you,” you gasp, your hands moving to his shoulders again, nails digging in as he grins down at you.
“God, I love you,” he sighs.
“Like… more than a friend, right?” You ask, rocking your hips slowly as he starts to pump his fingers into you, slow and methodically.
He frowns, but it's still amused, “I've got my fingers inside you, and I've been sucking on your tits for the past three minutes, Y/n— You tell me.”
“You didn't really say much earlier,” you grumble. He stops completely, and you immediately pout, “Jake, no—”
“I love you,” he says firmly, his free hand moving to your jaw, holding you in place, “As more than a friend, more than anything, I fucking love you. Is that clear enough?”
You try to pretend for a moment that the threat of tears isn't burning your eyes, so you only nod, your throat tight.
“Answer me,” he coaxes gently, yet leaving no room to deny him.
“It's clear enough,” you whisper, “Just— Please,” you buck your hips up, desperate for him to get on with what he was doing before your little bout of insecurity.
He sighs through his nose, a fond sigh, like he's enamored and annoyed all at once as he slowly starts moving his fingers inside of you again, “You should know better than that,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your breasts.
You whimper as his thumb moves, pressing firmly against your clit.
“This is all I've thought about for years,” he continues, almost to himself, as he uses his other hand to pull your panties down your thighs, all without stopping his fingers inside of you, “Seeing you like this, touching you, loving you. You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Y/n.”
“Jake…”
He cradles your face again, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, “My sweet girl,” he sighs, “I'm gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”
You nod mindlessly, now freely rocking your hips into his touch as that familiar heat curls low in your tummy, “Please, baby,” you breathe, your mouth falling open when he starts to work his fingers into you quicker, a little harder.
“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in and leaving small kisses over your cheeks, “You want that?”
“So bad,” you whine, grabbing onto him like your life depends on it.
That fire builds quicker, stoked by each curl of his fingers and every brush of his thumb. You gasp his name, your nails digging into his skin as you writhe beneath him.
“C'mon,” he whispers, his brows pinching inward in concentration, his eyes intense as he watches you, “You're so close, baby, c'mon.”
He watches your face like it’s the only thing that matters, eyes locked on every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features.
His fingers pump steadily inside you, curling with purpose, pressing against that spot that makes your thighs shake. His thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless strokes, never letting up, never slowing.
Your hips buck against his hand, chasing every thrust. The wet sounds of his fingers working fill the space between you, slick and obscene. He leans in close, forehead almost touching yours, breath hot against your lips.
“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, voice thick with adoration. “Let me feel you. Let me have it.”
The pressure builds fast and sharp, coiling tighter with every precise curl of his fingers. Your walls flutter around him, gripping, pulsing. He doesn’t stop— keeps driving into you, thumb rubbing faster, firmer. Your breath stutters. Your back arches off the bed.
Then it hits.
Your orgasm crashes through you in heavy, rolling waves. You clench hard around his fingers, rhythmic and desperate, squeezing down with every pulse.
Your whole body locks up, thighs trembling violently. A broken cry tears from your throat, high and helpless. Your nails bite into his shoulders, holding on like you might fall apart completely.
He groans low, watching you come undone, completely captivated. “Fuck, there you go, baby. So fucking beautiful. That’s my girl.”
His fingers keep moving through it, drawing it out, milking every last spasm until you’re shaking and gasping, oversensitive and spent. He slows only when your hips finally twitch away from the overstimulation, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, whispering how much he loves you.
His fingers slip out of your panties, and you let out a broken noise, your arms falling to the bed with a thud, “Fuck,” you mutter.
He straightens up with a grin, letting his eyes drag over you, “You alright, sweetheart?”
You nod, giving him a breathless grin, “M'great.”
His smile softens, “You're so pretty,” he murmurs, trailing his hand up your side, “My beautiful girl.”
“Fuck me,” your voice is softer than you intended, “Please, Jake, fuck me.”
He lets out a low, rough sound that makes your insides twist as he leans back in, attaching his lips to yours in a messy, heated kiss, his hands moving down to your panties to pull them off of you.
You start on his shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as you can. He pulls it off, throwing it away somewhere before his hands are back on you, and your hands are working at his jeans.
You can't get a good look at him from this angle, but for the moment, you're not completely worried about it— you know you'll have plenty of time to get to know him like this. And if the heavy, warm weight of him against you is any indication, you're fucked.
“Fuck, I want it,” you sigh, reaching down and wrapping your hand around him. He's so impossibly hard it makes you clench around nothing, the skin contrastingly soft as you brush your thumb over the precum beaded at the tip.
His jaw flexes as his hips roll into your touch, “Shit,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering as you slowly stroke your hand up and down.
He covers your hand with his, angling the head directly at your slick entrance. You gasp when he slips it up and down your folds, tapping at your clit with a wicked grin.
“Please,” you breathe, rocking up against him, whimpering at the way he feels against you.
In one simple angling of his hips, he's easing inside of you. Your jaw falls slack at the feeling, your walls stretching wide around his length, a dull throbbing as he pushes in inch by inch.
You lift your head to watch as he settles in all the way, and the sight makes you clench around him.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hands falling to your hips, his hold tight. “Fuck, you feel good.”
“So do you,” you rake your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “You're so big.”
He nips lightly at your jaw, before he starts to move inside of you, easing out almost teasingly slow, before pushing back in with a gentle roll of his hips, “You feel like heaven, wrapped all tight and sweet around my cock, baby. So wet and soft and warm— Fuck, I love your pussy.”
“Jake,” your cheeks burn, but you don't know if it's embarrassment or desire.
“Don't get shy on me now, angel,” he grins, pressing his forehead to your temple as his hands slide up your sides, beneath your shoulders, holding you in place as he starts to fuck into you with a little more force.
“M'not,” you hum when his hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly tighter against him as his hips roll into yours without missing a single beat.
“Fuck, you're so sweet,” he murmurs, his teeth grit together, “Makes me wanna fuckin’ wreck you, honey.”
“Do it,” you nod, gasping when his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to angle your face to his.
He looks really fucking good, his eyes heavy and dark, his eyebrows pinched together, his lips kiss-swollen and dark pink, a light sheen of sweat making strands of his hair stick to his forehead.
He looks like he's been onstage— messy and still somehow more put-together than you could ever dream of being right now.
“You look so good,” you tell him, slipping your arms beneath his, sliding your hands down his sides and grabbing his hips just to feel them move. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he returns it so normally, like it's something just meant to be said, effortless and simple.
You whine softly, pressing your forehead into the solid warmth of his shoulder while your walls squeeze tight around his thick length buried inside you. Every deliberate thrust hits that perfect spot, sending sparks through your core.
His arm cradles your head from beneath, the firm muscle of his bicep resting right against your lips. His hand cups the side of your face from beneath your head, fingers tracing gentle strokes along your cheek and jaw while his mouth presses hot, lingering kisses to your temple and cheekbone.
The position keeps you pinned gently beneath him, his body angled so his forearm supports your head and his bicep stays within easy reach of your mouth, as he fucks you with precise rolls of his hips.
He slides his other hand up, fingers at your mouth, “Get ‘em wet for me, baby,” he orders gently.
You part your lips without question, whining immediately as his fingers ease into your mouth.
“Oh, she likes that,” he grins, “My sweet girl likes to be full, doesn't she?”
You hum a soft mm-hmm around his fingers, lulling your tongue gently as you try to nod.
“Pretty little thing,” he praises, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “With her pretty holes stuffed full— You're a fuckin’ angel.”
You clench around him again, earning a grin from him as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, slipping his hand between the two of you and pressing them against your clit.
“Jake,” you gasp, thighs twitching when he starts to rub tight circles over the swollen bud, “Fuck—”
“I've gotta be honest,” he starts, his jaw flexing, “I'm not gonna last much longer, baby, and I need you to fucking come all over my cock.”
You let out a loud moan at that, knowing he was right there, that knowledge making your orgasm draw nearer.
“Please, baby?” He asks sweetly, and though the words are pleading, the tone verges demanding in a way you've never heard before, “Can you come for me? Make a pretty mess all over my dick, sweet girl?”
It hits you suddenly, and you bite into the taut muscle of his bicep, earning a deep growl from him as the muscle flexes between your teeth.
You're trembling and shaking, your walls spasming and pulsing around him, as your orgasm nearly makes you go numb. Your blood rushes through your ears with a loud roaring sound as he expertly fucks you through it. The wet sounds of your cunt mix with the dull smack of his hips against you and the loud sobs falling from your lips.
Then he curses, his hips stuttering for a brief second before you feel his cock throb inside of you, and his grip tightens before his own ending washes over him.
You can feel it, his release shooting inside of you, warm and wet, mixing with your own arousal, and you know you'll have quite the mess to clean up as his hips slow to gentle, steady rolls of his hips, before stilling completely.
“Fuck,” he curses quietly after a beat, still holding onto you, his grip softening as you both come down from your highs.
“Oh, my God,” you breathe, melting completely beneath him.
He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You hum gently, leaving tiny, soft kisses over the bite mark on his arm.
“We should probably clean up,” he murmurs after a few minutes of laying just like that. With Jake on top of you, still inside of you, his hold still protective, and your thighs still wrapped around his hips with your hands sliding up and down his sides soothingly.
“Probably,” you mumble, not making a move to do so.
Finally, he moves, easing back gently, dragging his eyes over you to take it all in.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, his lips turning up fondly, “You look so sleepy.”
“I am,” you sigh, “I want you to hold me.”
“I will,” he promises, “Let me clean you up first.”
You nod, hating how lonely and empty you feel the second he pulls out of you.
Before you know it, you're wrapped up in his arms again, cleaned up, feeling warm and soft and sleepy as you cuddle into his chest, smiling softly as he leaves tiny kisses in your hair.
Neither of you have spoken for the past few minutes. Neither of you need to. For the first time in your life, you don't feel the need to question any of it. It feels natural, normal, like this is how it was always supposed to be.
“Marry me.”
Your eyes pop wide open, and you jerk your head up so fast it almost collides with his, “What?”
His smile is confident, “I'm gonna ask you properly one day,” he lays his head back against the pillow, his eyes shutting as he goes on, “I'm gonna get you a big ring, a big pretty ring that you're gonna fuckin’ love. And I'm gonna get your dad's blessing, and we're gonna have a big, beautiful wedding.”
“Jake…” You can't help but grin.
“I'm not gonna tell you when I'm gonna ask you. I’m gonna surprise you. But… I just know. It all feels right, doesn't it, baby?”
“It does,” you agree softly.
“Then marry me.”
You let out a flustered giggle, “Okay. I'll marry you.”
He grins, his eyes opening as he looks at you, “Will you?”
“Yes,” you say, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I'll marry you, Jake.”
yearning for some more friends to lovers 😩😩 imagine being best friends for like a decade and he's so unsure of you love him back and he's freaking out and is so nervous when he confessesssssss SHY JAKEEEEE
awwwww this is so cute 😭 i'm doing a friend's to lovers rn bcz i'm so fucking weak for that trope and i wish so bad that jake was the shy one in this fic... maybe i'll do this one later 😉 (I will)
Hello I'm new to your fics and I love them SM I was recently scrolling and I came across an ask about Jake x Curvy f/r vibes based off the song Sometimes Back Wood, and i just wanted to let you know I'm excited for that one cause I know you'll kill it
All my love x
omg thank you so much 😭 I am working to get some requests out, but life has been kicking my ass and I'm so behind but I promise I have a few in the works and coming soon! ❤️ I'm so glad you enjoy them, that means the world to me!
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So Ive been thinking about this friends to lovers situation lately.. and. Forgive me. Its a lot.
Let's say you met the boys right after hs. But you've always been the closest with Jake. No body can explain why, not even the two of you, you both just click. You've traveled with them, so much so that its been rumored that you were Jakes gf countless times. But. You both never took it there. You just never thought anything of it. Platonic soulmates always seemed right. Atleast, that's what you always TRIED to convince yourself. But none the less, Jake was the closest to a loving supportive boyfriend youd ever had, and Jake could say the same about you.
So. The band is out at a bar, celebrating their first show of the new tour. You get up to go get another drink. Here's where things get interesting. While you may not have had many boyfriends, it doesnt mean you havnt had your share of unwanted attention from creepy men. This man hits on you, and your clearly very uncomfortable. Little do you know, Jake, ever the protector, has been watching you since you left the table. He doesn't intervene yet tho. You've had the conversation with him. You can handle yourself. He doesn't have to jump in and threaten to fight every guy who hits on you. So Jake stays.. waiting.
Then it happens. This man puts his hands on you. Jake waits another second to see how you react.. but when your eyes meet his from across the room, he gets his answer. That's when Jake loses it. No body touches his best friend without her consent.
Jake goes up to this man, tells him the fuck off, and since the man still didn't want to back off, Jake takes more serious matters. Finally, the dude fucks off, with heaps of blood pouring out of his nose. And somehow from all this, your weirdly turned the fuck on. Its not the first time Jake has stood up for you, but from some reason, it has you feeling different this time. Seeing Jake lately, freshly 30, looking manlyer than ever, all the things he's accomplished over the years. Suddenly all these feelings rush into you. You've never loved someone so much before. And you've never been more proud of him. Or MORE turned on by him.
Of course, you cant keep this all to yourself. You HAVE to tell him. You tell eachother everything. His reaction to it all is something you never knew you needed. You both call it a night, and escape to the hotel. And. Yeah you know what they do.
After making love, and proclaiming all their pent up feelings, they both are lying there in bliss. And suddenly, Jake says "Marry me." He still promises to buy her a ring. A beautiful one that she would love. He would ask her families blessing, And he would propose to her properly. And surprise her with it at any random point. Because thats what she deserves. But.. in that moment Jake knew. He always knew. He would end up with her one way or another. He had to ask her right there, right after the first time they said I love you, and it ment something deeper than what it always was before.
(Can you tell im on my period? )
OHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE THIS SM I'M ON ITTTTTTT!!!!
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We've had jake walk in on the reader.. how about the reader walks in on jake touching himself 👀 bonus points if he's looking at the photos y/n has sent to him and he gets super embarrassed 🙈
warnings: little bit of enemies-to-lovers, asshole!jake, mechanic!jake, banter, arguing, car stuff? idk, SMUT 18+!, makeout sesh in the mechanic shop, getting interrupted, oral sex (f. rec), fingering (f. rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, teasing, no pull-out game, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: Sorry for the month long silence, hopefully yall enjoy this! Love yall bunches mwah xx
Masterlist
You have the worst luck.
That is the only explanation.
Not bad luck. Not occasional inconvenience. Not the normal, everyday kind of misfortune most people deal with.
The kind of luck that makes your car die in the middle of traffic on a Tuesday afternoon while smoke pours from under the hood.
The worst part is— You love that car.
Objectively, it's a complete piece of shit.
The paint is faded. The air conditioning only works when it feels like it. The driver's side window makes a horrifying grinding noise every time you roll it down, and there's a stain on the passenger seat that has existed so long neither you nor science can identify its origin.
But it's your piece of shit.
You've had it forever.
It's gotten you through high school, college, terrible jobs, worse relationships, and more late-night drives than you can count. It rattles when it hits fifty-five miles per hour and sounds vaguely concerning whenever you start it in cold weather, but it always gets you where you need to go.
Until today.
Today it finally decides to give up.
So now you're standing in the open bay of the most popular auto shop in town while your beloved disaster sits on a lift looking pathetic and betrayed.
Because apparently everyone in town agrees there's only one person worth taking a broken car to.
Jake.
The best mechanic in town.
The hottest man you've ever seen.
Brown hair carelessly gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, as if he'd twisted it back without a second thought hours ago and never bothered fixing it.
His eyes are dark brown, heavy-lidded and sharp all at once, carrying the kind of weary intensity that made your stomach flip when they landed on you.
A strong jaw anchored his face, softened only slightly by surprisingly full cheekbones. There was a permanent crease between his brows, like he spent most of his days concentrating on things that came apart for a living.
He wore a dark blue work shirt with his name stitched above the pocket, tucked into a pair of worn jeans that fit far too well for a mechanic. The fabric stretched across solid thighs, making you wonder how he managed to crawl beneath cars without splitting a seam.
He wasn't particularly tall, but he didn't need to be. There was something undeniably sturdy about him— lean muscle built through years of work.
Grease stained his shirt and smudged his forearms, but his hands resting on his hips were unexpectedly nice; broad-palmed, capable, and rough in all the right places.
You watch as he circles your car slowly, hands shoved into the pockets of grease-stained work pants. The smell of oil and hot metal hangs heavy in the air around him.
“You should scrap this piece of shit,” he says simply.
You immediately frown, “I'm emotionally attached to her.”
“That seems to be the only thing keeping her together,” he says, looking up at you.
“How much will it cost to fix it?”
“More than it's worth.”
“Can I get a number?” You ask, matching his tone.
He lifts a brow, “Around four or five.”
“Thousand?” He stares blankly at you as you sigh, “Fuck.”
“You'd be better off selling it to a junk yard and getting something better,” he shrugs a single shoulder.
“I can't afford something better,” you grumble, rubbing a hand over your face, “I can't even afford to get it fixed!”
He looks away, his lips pursed as if to say— That's not my problem.
“Can I do payments?” You ask weakly.
He sighs, “Alright, look. If you want me to fix, I will. I'll cut the cost in half, and yeah, we can do payments. Just let me know what you wanna do.”
“I want it fixed, I just—”
“Alright,” he cuts in, “Then I'll fix it.”
“Okay,” you nod once.
“You should probably get what you need out of it and get a ride home,” he says, reaching up to shut the hood, “It's gonna be a few days, at least.”
“Okay,” you repeat, your shoulders sinking, “Great.”
—
Jake is waiting beside your car, looking exactly like someone preparing to deliver bad news. His arms are crossed over his chest. His expression is unimpressed. Annoyed, even.
You force a smile, "Hi."
His eyes sweep over you once before settling somewhere over your shoulder, "I give it a week."
You blink. "What?"
"A week before this thing breaks down again."
A laugh escapes you despite yourself. "I thought you fixed it."
"I did." His jaw tightens. He reaches into his pocket and holds out your keys. "Doesn't change the fact that it's probably the worst car I've ever worked on."
You snatch the keys from his hand, "You're such an asshole."
He shrugs, "I'm right."
You roll your eyes, though it's harder than it should be when he's standing this close. Grease smudges the side of his forearm. His dark shirt is stretched across broad shoulders. He smells faintly of motor oil and whatever soap he uses.
Unfortunately, it works for him.
"Well," you say, taking a step backward toward your car. "Thanks. I guess."
Jake exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you've personally exhausted him, "Yeah."
For a second neither of you move.
The air hangs heavy between you. The distant sounds of the garage drift across the lot. Neither of you seems particularly eager to leave, despite the fact that neither of you has anything left to say.
Then Jake breaks first, "Try not to kill it."
A grin tugs at your mouth, "No promises."
He mutters something under his breath before turning toward the garage.
You watch him go.
Just for a second.
Maybe two.
Your gaze drifts lower before you can stop it, lingering on the way his jeans fit far too well.
Jesus.
—
You've had your car back for possibly not even three days.
It's running better than before, but you can still hear the faint rattling and feel the jerky idling it does.
It's not normal, but it's familiar.
You're humming to the radio, fingers tapping on the dash, when your car suddenly lurches. Panic immediately fills your body as you hear the engine start to sputter.
“No,” you whisper, as your beloved car slows, a sick sputtering noise coming from beneath the hood, “No, no, no—”
It dies.
You shift it into park, turning the key off, before you stare at the dash, watching it light up like a Christmas tree. Your eyes shoot to the gas level, frowning when you find it's still got three quarters of a tank in it.
You turn the key once, and you're met with a loud grinding noise, before you shut it off again.
“Fuck!”
You sink down into the seat, tears falling your eyes as you realize you're fucked. You're going to have to call someone.
Jake.
You stare at the windshield for a few moments, before you reach for your phone, huffing a sigh of dread as you go to your contacts.
After a beat of your finger hovering over the call button, you press it.
It rings three times, then, “This is Mark, how can I help you?”
You nearly sob with relief— it's not Jake on the line. You quickly tell Mark your name and your situation, and he chuckles.
“Didn't Jake tell you that would probably happen?”
“I didn't expect it so soon!” You defend, “Besides, if he's the best mechanic in town, this shouldn't have been a problem!”
“You got me there,” he says, still laughing, “Alright, where are you at?”
You tell him, looking around at the street signs.
“Okay. Give me about 20 minutes, we'll getcha.”
“Thank you, Mark,” you say softly, “I appreciate it so much.”
“Of course! Jake's gonna love this when he finds out,” he says, and ends the call before you can even respond.
You slump back into your seat. At least Jake wouldn't be showing up to rub it in your face. No I told you so's to ruin your night even further.
You're not sure how long you wait, but by the time the tow truck shows up, you're antsy and exhausted. You want to go home and sleep. And possibly cry.
You get out of your car, fidgeting with your keys as the truck door opens.
And fucking Jake gets out.
“Oh, my God,” you mutter, your stomach sinking as he places his hands on his hips.
“You still think it's worth fixing?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he smugly tilts his head.
“Who asked you?” You snap, crossing your arms.
And for the first time since you've met him, he grins at you. An actual grin. And God help you, it's beautiful.
Then he looks at your car and shakes his head, “Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he says, hooking his thumb toward the tow truck behind him.
You sigh, your shoulders slumping as you trudge toward the cab, grumbling to yourself all the while.
You watch through the side mirror as he works— you nearly cry at seeing your car being lifted onto the bed of the tow truck once again.
You slump into the seat, tears brimming your eyes as Jake gets in.
“What happened to it this time?” He asks, leaning over and setting the air vents onto you, letting the warm air blow over you.
“I dunno,” you grumble, “I was driving, it sputtered, a bunch of lights came on, so I pulled over— and it just fucking died.”
“I told you that car wasn't worth it.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us have the money to just go out and get the hottest thing on the lot, Jake.”
“There are other options, Y/n.”
“Mind your business.”
“This is the second time your car has been towed to my shop in under a week, sweetheart— I'm pretty sure your car is somewhat my business.”
“Whatever.”
He shakes his head, but lets it die. Good, you think, didn't wanna talk to him anyway.
But fuck, he looks good tonight. His hair is down this time, his hair tie on his wrist, and he's in normal clothes versus the usual mechanic garb you've always seen him in.
A black shirt, unbuttoned halfway, denim jeans that cling perfectly to his thick thighs.
“Were you working tonight?” You ask, Looking like that?
“No, I was supposed to be off tonight.”
“Why'd you come get me then?”
“Office called.”
“Oh.”
And what do you say to that?
You think he does it on purpose— gives you short answers so you'll shut up. But you can't take a hint, or you're just too stubborn.
“Were you out somewhere?”
He glances at you, “Yeah.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, well, c'est la vie.”
“What were you out doing?” You ask, picking at an imaginary loose thread on your jeans, trying for conversation.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“I'm not, I was just—”
“Interrogating me.”
“Why is everything so difficult with you? I was trying to make conversation, but you're genuinely just a total dickhead.”
“I was out with my brother, does that answer your question?”
“Yeah, was that so difficult to have an adult conversation?”
“Fuck's sake,” he sighs.
“Sometimes I just wanna hit you over the head with the closest heaviest object.”
He actually stares at you as if you'd grown two heads, a slightly mortified, annoyed expression on his face,“I could drop your car and leave you on the side of the road tonight,” he says tightly.
“Bad for business,” you say sweetly.
“Not for me— You're rude.”
“You were rude first! And I can tank your Yelp reviews,” you threaten with your arms crossed.
He glances over at you, “You're a dramatic little thing, aren't you?”
Something about that makes your insides warm in a way you hate. So you glare at him and look away.
“You have an odd way of making conversation,” he says after a long moment of quiet, “Makes me uncomfortable when you quiz me like that.”
“I didn't mean to do that, I was just trying to talk to you,” you say weakly.
He nods once, “I'm— sorry.”
You hesitate, before you sigh, “I don't wanna hit you with anything,” you mutter, before you glance at him again. “Mostly.”
He hums, a soft Mm that sounds almost amused.
You let the silence settle, hoping the drive to the shop goes by quickly.
It doesn't.
The last five minutes drag on forever. You spend most of them biting back questions, resisting the urge to fill the quiet with nervous chatter. By the time you pull into the lot, you've managed not to say another word, and you're almost proud of yourself.
Jake parks beside the garage and kills the engine.
"Go wait in the office," he says. "I'll get your car inside."
You nod and head in.
The familiar bell jingles overhead as you step through the door. Behind the front desk, Mark looks up from the computer.
"You again," he says, already grinning. "What happened this time?"
You let out a long sigh and explain everything. The strange noise. The smoke. The tow.
By the end of it, Mark is wincing.
"Oh," he says. "That's... not good."
"Don't tell me to sell it," you say before he can continue. "I can't afford a new car."
"Shit." He leans back in his chair. "C'est la vie, huh?"
You resist the urge to pull your hair out.
It isn't Mark's fault. He's always been nice to you— nothing but sympathy and easy smiles every time you've had to come in here.
A lot nicer than Jake.
"Why didn't you come get me?" you ask. "He said he was off tonight. Why did he have to show up?"
Mark shrugs,"I dunno. Usually I take the truck out. But Jake told me if you call, come in to make a payment, need a tow— anything like that— I should call him. Said he'd handle it himself."
The words make something warm and uneasy settle low in your stomach. It takes you a second to recognize the feeling. It's the same one you used to get when your middle-school crush said hi to you in the hallway.
You frown. "Why would he do that?"
"I honestly don't know." Mark gives you a knowing look. "Maybe he likes you."
You bark out a laugh, "He fuckin' hates me."
Mark laughs too, "He's a dick. Don't take it personally." He shrugs again. "He's a good guy. Just terrible with people." He pauses, still smiling. "But I think he likes you.”
The bell above the door chimes before you can respond, and you turn to find Jake wiping his hands on his jeans with a slight glare.
“It's hopeless. Scrap it.”
“I'm not fucking scrapping it!”
“You should,” he mutters. “Come here.”
He nods for you to follow him, and after a helpless glance at Mark, you trudge along behind Jake to the garage.
Your hood is already lifted, it's already parked in place over a lift, and you sigh.
He leans over the engine, moving around for a second before he turns to you with the dipstick from the oil reservoir.
And the oil on the thin metal stick— It looks like chocolate milk. Fuck.
“Oh.”
“You know, this shit was fine just a couple days ago.”
“Why are you acting like it's my fault?” You frown at him.
“Blown head gasket. And— judging from the way it sputtered and died, probably a fuel pump. Your radiator is also leaking, by the way, Y/n,” he looks at you with something that resembles pity. And it makes your skin prickle, “It isn't worth it anymore.”
“I can't afford—” You almost stomp your foot, “Can you fix it?”
“Of course I can fix it,” he says, almost offended, “It just isn't worth it.”
You look away, unsure exactly how to ask him to just fix it without annoying him further.
He sighs after a moment, “You still want it fixed.”
“I can't afford a new car.”
“I— Fine. I'll fix it, again. But if you have to come back again, I'm sending it to the junkyard myself.”
“Jesus,” you breathe. “Maybe I'll just take it to a different mechanic next time.”
He stares at you for a long moment, before he scratches the back of his neck as if annoyed, “It's almost two in the morning,” he says, letting his hand fall with a sound smack against his thigh, “I can take you home.”
You blink at him, “You don't have to.”
“I know. I offered.”
“I— It's fine. I can just walk, I don't live that far—”
“You are not fucking walking home at two in the morning,” he says tightly, his nose wrinkling in disgust or annoyance, “Just get in the fuckin’ car.”
“That's twice now you've told me to get in a fucking vehicle tonight.”
“Because you tend to argue with me and not listen to me,” he points out, “It's annoying. Get in the car, I'll take you home.”
“Jesus, fine,” you sigh, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you follow behind him.
You take one look at his car and you almost laugh— Because of course. You're not sure entirely what year it is, but it's an old Chevy, a classic, something that makes your car definitely look like it belongs in the scrap yard.
You sigh, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder, “I'll sit in the back,” you say tightly, moving to pull the back door open.
“Don't be ridiculous. Get in the front seat.”
“I'm good.”
“I'm not fuckin’ driving Miss Daisy— get in the front seat, Y/n, Jesus Christ.”
“You're such a fucking dick,” you snap, doing as he says regardless.
He sighs when you slam his door shut, “You know, even when I'm doing something nice for you, you're still ungrateful.”
“Your delivery's all wrong,” you say primly, “You're rude, Jake— It's a problem.”
“You've been a fuckin’ problem since I met you,” he says, his tone harsh as he starts his car.
And that stings.
But you hide your hurt with anger, and you whip your head to glare at him, "Maybe if you weren't such an asshole from the get-go, I wouldn't still be dealing with you.”
“No, you would,” he says with a dry laugh, “Your car's still a piece of shit.”
“You're a piece of shit,” you grumble, looking out the window again, though he's still parked.
“And you're a mouthy asshole.”
“That's rich, coming from you,” you snap, glaring at him once more.
He says nothing to that.
But he sits there and stares at you. His eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted like he's assessing you, his hands on his thighs, before he hums and shifts the car into drive.
You keep your eyes out the window, focusing on the city streets and the buildings passing by.
Finally he speaks.
“I don't have good people skills.”
You blink, before you turn your head toward him, studying him in the passing street lights.
“No shit,” you say, but it holds no heat.
He breathes a short laugh through his nose, but says nothing else.
You internally sigh, “At least you're a good mechanic though…”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I don't think you're too bad,” you lie, “Maybe just be a little nicer.”
“I try,” he says, “I don't give my customers rides home.”
“Then why are you giving me a ride home?”
“I pity you.”
“Jesus,” you grumble.
“Not like that.”
“How?”
He shrugs, “I dunno.”
“I think your problem is your conversation skills.”
He hums, almost smiling at that, “Yeah.”
“You could try being a little nicer. You know, ask people how their day is, show some concern— People like that.”
He frowns, “I don't care how their day is. And it's obviously a shit day if they have to bring their vehicles in.”
You can't help but grin, “What do you care about?”
He slows to a stop at a redlight, picking at the grease and dirt beneath his nail, eyes glued to the light, “Getting my job done. Being reliable, doing it right. I guess making sure people are alright.”
Fuck. Why is that attractive?
“You could pretend to care about how people's days are,” you say, almost jokingly.
“Mm.” After a pause, he says, “Alright. How was your day?”
And you can't help but laugh, which makes him frown a little before he looks away.
“It was good until my car died on the highway again.”
“I told you it would.”
“I can't afford anything better,” you sigh, leaning back into the seat, “I know I need a different car, I just… She's gotten me through so much.”
“Put her down.”
“Don't you have any emotional attachment to anything?”
He seems to think about that for a second, “I have a guitar I'm really attached to.”
“You play guitar?”
“Kind of.”
You smile, “Are you any good?”
He glances at you, “That's relative.”
“So you're a hands-on kinda guy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Mechanic. Guitar player.” You shrug. “It just seems like you're good with your hands.”
The second the words leave your mouth, you wish they hadn't. Because now they sound flirtatious.
Jake is quiet.
You stare very hard out the windshield. The light ahead turns green.
“That's a weird thing to say.”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
Finally he shakes his head, almost to himself, “Are you gonna tell me where you live, or are we just gonna drive around all night?”
“Oh!”
—
You walk into the office an entire three days later.
You glance up at the crooked clock on the wall. The shop closes in ten minutes. Something tells you Jake's going to have an opinion about that.
You sink into one of the plastic chairs, chewing on your bottom lip while you wait. The office smells faintly of grease and stale coffee. Somewhere in the garage, metal clangs against concrete.
Five minutes later, the bell over the door jingles.
You look up in time to see Jake step inside from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyebrows pull together the second he sees you.
"Hi," you say.
"Hi." His eyes flick over you once before he tosses the rag onto the counter. "Your car's not done."
"I know. I just came to make a payment."
"Gotcha." He moves behind the desk and wakes up the computer.
You hesitate, "I'm guessing with all the extra work, the bill's back up to four grand?"
"No."
"More?"
His fingers tap against the keyboard, "Still two."
You blink, "What?"
"Still two."
"But— why?"
He doesn't even look at you, "Because I don't want to deal with you any longer than necessary."
Your jaw drops. "What the fuck have I done to you?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you always mean?"
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
He sighs like you're exhausting him. "How much did you bring?"
You tell him the amount and set the cash on the counter a little harder than necessary.
The office falls quiet. Then, "How was your day?"
You huff, "You don't care."
"I'm trying."
The answer catches you off guard. Jake keeps looking at the screen, expression flat, but somehow he sounds sincere. Which is honestly more confusing than if he'd insulted you again.
"It was fine," you mumble. "How was yours?"
He shrugs, "Alright."
Silence.
You narrow your eyes, "Do you have some personal issue with me?"
"No."
"Because it feels personal."
"It isn't."
"You act like you hate me."
That finally gets his attention. His head lifts, and he frowns, "I don't hate you."
The look he gives you is almost offended.
You shrug, "You're just kind of an asshole."
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. The printer beside him suddenly starts screeching and rattling like it's moments away from a violent death.
You look over, lifting your chin, "You should get a new printer."
Jake snorts, "I don't work up here. Not my concern."
"Poor workplace conditions— I'm adding it to my Yelp review."
That earns an actual huff of laughter. Barely there, but it's enough to make your stomach flip. He tears off the receipt and hands it over, muttering, "Yeah, that'll show me."
You grin, "Can I be annoying for a second?" He opens his mouth, but you cut him off, "A little more annoying than usual."
Jake sighs. One hand braces against the desk while the other settles on his hip, "Something tells me you're gonna do it either way."
You ignore that, "How much longer on my car?"
His expression softens just a fraction.
"I don't mean to rush you," you add quickly. "It's just my ride to work and everything, and I was wondering—"
"You talk a lot." You stop. Jake continues before you can argue, "I'll probably finish it tonight."
"Oh." Your face lights up immediately. "Oh, that's amazing— What was wrong with it this time?"
"A lot."
You wait. Jake stares. You realize that's the entire answer, so you nod, "Right. Okay."
A beat passes. Then Jake looks away. Almost like he's debating something. Finally, he sighs, "It'll probably only be another couple hours."
You nod, "Okay."
"If you want, you can stay."
You blink, "What?"
"You can stay while I finish it."
The offer is so unexpected it takes a second to process.
"Are you sure?"
"Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."
"Oh." You swallow. "Yeah. Okay. I'd like that."
Jake nods once. Then he turns toward the garage. You stay exactly where you are. A few steps later, he stops, and looks over his shoulder, "Are you coming?"
Your face immediately heats. "Oh. I thought you meant stay in here."
"No."
"Right."
You hurry after him.
—
Watching Jake work is dangerous. You discover this almost immediately. The man barely talks, barely smiles, and somehow that makes everything worse.
He's focused. Confident. Completely at home underneath the hood of your car. Every movement looks effortless. Like he already knows exactly where everything goes before he reaches for it.
You've spent the last ten minutes pretending not to stare. Jake slides out from beneath the car long enough to grab a wrench.
Your eyes accidentally drift lower, to his thighs. Jesus Christ. You immediately look away, then immediately look back.
You clear your throat and force yourself to focus on the engine instead, "It's really shiny."
Jake's voice drifts out from underneath the car, "What is?"
"The engine."
"No it isn't."
"It is."
"No."
You squint at it, "It definitely is."
Jake sighs. "It's a new engine."
You freeze. "A what?"
"A new engine."
You stare into the engine bay. Then back at him. Then back at the engine. "Jake."
"What?"
"A whole new engine?"
"Yep."
"Those are expensive."
He shrugs from underneath the car, "It wasn't bad."
"That's way more than what you charged me."
Silence.
A second later, Jake slides himself out from under the car. He sits up and fixes you with a look. "Are you complaining that I did something nice for you?"
"No."
"Sounds like it."
"I'm just trying to understand why.”
Jake stands, and tosses a wrench onto the cart, "Because I can."
"You're losing money."
"It's not always about money."
You stare at him. Jake immediately looks annoyed that he said it.
"Jake—"
"Nope." He points across the garage. "Go sit over there."
You glance toward a tiny kids' table shoved into the corner. A box of crayons sits on top. Your lips turn down, "What?"
"Go draw me a picture."
You laugh, "I'm not a kid."
"I know."
You cross your arms. Jake raises an eyebrow. You hold out for exactly three seconds. Then you sigh dramatically and walk over, "You're impossible."
"That's what they tell me."
"I don't understand you."
Jake ducks back under the car, "You're not supposed to."
You roll your eyes.
But as he disappears beneath the vehicle, you catch the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
And somehow that's enough motivation to spend the next half hour coloring a cartoon dinosaur while sneaking glances at him.
—
It's nearly one in the morning.
And you're bored out of your mind.
You'd colored through every page despite insisting earlier that you weren't going to touch them. Now you're slowly spinning in the rolling chair beside his workbench, pushing yourself one direction until your feet bump the table leg, then kicking off toward the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth.
The garage is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools and the faint hum of an old radio somewhere in the corner.
You glance up when Jake slides out from beneath your car. The look on his face immediately makes your stomach sink.
His jaw is tight as he tosses a wrench onto the nearby tray with more force than necessary. The metal rattles loudly through the garage. He plants his hands on his hips and stares into the open engine bay like he's seconds away from destroying it.
Jake looks over at you, and you slowly stop your chair as you stare back. Then his gaze drifts away again, returning to the car as he lets out a long, measured sigh.
"Y/n."
"What?" you ask weakly.
"Every time I work on this fucking car," he says carefully, like he's trying very hard not to lose his temper, "there's always something else wrong with it."
Your shoulders immediately slump.
"What happened?"
Jake drags a hand down his face, not seeming to care that he's smearing grease across his skin. Somehow it only makes him look annoyingly attractive.
"I'm gonna take you home," he says after a moment, sounding exhausted. "It's probably gonna be another couple hours."
"I don't mind waiting." His expression says he doesn't believe you. "I can help—" The look he gives you kills that idea instantly. "Okay, maybe not help," you correct. "But I could... I don't know. Get food? Coffee? Something?"
Jake glances toward the clock. Then back at the car, and mutters, "Alright."
Before you can argue, he's already pulling his keys and wallet from his pocket and handing them over.
"Jake—"
"Just go."
—
When you get back, he's cleaned up a little.
Not completely.
There are still smudges of grease on his forearms and a faint streak near his jaw, but his hands are clean for once. Actually clean.
You try very hard not to stare.
His hair is still tied back, though several loose strands have escaped the bun and fallen around his face. Combined with the tired look in his eyes and the sleeves pushed up his forearms, it's weirdly attractive.
"You took forever," he says.
"Well— there was a line."
Jake grunts in acknowledgment. You set the bags on the table next to your coloring sheets.
"At this point," he mutters, already reaching for his food, "I'm half tempted to just buy you another fuckin' car."
You laugh quietly.
"That seems a little excessive."
"No."
"It is."
"It'd probably be cheaper."
You open your mouth to argue, then close it again because there's a very real chance he's done the math.
The two of you settle onto opposite sides of the table.
And then comes the silence. Not uncomfortable exactly. Just... awkward. The kind that seems to linger longer than it should.
The radio crackles softly in the background.
A few times you catch him staring off toward your car. A few times he catches you staring at him.
Neither of you acknowledge it.
Eventually the food disappears, wrappers piling up between you.
Jake crumples the last of his into a ball and tosses it into the trash can without looking. It lands perfectly.
Of course it does.
For a moment neither of you move. Then Jake pushes to his feet with a quiet sigh. Without a word, he heads back toward your car.
You watch him stop in front of the open hood, hands settling on his hips as he stares into the engine bay again.
Studying, thinking. Already mentally back at work.
“I know it’s a lost cause,” you murmur, eyes fixed on your car like if you stare hard enough it might magically apologize for itself. “I just… I don’t know. You put a whole new engine in and—”
“I can take it out,” Jake says, like it’s nothing. He’s leaning against the open hood, expression unreadable in that way that always makes you feel like you’re slightly annoying him just by existing in his vicinity. “Return it. No money lost. Your old engine’s still behind the shop— I can put it back in. Help you sell it off if you want.”
You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Probably wouldn’t get much for it.”
He goes quiet for a moment, eyes drifting over the car like he’s already rewriting its fate in his head. That’s what he does— you’ve noticed. Fixes things. Rearranges broken parts until they make sense again.
“Or,” he says finally, voice lower now, more thoughtful, “I fix it properly. Get it running clean. You sell it for more than it’s worth. You walk away with something better.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It’s work either way,” he replies, flat as ever, like it’s obvious you’re being difficult.
You glance at him then quickly look away when you catch him already watching you. That does something strange to your chest. It’s been doing that a lot lately— small, inconvenient tightening feelings you keep trying to ignore.
“I don’t know what would be best,” you admit quietly.
“Then I’ll figure it out,” he says without hesitation. “I’m not going to cheat you out of anything, Y/n. I’ll help. All of it.”
There’s no softness in his tone. But there’s something steady underneath it— something that holds. And that’s what unsettles you most. Jake isn’t supposed to feel like that. Jake is supposed to be grumpy, blunt, borderline rude when he’s stressed, not… constant.
“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
He looks at you like the answer should be obvious. Like you’re missing something everyone else can see.
“Because,” he says.
“Jake.”
His jaw tightens a fraction. “Because I want to.”
Your heart stutters. You hate how quickly that lands.
“That seems like a lot of effort for someone who can’t stand me most of the time,” you try, half teasing, half defensive.
That finally cracks something in him. He pushes off the car, posture shifting, tension snapping into place along his shoulders.
“I don’t hate you,” he says sharply.
You blink. “You sure act like it.”
He exhales through his nose, like you’re exhausting him in the most infuriating way possible. Then he looks at you properly, and something about it makes you go still.
“I like you, Y/n.”
You stare at him.
For a second, your brain refuses to process it. Like it’s spoken in a language you don’t quite understand.
“Like… romantically?” you ask carefully.
His expression shifts instantly— too fast. Something guarded snapping into place.
“Forget it,” he mutters, already turning away.
“No, wait— Jake, I—” You follow him as he heads toward the shop door. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s late,” he cuts in, voice tight again, all edges. “I’ll take you home.”
“Jake.”
He opens the side door to his office without looking at you. “Did you grab your stuff?”
That tone— the shut down, the wall slamming back into place— makes something in you flare.
You cross the distance in a few quick steps and grab his shirt, turning him toward you. He stops immediately. Not because you’re stronger. Because he lets you.
“Will you stop for a second?” you say, sharper than you intend. “Just listen to me.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “So you can laugh at me? I misread it. Sorry.”
“I like you too,” you say quickly.
That makes him freeze.
“I asked because I like you,” you add, quieter now. “Romantically. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up if that wasn't what you meant.”
Something flickers across his face— shock, relief, frustration all tangled together like he doesn’t know where to put any of it. Then he scoffs under his breath, like he’s angry at himself.
“Why is everything so fucking complicated with you?” he mutters.
“You make it complicated,” you shoot back without thinking.
That earns you a look— sharp, heated.
And then he moves.
His hand catches your shirt and pulls you in with a suddenness that steals your breath. His mouth is on yours before you can even think to react, rough and urgent and entirely unlike the careful restraint he’s been wearing all night.
It knocks something loose in you.
Your hands find his shirt instinctively, gripping like it’s the only stable thing in the room. The door behind you swings shut, but you barely notice. Everything narrows down to him— heat, pressure, the way he exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding it back for too long.
When he finally pulls just enough away to look at you, his forehead almost touches yours, “I really do like you,” he says, like it irritates him to admit it. “It’s fucking annoying.”
A laugh slips out of you, breathless. “Tell me about it.”
That gets you the faintest flicker of a smile before he kisses you again— slower this time, but no less intent.
He starts guiding you backward without breaking contact, until the edge of his desk presses against the backs of your legs. His hands are steady against yours now, like he’s anchoring himself as much as he is you.
You shift slightly— and that’s when you see it.
A camera mounted in the corner of the room.
You go still.
“Jake,” you murmur against his mouth.
He pauses immediately, pulling back just enough to read your expression. “What?”
“There’s a camera.”
His eyes flick to it. A beat of silence. Then he exhales like it’s an inconvenience he can fix, “Stay here,” he says.
You watch him cross the room, move behind his desk, and start working on his computer without hesitation.
“What are you doing?” you ask softly.
“Cutting it,” he replies simply.
“Why?” You ask, warmth budding inside of you as you realize he isn't done with you.
“Because I'm gonna fuck you,” he says simply.
“Oh.”
The intimacy of his office suddenly hits you. The couch against the wall. The worn tools. The framed photos you’ve never asked about. The quiet, lived-in mess of him.
It feels like stepping into a space he doesn’t usually let people see. When he comes back, he’s quieter. More focused. And then he’s in front of you again.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, hand sliding up to your jaw.
“Maybe,” you admit, leaning into him despite yourself.
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” you breathe. But that’s a lie, and you both know it.
His thumb brushes your cheek slowly, grounding you.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he says after a moment, voice rougher now. “I just— I get this instinct. To make sure you’re okay. To keep you from dealing with everything alone.”
Your chest tightens again, softer this time. “I usually am alone,” you whisper.
“Not with me,” he says immediately.
There’s no hesitation. No room for argument. His hands settle at your waist, steady and warm.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he adds, quieter now. Like a promise he didn’t mean to say out loud, “God, I'm going to take such good care of you, Y/n.”
You can't help the breathy, “Please,” that leaves your lips.
He hoists you back up onto the desk, splitting your thighs around his hips, and pulling you tight against him.
You feel his hand snake to the bottom of your shirt, slipping beneath it and giving your waist a tight squeeze that makes you sigh into his mouth.
Your own hands move to the buckle of his belt, tugging him tighter to you and whining at the pressure against your core.
Then you hear the front door open.
“Jake?”
He pulls back with a quiet curse at Mark's voice in the lobby, his jaw tight with frustration as he straightens his clothes to look less disheveled.
“I'll be back,” he mutters, clearly annoyed.
You nod, grinning like a lovesick puppy as he leaves. You can hear them talking, Mark mentioning something about having to come in for a tow. Jake's voice is lower, harder to pick up on, but you listen all the same.
After a few moments, Jake comes back in, looking almost uncomfortable, uncertain for the first time since you've known him.
“He killed the mood.”
You smile, “Wanna take me home?”
His eyes flick between your own for a second, before he says, “I— Do you want me to stay, or—”
“Yeah,” you nod, maybe too eager, but you don't care. “I do.”
“Okay,” he breathes, eyes softened with a smile, "Come on, then.”
—
The drive takes a different turn entirely.
Somewhere between your place and his, the conversation shifts, and before you know it, you're pulling into Jake's driveway instead.
You step out of the car and glance up at the house.
Damn.
It's not flashy in the way you'd expect. No marble columns or ridiculous fountains. Just solid. Expensive without trying to be. Dark wood, black steel accents, a wide wraparound porch, and enough land around it to make the place feel private.
Very Jake.
Inside is somehow even worse.
Or better.
The house smells faintly of cedar and motor oil, a combination that shouldn't work but somehow does. The furniture is heavy and well-made. Leather couches that have actually been lived on. Custom metal shelving. Framed photos mixed between family pictures, and projects he's clearly proud of.
You trail your fingers over a polished wooden countertop.
"You know," you say, looking around, "This is ridiculously nice."
Jake huffs out a laugh from somewhere behind you.
You glance over your shoulder.
He's leaning against the kitchen island, hands tucked into his pockets, watching you with a small smile.
You continue wandering through the open living space, taking everything in. The exposed beams overhead. The stone fireplace. The garage visible through a set of glass doors, spotless and looking like it belonged in a magazine.
You don't hear him move, so when you feel his chest brushing against your back, you flinch before you relax into him.
He uses a gentle hand at your jaw to tilt your head back to look at him, before his hand slides down to your throat, his palm rough and warm against your skin.
Dear God.
Your head falls back against his shoulder, as you whisper a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, pressing his lips to your temple. Then your cheek, your jaw, using his hand at your throat to angle your face to the side, and he leaves a kiss just below your ear.
You let out a shaky breath, and his other hand snakes around your waist, slipping beneath your shirt and resting against your bare skin.
You move your own hand to his belt buckle, tugging his hips flush against your backside, and he hums as he uses his own hold on you to pull you tighter to him.
His lips continue their way across your heating skin, making your knees almost buckle when you feel his teeth graze over the sensitive area.
You reach a hand up, tangling it into his hair to keep yourself steady, and his hand moves from your waist to the button of your jeans.
You tilt your head forward just a little to watch as he pops the button and slides the zipper down, and your insides give a weird twist.
“Can I—”
You grab his hand and shove it toward your panties, “Please.”
“God,” he whispers around an endeared laugh, and you bite your lip as he slips his fingers beneath the thin cotton.
You melt the exact second his fingers brush over your clit. You let your head fall into the hollow of his throat, your lips parted around a heavy sigh as his fingers tease over your wet folds.
“You're so fucking wet,” he murmurs, fingers slipping along your achy slit, “Is this all for me, baby?”
He asks like he doesn't know.
You nod regardless, giving him a weak, “Mm-hmm,” as your fingers tighten in his hair.
“Fuck,” he whispers, tracing his fingers over your clit again, humming when you gasp, “Yeah, that's what you need, isn't it, honey?” His fingers circle over the swollen bud slowly, “Just need someone to take care of you…”
“Yeah,” you mindlessly agree in a breath of pleasure, your hips moving lightly into his touch.
He moves his hand down, fingers prodding at your entrance now, “I hate these fuckin’ jeans,” he tells you, his hand limited in the tight denim.
“Take them off,” you say.
“What happened to that pretty little skirt you wore the first time I met you, hm?” He asks, pressing a single finger inside only to the first knuckle.
“You liked it?” You ask, rocking your hips for more.
“Fuckin’ loved it, baby.”
You whine when his hand slips out of your panties completely, “Jake—”
“Come on,” he nudges you toward the hallway, and you eagerly follow his lead to the bedroom, your poor cunt aching with need, feeling neglected as your core throbs around nothing.
His room is fucking incredible— guitars line the walls, a giant tool box against one wall, a shirt hanging off the handle of it. His room is clean, but there's more signs of him in here. Even more intimate and warm.
Against the far wall is his bed, and it's fucking huge. Black sheets, dark red comforter over them, and it's made like nobody's ever slept in it before.
And before you know it, you're spread out over the bed, your jeans that had annoyed Jake are somewhere on the floor, and he's on top of you with his lips pressed to yours and his thigh pressed between yours.
His hands are all over you, like he doesn't know which part of you he wants to touch the most. They wander to your hips, gripping tight as he rocks you against his thigh.
Fuck.
You hadn't ever done that before, but the feeling of his denim-clad thigh beneath your swollen clit makes you hot all over.
You start to move on your own, sighing into his mouth for the umpteenth time tonight. And when you chance a glance at it, the sight nearly leaves you breathless.
“Fuck, Jake,” your voice comes out pitchy, a whine to it that makes his cock ache.
He leaves another kiss to your lips, before he starts his way down, and your heart skips a beat as you watch him settle between your thighs.
“You don't have to do that…” You start, trailing off when he frowns in offense at you.
“Have to?” He repeats, already moving your thighs over his shoulders.
“I just— I know some guys don't like to do that—”
“I do,” he says certainly. “And this is all I've fucking thought about since I met you, so shut up and keep your legs open for me, honey.”
God, you'd never in your life had someone talk to you like that! You'd never even had a man who wanted to do this, your last ex treated it like a chore and it was always just… awkward.
It makes you almost nervous as he impatiently tugs your panties down your thighs, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder without a care.
You feel on display as he spreads you open and stares. You feel a slight apprehension, your hands fidgeting in the sheets, and you open your mouth to tell him your fears when he finally speaks.
“God damn.”
You finally muster the courage to look at him, and you'd swear the man had seen heaven with the way he's looking at you.
“What?” You ask shyly.
“She's so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he murmurs.
He leans in, leaving a kiss just above your clit, and you swallow heavily. You don't think you're going to survive this entire night, truthfully.
Not when he's already started to kiss over you, his mouth warm and soft against you, and fuck, your thighs twitch when he kisses directly at your clit, humming low in his throat.
Your head falls back against the pillow beneath you as he wraps his lips around your clit, suckling lightly.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, thighs tightening around his head.
His mouth seals over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He doesn’t suck hard; he just holds you gently between his lips and begins to massage you with the broad, wet heat of his tongue. Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate strokes that press and roll and linger.
Jake’s eyes flick up, dark and soft. “That’s it,” he murmurs against your clit, the words muffled and warm. “Let me feel you.”
His hands slide under your ass, lifting you a fraction so he can get even closer, and then he’s back to that unhurried, thorough massage— tongue working in steady, sensual laps that make your thighs tremble.
He’s not even trying to make you come yet… he’s just enjoying it.
Fuck.
Two of his fingers slide through your wetness and press inside without warning, curling immediately against that spot that makes your back arch. He doesn’t thrust; he simply fills you, holds you open, and keeps that same slow, devoted rhythm on your clit.
Oh— oh.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Jake moans softly into you, the sound almost desperate even though his movements stay gentle.
“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes, voice rough. “I could stay right here all night.”
His tongue never stops its careful massage, circling and pressing, while his fingers work deeper, coaxing more slickness out of you with every slow curl.
Your thoughts are starting to fray.
“Pull your shirt up,” he orders, lips brushing over your slick folds.
“Why?” You ask, pouting as you tangle your fingers into your shirt regardless.
“Let me see those pretty tits, baby.”
You whine quietly, but you lift your shirt, glad you'd decided to wear the cute bra today. It was black, the cups a thin lace with flowers stitched across them, and you can't lie— your tits do look really good in it.
He pulls away, lifting his head to stare at your chest for a moment, his eyes heavy as his fingers continue to work inside of you, “God damn, Y/n.”
“Shut up,” your cheeks are burning red hot, your body is burning from the inside out, and he's just staring at you like he can't help it.
“You're the prettiest little thing,” he sighs, “So soft and sweet… God, I can't get enough of you.”
You can only manage a moan in response, because his mouth is back on your clit, and this time he's working with a purpose. His tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit, his fingers are slicking in and out of you, curling and twisting so that you see stars.
“Jake—”
He hums against you, a low, rough Mm-hmm that shoots straight into your core, because he knows you're close.
You tell him anyway, a weak gasp of a warning.
“Come for me,” he whispers, tongue circling quickly against your clit, the words half-plea, half-command. “I need to feel it. Please, baby— let me have it.”
His fingers speed up, working just a little more, but the desperation in his voice makes the pleasure spike sharply.
The orgasm hits hard and sudden, your walls clenching around his fingers as your clit pulses under his tongue.
Jake groans like he’s the one coming, the sound low and grateful, and he doesn’t pull away— he keeps licking you through it, slow and thorough, drawing every last tremor out of you while his fingers stay buried deep, stroking you gently as you ride it out.
When your thighs finally stop shaking, he lifts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your over-sensitive clit, then another to your inner thigh. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice warm and a little hoarse. “That’s my girl.”
You let out a strangled sound, your eyes falling shut as you recover.
Holy shit.
You've never come from that— you've never had someone eat at you as enthusiastically as he did, much less enjoy it as he did.
You hope this isn't a one-time thing…
You huff a laugh, your eyes fluttering shut as he frowns at you almost defensively, but still soft, “What?”
“I was right,” you say, smiling up at him as you nudge his hip with your knee, “You are good with your hands.”
His smile is slow, but genuine, “You're ridiculous.”
“I know,” your voice softens as he climbs up over you, and your hands slip down to his belt, tugging lightly at it.
“You want something?” He asks, leaving a kiss to your jaw as his hand covers yours, moving it down until it's pressed against his rather large and prominent bulge.
“Yeah,” you answer honestly, your voice no more than a sigh, “I want that,” you say, squeezing lightly, just enough to make the muscles in his jaw tick.
“Keep talking, baby, tell me what you want,” he murmurs, now pressing small, warm kisses along your jaw, down the side of your throat as he rocks his hips into your touch.
You hum, your hand not grabbing at him moving to unbuckle his belt, “I want it inside me,” you say, desperation airing your words as you realize he's perfectly content just like this— no rush to get his cock inside you, just rocking against you and leaving kisses on your heated skin, “I want you to fuck me, Jake.”
“I'm gonna,” he assures you gently.
You slip your hand away from his dick, now using both hands to fight against the belt buckle that you've come to absolutely hate. Finally, you all but yank it open, and get to work on his jeans.
And he's no help— still just kissing you.
“You could help,” you grumble, gasping when his teeth nip lightly just below your ear, “I'm trying to fuck you.”
He hums, amused and rasped, "I'm just happy to be here,” he says, but he reaches down and pops the button, pulls the zipper with ease while you stare.
“Go on,” he encourages, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as you tug at his jeans and underwear.
You wrap your hand around him before you can even fully see him— you're desperate, you feel too empty, and you need him to fuck you more than you can fathom right now.
He's thick, long and hot to the touch, the skin soft despite how achingly hard he is. God. The head is a bruised red, leaking at the tip, and it makes your mouth water as your thighs part further of their own volition.
“Fuck, I want it,” you breathe, angling your hips to get closer to him.
“I know, baby,” he says soothingly, reaching between the two of you and replacing your hand with his own.
You can't help the pathetic whine that claws its way up when you feel him tap the head against your throbbing clit, before he teases it along your slippery heat.
“Put it in,” you plead, rocking your hips up, “Please, Jake, put your cock in me.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost in disbelief at your wanton display of desperation.
He leans in, smearing his lips messily with yours and swallowing down the loud moan you let out as he finally pushes his way inside your pulsing walls.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he grits out, huffing a sigh when he bottoms out, his hips pressed snugly to yours as he straightens up to take in the sight of it.
You can only manage to make an unintelligible sound, lifting your head to look, and you have to look away— Fuck.
“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers, ghosting a thumb over your clit, before tracing it around where you're taking him in, “Your sweet little pussy’s taking me so well, baby— So fuckin' pretty.”
His words make you whine as he leans back over you, his arms slipping beneath you and sliding up to your shoulders. He presses his lips to yours, one hand moving to cradle your head, the position pressing your chests close together, and he starts to rock his hips.
You let out a sound you should probably be embarrassed about, but it feels good already. Really good.
He's everywhere around you, surrounding your senses in a way you didn't even know you were craving.
The fullness is intense— his length throbbing inside you, the smooth skin of his shaft dragging along sensitive spots that make your toes curl.
Jake draws back until only the head remains inside, then thrusts forward again in one smooth motion. The slide is slick and hot; your walls cling to him on the way out and part greedily on the way in.
Each stroke sends a rush of sensation through you— the blunt pressure of the head nudging your cervix, the thick ridge of him rubbing your inner walls, the way your clit brushes against his pelvis with every deep push.
"That’s it," he breathes, pace steady and controlled. "Feel how deep I am? Fuck, your pussy squeezes me so fucking good."
He keeps you pinned beneath him, chest brushing yours, hips rolling in a rhythm that lets you savor every inch.
Sweat-slick skin slides together. Your nipples graze his chest with each movement, adding sparks to the overwhelming fullness between your legs.
His voice stays gentle even as the words turn filthy, "Your cunt’s so greedy for it— hugging my cock like it never wants me to leave."
Jake angles his hips slightly, changing the angle so the head of his cock drags along your front wall with every thrust.
“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. The new pressure makes your breath hitch; he notices immediately.
"Right there? Yeah, I can feel you fluttering around me. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I’m going to fill you up so good."
He maintains the same deep, measured pace, never rushing, letting the wet sounds of your bodies fill the room.
Your arousal coats him, easing the glide while your walls grip and release around his thickness. The heat of him radiates through you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the throb of your own.
"Such a good girl," he praises, lips brushing your temple. "Letting me fuck you open nice and slow. I love watching your face when I’m buried all the way inside. Your pussy’s so warm and wet— perfect around my cock."
He laces your fingers together, holding your hand above your head while his other arm supports his weight.
The position keeps you spread open beneath him, completely at his mercy yet cradled by his steady presence.
"I’m going to keep fucking you until you come all over my cock,” he grins at the whine you give him, “Then I’ll fill this pretty pussy with every drop."
His thrusts stay deliberate, each one pressing you firmly into the bed, the head of his cock nudging that sensitive spot inside you again and again.
The constant stretch, the slick drag, the way his pelvis grinds against your clit with every downstroke— all of it builds steadily, your body tightening around him in response.
Jake keeps that same deep, steady rhythm as your body starts to tighten around him. His cock drags along your soaked walls with every thrust, the thick head pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs shake.
“Fuck, Jake—” you manage to gasp your words, “I'm so close…”
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, voice low and rough in your ear. "I can feel it. You're getting so fucking tight around my cock. Squeeze me harder— let me feel you come."
Your orgasm hits fast and hard. Your cunt clamps down on him in pulsing waves, walls rippling and gripping his shaft as slick gushes out around his thickness.
Jake groans low, hips never stopping as he fucks you straight through it. "Fuck, just like that. Your pussy's making such a pretty mess on my cock. Fuckin’ come all over me, baby, that's it."
He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your swollen clit while his cock keeps pounding into your spasming hole.
Every thrust forces more wetness out of you, the sounds filthy and loud as he works you through the aftershocks. "Don't stop coming, baby. Keep that greedy cunt squeezing me. I want every drop."
Jake's control finally cracks as your pussy keeps fluttering around him.
His thrusts turn sharper, deeper, "Fuck," he growls, voice breaking.
With a final hard thrust he buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing violently as he unloads inside you. He stays buried, grinding his hips in slow circles as he empties himself completely, your releases mixing and dripping down.
"God damn," he pants against your neck as he stills, your sweat-slick bodies pressed tightly together.
After a moment, he pulls back, looking more put-together than you feel, still fucked out and worn. Strands of his hair stick to his forehead, his eyes heavy as they flit across your face.
He leans back in, his hands gently cupping either side of your face, “You okay, baby?”
You nod, humming a soft sound as he presses a kiss to your mouth, “M'okay,” you sigh, a satisfied smile pulling at your lips, “I'm more than okay,” you add around a giggle.
He smiles, his hands moving to your waist, moving you with him as he lays beside you. He's still sheathed inside of you as he lifts your thigh to rest over his hips, but it's not sexual anymore, just intimate.
It makes your heart flutter and your head spin just a little.
Jake's breathing evens out against your skin, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip where your thigh drapes over him.
He gives a low, amused huff, lips brushing your temple. "Guess I should've fucked you stupid weeks ago."
You push lightly at his arm, grinning despite yourself as he only tugs you closer, “You should've been nicer to me.”
“You should've been less stubborn.”
“Fuck off,” you giggle, “I'm not even stubborn.”
He gives you a look, one that tells you you're full of shit, before he shakes his head with a smile, “Quit arguing with me.”
You bite your bottom lip, giving his soft, probably over-sensitive cock a tight, quick squeeze of your walls around him, and you press your lips to his as you whisper, “Or what?”
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
izzy806
germansingergirl
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
