#gvf

You toss your phone onto the table, a heavy clatter breaking the quiet of your apartment. A sigh drags out of you, long and weary, the kind that deflates your whole body. You lean back into the couch cushions until your head tips over the edge, staring up at the ceiling above you. There’s a small crack spidering out from where the wall meets the plaster– something new, something to add to the growing list of things that need fixing. You squint at it, jaw tightening. It’s a small thing, but somehow, it feels like the last straw.

The real problem isn’t the crack. It’s your family.

Your mom’s voice still rings in your ears– that bright, insistent tone that makes you feel ten years old again. You’re expected home this weekend, of course, for your nana’s eightieth birthday bash. Everyone will be there. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. The works.

And, naturally, the conversation had shifted. Have you met anyone yet, sweetheart?

You had rolled your eyes so hard they practically got stuck. And then, because you panic when cornered, you lied. Told your mom you were seeing someone. Told her he was great. Funny. Sweet. You might’ve even said he played guitar, because you were clearly out of your mind. And the kicker? You told her he’d be coming with you.

You groan, dragging your hands over your face. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

A soft thump at your feet interrupts your self-loathing. When you lower your hands, you see Snickerdoodle weaving between your legs, tail curling around your shin. Her little meow is pointed, expectant. You reach down, scoop her up, and press your face into her fur. She purrs immediately, that warm, steady rumble in her chest grounding you for a second.

“What are we gonna do, huh?” you mumble into her fur. She blinks at you, unimpressed, and stretches in your arms like she has no plans to help solve this mess.

You don’t even move when the front door creaks open– only one person in the world walks into your place like that without knocking.

Jake rounds the corner a moment later, sunlight catching on his messy hair and the glint of a chain at his throat. There’s a drink carrier in one hand, two coffees swaying precariously, and a paper bag that smells like sugar and butter in the other.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he grins, setting everything on the table beside your abandoned phone. “You look like you’re… going through it.”

You sigh again, rubbing Snickerdoodle’s back. “I’m an idiot.”

Jake raises his brows, handing you your coffee. “Well, that’s not new. Nothing to get dramatic about.”

You give him a deadpan look, though you can’t quite smother the laugh that escapes you. “Screw you, Jake.”

He chuckles, taking the cat from your arms and tucking her against his chest like he’s done a hundred times before. She melts instantly, purring louder, the little traitor. Jake scratches under her chin, the picture of contentment. “Alright, what’d you do this time?”

You groan, curling a hand around your coffee cup. “It’s my nana’s birthday this weekend. Big party. My mom asked if I had a boyfriend yet, and…” you shrug helplessly, “I panicked. I told her I did.”

He hums, not even fazed. “That’s not so bad.”

You take a sip of coffee and stare at him over the rim of your cup. “I also told her he was coming with me.”

He freezes. Then blinks. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know!” you groan, dropping your face into your hands again. “I just– I got tired of them asking. Every time I go home it’s like a damn interrogation. I cracked.”

Jake lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as Snickerdoodle climbs onto his shoulder like she owns him. “You could just say he couldn’t make it. Long-distance thing. Food poisoning. Something.”

You lower your hands, staring at him. And then it hits you– like a light bulb switching on, chaotic and brilliant.

“Jake,” you say slowly, “I have an idea.”

He looks at you warily, still petting your cat. “That tone never means anything good.”

“Be my fake boyfriend. Just for the weekend.”

He blinks. “What?”

You sit up straighter, coffee sloshing in your cup. “Come with me. Pretend to be my boyfriend. You already know everything about me anyway, and my family will love you.”

He grins, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Y/n–”

“Please,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to make it weird or anything. Just– I can’t do another family trip where I’m grilled about my love life.”

Jake studies you for a long moment, the teasing dimming in his expression. His thumb strokes absentmindedly behind Snickerdoodle’s ear before he gently sets her on the floor. Then he stands, running a hand through his hair, his lips pursed in thought.

“This weekend?” he asks.

You nod, heart thumping, not daring to breathe.

Finally, he sighs and smiles, soft and a little amused. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

You practically launch yourself off the couch, wrapping your arms around him in a quick, overjoyed hug. “You’re the best, Jake.”

He laughs, his hands settling lightly against your back. “You owe me big time, you know. One night out– no backing out at the last minute for your fuzzy pajamas and crime shows.”

You nod quickly, still grinning. “Deal. Whatever you want.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile turning playful again. “Alright, sweetheart,” he says, voice low with mock seriousness. “Let’s go lie to your family.”

Snickerdoodle meows from the floor, as if she already knows this is going to end in disaster.

—

The drive up takes hours, all winding roads and bursts of gold and green outside the windows. You’ve been half-dozing against the window for the last stretch, the hum of the tires and the low strum of Jake’s playlist turning everything soft around the edges.

When he clears his throat and says, “We’re here,” you blink awake, squinting through the windshield.

Your parents hadn’t been exaggerating– the place is stunning. The log cabin sits tucked between tall pines, warm light spilling out from the big windows. There’s a porch wrapped all the way around, string lights draped from post to post, swaying in the late afternoon breeze. You can already smell woodsmoke and something sweet– probably one of your aunts baking inside.

Jake shifts the car into park and glances at you, his grin lopsided. “So… ready to ruin your mom’s expectations?”

You groan, rubbing your hands over your face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He laughs, reaching for the door handle. “Alright, fake girlfriend. Let’s make some magic.”

The air outside is crisp, the kind that smells like pine needles and distant rain. Gravel crunches under your shoes as you step out, stretching your legs. The front porch is lined with boots and coolers, and through the big front windows, you can already see movement– your mom bustling around, someone laughing too loud.

You glance over at Jake as he grabs both your overnight bags from the trunk. His hair’s a little messy from the drive, curls catching the light, his flannel sleeves rolled up just enough to make your chest do that annoying flutter thing. He catches you looking and smirks.

“Hey, if we’re doing this, you gotta look like you’re into me,” he teases. “Otherwise it’s not believable.”

You swat his arm, but your laugh comes out too bright. “Please. My mom’s going to love you more than she loves me within five minutes. You’ll be the one who has to fake it.”

He grins wider. “Challenge accepted.”

By the time you both reach the porch, your heart is pounding. Jake pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, the other still holding your bag. He gives you a look– warm, steady, the kind that’s all best friend comfort but something… deeper flickering just underneath.

“Hey,” he says softly, “It’s just a weekend. We’ve got this, okay?”

You nod, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. “Okay.”

And then he does it– slips his arm around your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of him sinks into you immediately. He smells like cedar and coffee and the sugar from the pastries he’d brought earlier.

You barely have time to process it before the front door swings open and your mom’s voice comes bursting out, all bright excitement and surprise.

“Sweetheart! You made it!”

You plaster on your best smile, Jake’s arm still snug around you, and step inside the golden glow of home.

Your mom’s eyes light up when she spots him. “Oh! And this must be–”

Jake’s grin is pure charm as he extends a hand. “Jake. It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

Your mom practically beams. “Oh, finally! I was starting to think you were made up!”

You shoot him a sharp look, but he only squeezes your shoulder, still smiling like he was born for this.

“See?” he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear. “Told you we’d be fine.”

You roll your eyes– but your cheeks feel hot, and your heart’s beating way too fast for something that’s supposed to be pretend.

The cabin smells like cinnamon and coffee and whatever candle your mom has burning on every available surface. It’s cozy in that overwhelming, family gathering kind of way– laughter echoing from the kitchen, music humming from a speaker, everyone talking over each other.

Jake’s hand stays at the small of your back as you both step inside, and somehow, that simple touch steadies you.

Your mom’s already fussing, ushering you both in like you’ve been lost in the wilderness for years. “Come in, come in! Oh, you must be freezing. Did you hit traffic? There’s cider on the stove, oh– and your cousins are in the den!”

Jake’s smiling, nodding, charming her without even trying. He looks like he belongs here– like he’s done this a hundred times before, like this really isn’t a lie. You've finally made it through introductions, hugging and chatting with everyone who you knew whispered about your new boyfriend.

He finally makes his way back to you, hands you a glass of cider and raises his brows. “So this is your family, huh?”

You groan. “Don’t start.”

He chuckles, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Relax, I’ve got you covered.” He leans in closer, voice dropping low and warm. “Besides… it’s kinda fun being your fake boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes– but your lips twitch anyway. “Don’t get too comfortable, Kiszka.”

“Oh, too late,” he murmurs with a grin, sipping his cider.

And when he glances at you over the rim of his cup– eyes all soft and golden in the lamplight– you realize you’re the one in trouble.

—

By the time dinner starts, the cabin feels like it’s bursting at the seams. Every chair’s filled, voices overlap, laughter echoes, and the air smells like roasted vegetables, butter, and someone’s overenthusiastic use of cinnamon. The long wooden table glows under strings of lights and mismatched candles.

You sit wedged between Jake and your mom, with your dad at the far end telling some exaggerated story about his fishing trip last summer. Jake’s arm brushes yours now and then– a quiet, grounding touch that keeps you from unraveling completely.

He’s fitting in seamlessly, the way he always does. When your mom sets a dish down, he’s the first to stand and help. When your uncle cracks a joke, Jake actually laughs– that low, genuine sound that makes people want to laugh with him. And when your little cousin spills her drink, he’s quick to grab napkins, joking about how he’s the “designated cleanup crew.”

You can feel your family melting around him. Of course they like him. They like him so much it’s almost offensive.

At one point, your mom leans toward you and whispers, “He’s lovely, honey. You really found a good one.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you manage softly. “Guess I did.”

Jake glances at you then, catching the tail end of that exchange. His eyes crinkle, soft and teasing, but there’s something gentler there too– something you can’t quite name.

“So,” Jake says, turning to your dad, “Y/N tells me you built this cabin yourself?”

Your dad brightens immediately. “Mostly, yeah! Took me two summers. She used to come up and ‘help’– which usually meant complaining about mosquitos and drinking all my lemonade.”

Jake laughs, leaning back in his chair, arm draped casually along the back of yours. “That sounds about right.”

You elbow him, trying not to smile. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Never said I was fair,” he murmurs.

There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, and for a second, everything feels… weirdly real. Like maybe you’re not pretending at all.

Dessert rolls around, and your mom insists on a toast. Glasses clink, your Nana beams, the room hums with warmth. Jake slips his hand under the table and finds yours. It’s a small gesture, just fingers brushing, but your breath catches. His hand is warm and steady, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.

You can’t tell if the smile he gives you is part of the act or something else entirely.

Your uncle speaks up. “So,” he says lightly, though the teasing edge in his voice gives him away, “how long have you two been together?”

The question hangs in the air, sharp as glass.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “Eight months,” he says smoothly. His thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand. “Feels like longer, though.”

Your mom makes a happy little sound. “Eight months! That’s wonderful!”

You turn your head toward Jake, blinking. He’s looking at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing– a hint of mischief, a spark of something protective in his gaze.

You bite back a smile, leaning in close enough that your shoulder brushes Jake’s. “Eight months, huh?” you whisper.

He smirks, speaking low enough for only you to hear, “Seemed believable. You can’t look at me like that if it’s only been two weeks.”

You roll your eyes– but your pulse skips all the same.

After dinner, people scatter– some to the porch, some to the firepit outside. You linger in the kitchen, rinsing plates, when Jake appears beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from the warmth of the room.

He bumps your hip lightly. “You okay?”

You nod, glancing at him. “You didn’t have to handle them like that.”

He shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his mouth. “They love me. It was my pleasure.”

You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins, setting a plate in the drying rack. “And you’re welcome.”

When you glance up again, his eyes are already on you. For a heartbeat, the noise of the house fades– the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses. It’s just the two of you, standing shoulder to shoulder in the soft light, hands still damp from the sink.

You realize then that– whatever’s happening between you– you don't know how much of it is pretend.

—

The cabin finally starts to settle down after dinner– the laughter fading into tired chatter, the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen, the faint strum of a guitar coming from somewhere on the porch. The warmth of the evening lingers, but you’re exhausted. Being fake-in-love for an entire day is apparently emotional cardio.

You’re carrying your overnight bag down the narrow hallway, Jake right behind you, when your mom catches you by the stairs.

“Oh, honey,” she says, smiling. “You and Jake can take the guest room upstairs– it’s the only one that still has heat working properly. The cousins are downstairs on air mattresses, so you two lucked out.”

You start to protest. “Wait, the–”

But she’s already turned back toward the kitchen, humming to herself.

You glance over your shoulder at Jake. He’s biting his lip, trying– and failing– not to laugh.

“Don’t,” you warn him.

He lifts his hands, all mock innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

The room is small but cozy when you step inside. There’s a single lamp on the nightstand casting golden light across the wood-paneled walls. A window looks out over the dark stretch of pines. And there, dead center– the problem.

One bed.

You stop in the doorway, staring at it like it just personally betrayed you.

Jake walks in behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Wow,” he says, far too amused. “Real classic setup you’ve got here.”

You turn to him slowly. “Don’t even start with me, Kiszka.”

He grins, dropping his bag by the wall. “I’ll take the floor if it makes you feel better.”

You glance at the floorboards– narrow, uneven. “You’ll be miserable.”

He shrugs. “I’ll survive.”

But when you sit on the edge of the mattress, it dips slightly, and you realize there’s more than enough room for two if you don’t move too much. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We’re adults. We can share. Just… stay on your side.”

He raises a brow, playful. “Wouldn’t dream of crossing enemy lines.”

You throw a pillow at him.

—

Later, the lights are out and the cabin is quiet except for the faint creak of wood and the hum of wind through the trees. The bed’s surprisingly soft. You’re lying on your side, facing away from him, trying to will your heartbeat into something normal.

Then his voice, low and rough with sleep,

“You okay?”

You exhale slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You hesitate. “About how I dragged my best friend into the weirdest weekend of his life.”

He chuckles quietly behind you. “This isn’t even in my top five weirdest weekends.”

You laugh under your breath. “That’s not comforting.”

A pause. Then the bed shifts, the faint dip of the mattress as he turns over. You can feel the warmth of him now– close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo and smoke and cinnamon cider.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I meant it, you know.”

You blink into the dark. “Meant what?”

He hesitates, like he’s choosing his words. “That I’ve got you. Whatever happens this weekend– all of it– I’m here.”

Your throat goes tight. You smile, even though he can’t see it. “I know.”

The silence stretches, comfortable this time. You think he’s fallen asleep until you hear him mumble, half-asleep now, “Also… your mom told me she’s making pancakes in the morning. So I’m definitely not leaving.”

You snort quietly, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You tell yourself it’s just part of the act– the name, the warmth, the way your heart stutters when he says it.

—

The cabin kitchen is warm and cozy, sunlight spilling through the windows, the smell of pancakes thick in the air. Your mom and nana are bustling around, setting the table and laughing, while you’re just trying to make yourself a cup of coffee and act like a semi-responsible adult.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing the coffee pot.

“How'd you sleep, dear?” Your mother asks, giving you a warm smile.

“Good,” you say around a yawn, “Not enough.”

“Jake keep you up all night?”

You turn to your Nana with wide eyes, a shocked smile on your lips, “Nana.”

Your mom giggles, the two sharing a conspiratory look. You huff a laugh, turning back to your coffee, “No,” you respond, “Nothing like that.”

You hear the shuffling sounds of someone coming into the kitchen, you look over to see Jake making his way to you. You give him a soft smile, “Good morning.”

You barely have time to process before he steps up to you, eyes locked on your lips as if nothing else exists– and then he kisses you.

It’s not a quick peck. It’s bold, warm, claiming, and a little messy. Your hands freeze on the counter, your coffee mug forgotten, heart hammering like a drum.

The room goes silent. Your mom freezes mid-pour, Nana stops stirring her tea.

And then– just as suddenly as he appeared– Jake steps back. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even glance your way. He turns, walks out of the kitchen, and disappears, leaving the door swinging softly behind him.

Your mom finally exhales, trying not to laugh. “Well… that’s one way to start the day.”

Nana snickers.

You stand frozen, coffee dripping from your mug, cheeks flaming, and heart hammering.

—

You shut the bedroom door behind you, leaning against it as you watch him. He's shirtless, going through his clothes as he searches for something to put on for the day.

“What was that?” You ask, earning a glance from him.

“What was what?” He asks, pulling out a flannel button up.

“The kiss,” you say quietly.

He straightens up, pulling the shirt on. He watches you as he buttons it slowly, “Was it too far?”

You huff a laugh, “No, just– unexpected.”

He gives you a half smile, “Figured we should play the part, y'know?”

“In front of my Nana?” You tease with a grin.

He grins back, shaking his head, “I don't know, wasn't really thinking.” He gives you a softer look, “I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize,” you say, meaning it. “Just… give me a warning next time,” you tease. “You caught me off guard.”

He nods, smiling ruefully, “Probably won't be the last time that happens this weekend.”

Part of you wishes it wasn't just this weekend.

“I'll be a little more prepared,” you say with a roll of your eyes despite the smile on your lips.

“Good. Now if you'll excuse me,” he says, stopping in front of you, “I've got a fishing trip with your dad.”

You frown up at him, “How'd you manage that? He never takes me fishing–”

“He likes me better,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Try not to miss me today, alright?”

You scoff, “Believe me, I won't.”

He shoots you a knowing look, one that tells you he knows better– and he's gone.

—

The afternoon hums with the noise of prep for your Nana’s birthday– someone’s setting the table, your mom’s icing the cake, laughter spilling from the porch. You’re arranging candles when the front door opens and a familiar voice cuts through the chatter.

“Hey, everyone. Hope I’m not crashing the party.”

The sound of it hits you like cold water. You freeze, candle halfway into the frosting. Your mom looks up, face lighting. “Ethan! Oh, sweetheart, of course not. Nana will be thrilled you came.”

You turn slowly. He’s standing in the doorway, wind-tousled hair, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, wearing that same crooked grin that used to undo you. Your stomach twists. “Ethan,” you say carefully. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Last-minute decision,” he says with a shrug. “Your mom invited me. Figured I’d surprise everyone.” He looks at you longer than he should– like he’s still searching for some version of you that hasn’t moved on. “Can we talk? Just for a minute? Outside?”

You hesitate, glance at your mom– already fussing with frosting again– and nod stiffly. “Sure.”

Outside, the air is cool and sharp with pine and lake water. The porch creaks under your feet as you lean against the railing, keeping space between you. Ethan exhales. “You look good. Happier.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. “What did you want to talk about?”

He shifts, eyes dropping to the boards. “I’ve been thinking about… us.”

“Ethan–”

“I know, I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have ended things like that. I just–” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Seeing you here, I realized maybe we weren’t done. Maybe we could try again.”

You stare at him, thrown between shock and disbelief… and disgust. “You came here to tell me that?”

He nods once, hesitant. “Yeah. I miss you.”

There’s a long pause. The kind that used to mean something between you. Now, it just feels heavy. “I’m with someone,” you say finally.

He goes still. “You are?”

“Yeah. Jake Kiszka.” You hold his gaze. “We’ve been together a while.”

Something flickers across his face– surprise first, then something darker. “The musician guy?” His tone sharpens, edges hard. “Didn’t think you were into that kind of chaos.”

You open your mouth, but the screen door swings open behind you. Jake steps out, sunlight catching in his damp hair, sleeves rolled, the faint scent of lake water and cedar following him. He slows when he sees Ethan– and you– but his expression stays easy, almost amused. Almost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, crossing to you without hesitation. His hand finds your waist, casual but firm, like it’s instinct. “Your dad says I’m a terrible fisherman. Guess I did everything wrong.”

You smile, tension bleeding just a little. “Sounds about right.”

Jake finally looks at Ethan, his grip on you tightening imperceptibly. “Don’t think we’ve met.”

“Ethan,” he says, shaking Jake’s hand. “Old family friend.”

Jake’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Old friend, huh.” His tone is polite, but there’s something in the way he says it– something that lands like a challenge. “Nice to meet you.”

Ethan meets his gaze head-on, their handshake just a little too firm, neither one of them letting go first.

“Didn’t know Y/N was bringing someone,” Ethan says, tone light but brittle.

“Guess it came up fast,” Jake replies, still holding his stare. “But it’s been good. Feels like we’ve known each other forever.”

You feel the air between them thicken– an invisible line drawn, both testing how far the other will go. Jake’s thumb strokes absently along your hip, but you can feel it’s deliberate now, a quiet statement. Mine.

Ethan’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile. “Well. Glad you’re happy, Y/n.”

You nod, voice soft. “Yeah. I am.”

Ethan gives a curt nod, stepping back. “Guess I’ll go say hi to Nana.”

He disappears inside, leaving the screen door creaking in his wake. For a moment, the quiet is deafening. Jake exhales, his hand still resting at your waist. “That him?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t look thrilled to meet me.”

You glance up at him. “You weren’t exactly subtle either.”

He smirks, though there’s an edge to it. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You laugh under your breath. “You jealous, Kiszka?”

He meets your eyes, smile fading into something quieter, heavier. “Maybe.”

Your breath catches, the air between you shifting again– less about pretense now, more about something real, something dangerous.

Before you can say anything, someone calls from inside that Nana’s about to blow out the candles.

Jake steps back first, brushing his thumb once more along your hip before letting go. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the show.”

You follow him inside, pulse racing– not sure if it’s from Ethan’s return… or the way Jake’s still watching you like you’re the only thing in the room.

—

The cabin glows with soft, golden light. Laughter spills from every corner, the air rich with frosting, pine, and candle smoke. Your Nana sits at the head of the long wooden table, a paper crown slightly crooked on her head, cheeks flushed from champagne and love. The room hums with warmth, almost enough to drown the unease still curling in your chest.

You’re standing near the counter, helping your mom light the last candle on the cake, when Jake slides up beside you. His hand brushes the small of your back– subtle, protective. You glance up at him, offering a quiet smile. “All good?”

“Perfect,” he murmurs, though his eyes drift toward the far side of the room. Toward Ethan.

Ethan’s talking with your uncle near the fireplace, beer in hand, laughter coming too easily. But every few minutes, his gaze flickers your way– like gravity won’t let him stop. You look down quickly, focusing on the matches. Jake notices. Of course he does.

“Want me to say something?” he asks, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve already said plenty.”

He smirks. “I can always say more.”

Before you can answer, your mom calls out, “Alright everyone! Cake time!”

Chairs scrape, voices rise in cheerful chorus as your family crowds around Nana. Jake stands just behind you, one arm brushing yours, his presence grounding– and impossibly charged.

The song starts, voices overlapping in a sweet, chaotic mess. You can feel Ethan’s gaze on you the entire time. When you glance his way, he’s not smiling anymore.

Jake notices that, too.

As the last note fades, Nana blows out her candles amid cheers. Jake claps along, leaning close enough to whisper, “Your ex looks like he’s plotting a murder.”

You bite back a laugh, elbowing him lightly. “Behave.”

“Always do,” he says– though the slight curl at the edge of his mouth suggests otherwise.

Cake is served, and people drift into smaller circles of chatter. You carry a plate to your Nana, who squeezes your hand with a soft, “You and that boy– adorable.”

You smile, cheeks warm. “Thanks, Nana.”

When you turn back, Jake’s at the far side of the room– talking to your dad, relaxed but alert. Ethan, meanwhile, has detached from the crowd and is making his way toward you.

You steel yourself. “Hey,” he says, stopping in front of you, voice low. “Mind if we talk–”

“Not really the time,” you cut in gently, setting down your empty plate.

He swallows, glancing over your shoulder toward Jake. “I just… I didn’t expect to see him. With you. Like that.”

“Ethan,” you sigh. “You don’t get to be surprised. You walked away, remember?”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes pleading now. “I know. And it was stupid. But seeing you with him–”

“Y/n.” Jake’s voice cuts clean through the noise. You look over. He’s crossed the room already, expression unreadable but calm. He rests a hand lightly on your shoulder, nods to Ethan. “Everything alright here?”

Ethan straightens, bristling slightly. “We’re fine.”

Jake’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. Hate to interrupt.”

You step subtly between them, pulse thudding in your ears. “We were just finishing up.”

Ethan lets out a humorless laugh. “You really upgraded fast.”

The words land sharp and ugly.

Jake’s body goes still beside you– not angry, just tight. Controlled. He tilts his head, voice quiet but laced with warning. “Careful, man.”

Ethan scoffs, but his confidence flickers when he meets Jake’s eyes– steady, unblinking. The tension between them hums like a live wire. You put a hand on Jake’s arm. “Hey. Let’s not–”

Jake glances at you, softens instantly. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re right.”

Ethan shakes his head, muttering something about “needing air,” and stalks toward the back porch.

Jake exhales, jaw unclenching. He looks down at you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“You didn’t,” you say quietly. “He just doesn’t like losing.”

Jake studies you for a long moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, though your pulse is still racing. “Yeah. I just… need a minute.”

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the porch door. “Let’s get that minute.”

Outside, the air is cool and still, the lake reflecting strands of golden light from inside the cabin. You step out onto the porch, wrap your arms around yourself. Jake leans against the railing beside you, silent for a while. Then, softly, “You didn’t look at him the way he looked at you.”

You turn toward him. “What?”

He meets your gaze, steady. “I saw it. Whatever you had– it’s not there anymore. Not for you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you don’t. You just step closer, until his shoulder brushes yours. For a while, you stand there in silence, the sound of laughter drifting faintly through the cabin windows. And before you can think– before you can stop yourself– he leans in.

It’s slower this time. Warmer.

The porch light hums above you, the cabin glows through the window, and for the first time all weekend, nothing feels like an act.

The kiss feels like the world narrowing to a single heartbeat. The rough slide of his hand against your jaw. The faint taste of smoke and cinnamon on his lips. The warmth of him– real and solid and right– until it isn’t.

Because over his shoulder, through the cabin window, you catch a flicker of movement.

Ethan.

He’s standing just inside the door, half-shadowed by the curtain, a sharp, unreadable expression cutting across his face. You freeze– just for a second– but Jake doesn’t. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly, like he’s making sure the audience gets the message.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, dizzy, the echo of him still humming through you. But his eyes flick briefly past you, back toward the window. He smirks– barely– and it lands like ice water down your spine.

He knew Ethan was watching.

You swallow hard, trying to hide the sting clawing its way up your throat. “What was that for?” you ask, voice light, teasing, like you don’t already know.

Jake’s gaze returns to you, easy again. “Seemed like a good moment,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “Felt right.”

You nod once, forcing a small smile that feels like it belongs to someone else. “Right. Sure.”

Inside, the door shuts quietly– Ethan’s shadow gone. The noise of the party swells again, laughter muffled by the walls. You stare out over the lake, the rippling water catching streaks of fading gold, pretending you can breathe normally.

Jake leans beside you, exhaling. “Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says softly.

You keep your gaze forward. “You didn’t.”

He looks at you a second longer, maybe catching the tiny tremor in your voice– but he doesn’t press. He just nods, easy smile slipping back into place. “Guess we should head back in before they send a search party.”

“Yeah,” you manage, turning toward the door. “Wouldn’t want to worry anyone.”

You walk ahead, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Every step feels heavy. You tell yourself it’s fine– that you knew what this was. That Jake’s touch, his warmth, his whispered “sweetheart”s– they’re all part of the game.

But still, the ghost of that kiss lingers, cruelly sweet. You can’t shake the feeling that for a second, it almost meant something, before you realized it was just another scene.

Inside, the room is bright again, full of laughter and chatter. You slip back into your place, grab a plate, pour yourself some wine, anything to keep your hands busy. Jake’s across the room, already charming your uncle, smiling like nothing just happened.

Ethan’s nowhere to be seen.

You lift your glass, take a sip that burns all the way down, and tell yourself you’re fine. You’ve been pretending all weekend, after all. What’s one more lie?

—

The house has gone still. Laughter faded hours ago, the hum of voices replaced by the faint creak of wood and the steady rhythm of crickets outside. You’re lying in the same bed as last night– back to Jake, eyes fixed on the soft spill of moonlight across the ceiling. The air between you feels thick. Not from closeness this time, but from everything left unsaid.

He shifts behind you, the mattress dipping with his weight. “You’re quiet,” he says softly.

“I’m tired,” you lie.

Jake hums low, skeptical. “You’ve been quiet since the porch.”

You swallow hard. “Just a long day.”

“Mm.” There’s a pause. Then, “You can lie better than that.”

You close your eyes. “Not tonight, Jake.”

He sighs, the sound warm against your neck. “Alright.” He settles again, and for a while, it’s silent except for the soft creak of the cabin settling around you.

But the words won’t stay down. They press at the edges of your chest until they spill out. “You kissed me because Ethan was watching.”

The words hang in the dark. A confession. An accusation. A quiet ache. Jake goes still. Then, softly, “You saw him?”

“I saw you,” you whisper. “And I saw the look after. The one that said you knew exactly what you were doing.” You bite your lip, blinking hard. “It’s fine, though. I get it. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing, right? Selling the story.”

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, sharp and heavy. Then, quietly, “That’s not why I did it.”

You turn your head just enough to glance back at him, his face half-lit in the moonlight. “Don’t,” you murmur, voice cracking. “Don’t say that if it’s not true.”

His eyes meet yours– steady, unguarded. “I’m not lying.”

You shake your head, a sad, small laugh slipping out. “You don’t have to make this easier.”

“I’m not.” His hand moves, tentative, resting against your arm. “You think I planned that? You think I kissed you because he was there?” His voice is low, rough. “I saw him, yeah. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even think about him until after.”

You stare at him, unsure if you can believe it– but something in his eyes makes it hard not to. There’s no teasing now. No smirk. Just honesty. He shifts closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You said it hurt. I didn’t mean for it to. But I meant the kiss.”

Your throat tightens. “Jake…”

He swallows, his forehead resting lightly against the back of your shoulder. “I don’t know when this stopped being fake,” he admits, the words a quiet exhale against your skin. “But it’s not pretend for me anymore.”

You don’t move for a long moment. Just breathe– slow, careful, dizzy. Finally, you turn to face him, his face so close you can see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. “You really mean that?”

He nods, gaze unwavering. “Every word.”

You reach up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re not exactly making this weekend easier, you know.”

He grins faintly, eyes soft. “Never promised easy.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence– then you whisper, “Do it again.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

This kiss isn’t for show. It’s slower, deeper, threaded with everything neither of you said before. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing your jaw, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting for this all along. When you finally pull away, your breath catches, the air between you fragile and warm. Jake presses his forehead to yours. “Now you know.”

And you do. God, you do.

The space between you hums, charged.

Neither of you moves for a breath, two heartbeats suspended in the same small pocket of air. Then Jake’s hand finds your waist. A slow, careful touch, like he’s asking a question with his fingers before daring to speak it aloud. You don’t stop him. His thumb draws a lazy circle against your skin where your shirt has ridden up, and the warmth of it sends a shiver up your spine. You shift closer, just enough that your knees brush. The smallest sound escapes you– barely there, but enough.

Jake’s breath catches. “You sure?”

You nod once, not trusting your voice. He exhales, something raw and unsteady in it, and his hand tightens slightly at your hip. The grip isn’t demanding– it’s grounding, like he’s holding on to be sure this is real. Your fingers find the fabric of his t-shirt, curling into it. You feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the thin cotton, the heat of his chest beneath. He leans in, and your noses brush, a whisper of contact that somehow feels more intimate than the kiss itself.

This time when his mouth meets yours, there’s no hesitation. It’s slower, deeper– hungry but reverent. His other hand slides up your back, tracing the curve of your shoulder, and you can feel the tension in him– the restraint, the want, all balanced on a knife’s edge. The kiss breaks, barely, but neither of you pull away. You can feel his breath on your lips, the faint tremor of it.

“Jake…” you whisper, and your voice sounds different– softer, unguarded.

He looks at you like he’s memorizing something. “If we start this,” he murmurs, “I don’t think I can stop halfway.”

You meet his gaze, heart pounding. “Then don’t.”

A quiet laugh, low and disbelieving, slips from him before he kisses you again– deeper this time, hands framing your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. The world narrows to the sound of your breaths, the rustle of sheets, the warmth of skin against skin through too many layers. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathless, hearts racing.

Outside, the crickets still sing. The house is silent. But inside this small, dim room, something has shifted– something that won’t be undone. Jake’s thumb traces your lower lip, slow, tender. “We should probably stop,” he murmurs, though his voice says otherwise.

You smile faintly, “We won’t.”

He swallows, then leans in– just close enough that you can feel the promise in the air between you. He moves, hovering over you with his knees settled against the backs of your thighs. You're both still dressed, but you feel completely exposed.

His touch is soft, his palm warm as it slips beneath your shirt. He doesn't yank your shirt up as you expected– like he wanted to get to the good part fast. You should've known Jake is the type to take his time.

He kisses you again as he soothes his hands over your skin, like he's mapping out the places he touches that make your breath catch. His thumb brushes along the underside of your breast. He breaks the kiss when you gasp into his mouth, and before you can say anything, he's lifted your shirt, exposing your breasts to the chill of the air.

He leans down, pressing a single chaste kiss to your sternum, right over your heart, before he kisses his way to your nipple. They've already tightened, pebbling at the thought of his mouth alone, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as he kisses you directly on the hardened bud.

You let out a shaky sigh, cut off quickly with a gasp when he wraps his lips around it, suckling lightly. Your hand tangles in his hair, trying to ground yourself.

His other hand moves, achingly slow down your waist, snapping the hem of your shorts, “Can I touch you here?” He asks quietly, his words spoken against your skin.

You nod rapidly, letting your thighs fall open further, “Yes,” you breathe it, pressing your hips down against the mattress to stop yourself from trying to buck up against him.

He licks over your nipple, before moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention. At the same time, his fingers slip past the waistband of your pajama shorts. You hum tightly when he ghosts his fingers along your heat, his touch barred by the thin cotton of your underwear that you know you've soaked through.

He pulls away from your chest to glance down at his hand, his view hidden by your shorts, “Fuck,” he breathes, pressing his fingers tightly to you, “Fuckin’ soaked, baby.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Shut up,” you whisper, your face flaming.

He grins, “It's okay, sweet girl, I won't tell anyone.”

You let out a broken laugh at that, your fingers tightening in the sheet when he begins to slowly rub over your clit. You're already shaking, though you don't know if it's from him or the fact this is actually happening. Your best friend has his hand in your shorts.

And he says the dirtiest things.

You knew Jake was probably a little unhinged, he usually said whatever it was he was thinking, but now? It made your cheeks burn and your lower half throb.

He leans down, his forearm beside your head as he pets gently at your hair, “I bet you're so pretty when you come.” You whisper his name, an admonition, and the corners of his lips turn up in a smile, “You're the prettiest little thing, you know that?”

You huff a disbelieving laugh, though it takes effort, because his fingers have sped up, rubbing over your clit through your panties with a purpose.

“Can't believe you,” he murmurs, shaking his head lightly, “Bringing me out here this weekend, making me share a bed with you– like I wasn't completely in love with you already.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “What?” It's breathier than you intended.

“Don't act like you didn't know,” he says quietly.

“I didn't,” you say, interrupted by a much too loud moan escaping when he presses his fingers tighter against you.

He shushes you, pecking a quick kiss to your cheek. “Your parents are right across the hall,” he chastises, “You want them to know what I'm doing to their precious little girl?” You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your mouth, and he grins. “When we get back home, I'm spending all the time in the world between these pretty thighs.”

Your eyes fall shut, and you feel the heat coiling in your lower tummy, “Jake…”

“You gonna come?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I want you to. What do you need? You want me to move these pretty panties out of the way? Give you my fingers?”

You can barely manage a nod, he's filthy– lewd and indecent– and you love every second of it. He hums, shoving your panties aside as he slips two fingers into you. You clamp your hand down tighter against your mouth as his thumb rubs tight circles over your swollen clit.

“You feel good,” he whispers into your ear, “Squeezing my fingers just right baby– Can you come for me? Let me have it?” He licks lightly over the edge of your ear, his fingers pumping into you with slick, lewd sounds, “Wanna see how pretty you come. Come on.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, and it hits you. You let out a muffled whine, your entire body tightening with pleasure. “That's it,” he whispers, one hand still working at you while the other pets at your hair, gentle and soothing, “Come on baby– Good fucking girl, come on.” His filthy praise only serves to add to the heat burning through you. Your body twitches, tiny jerks and spasms that have you weak by the time your orgasm has ebbed.

He slows his fingers and his thumb to a stop, but his other hand is still holding you, fingertips stroking your cheek as if you're the most precious thing he's ever beheld.

“You're a fucking dream,” he murmurs, his lips warm against your ear, “You look even prettier than I thought.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, your hand falling away from your mouth, and you pull him to you with shaky hands. You kiss him, though it's not as coordinated as you wished. It doesn't seem to bother him as he hungrily kisses you back.

You pull away for a breath, “Fuck me.”

He presses his forehead to yours, easing his hand out of your shorts, “Believe me, I want to,” he says softly, “But I don't want you to think I just wanna fuck you.”

“I don't think that,” you say, grabbing the edge of his shirt. You yank it up, tugging it over his head before you toss it aside. He watches you with the faintest smile on his lips, “I just–” You pause, pushing yourself up to sit. He leans back, sitting back on his heels as he watches you. “I need you.”

He takes a minute to drag his eyes over you, before he reaches up and pulls your own shirt off of you, “You know how I feel about you, right?” He says, quiet. You nod. His hand on your chest eases you back against the mattress, before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. You lift your hips, allowing him to ease your bottoms down, and he tosses them aside. “You know this is more than just sex for me, Y/n.”

“I know,” you breathe, hating the way he says it like a warning. As if there was any chance of you not being in love with him. “It is for me, too.”

He leans back over you, and your fingers hook into his own pajamas. He helps you tug them down. You aren't sure how he does it, smooth and effortless, but you're both completely bare.

Your eyes trail down to his dick, and you let out a surprised breath. You knew he was big– you've both seen some things and known some things about each other, it was part of being friends– but it was… a lot more than you expected.

You almost wished the light was on so you could see more detail, but you could see enough. He was long and thick– and pretty. Before you can stop yourself, you wrap your fingers around him. You take note of how your fingers can't fully fit around it, and you feel yourself clench. He sighs quietly, his hand moving to rest on the pillow beside your head.

You ease your hand up, brushing your thumb over the head, over the precum beaded up there, and you slowly ease your hand back down. His other hand grabs your waist tightly, his thumb gliding along your skin, “Fuck that feels good,” he breathes.

You bite your lip, heat flooding through you. It had an effect on you, a warmth burning you up at the thought of making Jake feel nice. You watch in awe as he rolls his hips once, just the slightest movement, but it makes the length of him push against your hand just right, and you like it. A lot.

His jaw is tight, and you're both watching your hand work at him. You could get him off like this and you'd be perfectly happy, you think.

He has other ideas, though. Because he grabs your hips and knocks your hand away gently. You go to pout about it, but he's angling his hips with yours, and you can feel the warmth of him pressing against your slick heat.

Your thighs fall open further, allowing him the room to move as he needs to. His hand tightens in the pillow beside your head as he teases the head along your center.

He presses his forehead to yours, and before you can say anything about him teasing, he's pressing inside of you.

Your eyes widen, your mouth opening, as he pushes inside. Your walls burn just a bit from the stretch– it'd been quite a while for you, and he was by far the biggest you've been with. It's a welcome burn, an ache that makes your walls quiver and pulse around him as he fills you completely.

“Fuck.”

You both say it at the same time, earning a huff of a laugh from you and a grin from him. He lowers his face, pressing light kisses to your collarbone, “How are you feeling?” He asks sweetly.

“Good,” you breathe, pushing his hair back from his face, “So good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice soft and quiet, “You feel good, baby,” he licks lightly over your skin, “So soft. So fucking wet and warm. Been holding out on me, haven't you sweetheart?”

You huff a breath, your cheeks burning, “Are you always this lewd?”

He grins, looking up at you, “You like it,” he says, quiet.

You don't bother arguing. He knows he's right. Smug bastard. You think you're mentally prepared for him to start moving, but when he draws back, your eyes roll. You can feel every bit– every bump, ridge and vein– dragging along your walls, sending your body into overdrive with every move.

You can't help but dig your nails into his back when he angles his hips, each thrust from him hitting that sensitive place inside of you just right. His jaw is tight, his grip on the pillow has his knuckles white, like he's restraining himself. You pull him closer to you, raising your head and leaving a kiss to his throat. He lets out a low hum at that, returning your kiss with a light nip at your jaw.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“So do you,” you say quietly, your hands slipping up to his hair, “Fuck, Jake.” You tangle your fingers until his hair, earning a rough groan from him.

“Yeah?” He says, nudging his nose against yours. You nod weakly, unexpecting it when his fingers press to your clit.

You cry out, too loud, but before you can slap your hand over your mouth, his hand is in place, and he's shushing you for the second time that night.

“You gotta stay quiet, baby,” he whispers, “I know it feels good– we gotta be quiet, okay?”

You nod, whimpering a weak mm-hmm against his palm. He hums low, his fingers working at your swollen clit deftly as he fucks into you, hard and fast. You want to point out the creaking mattress, and inform him that despite you staying quiet, the bed was giving it away, but you can't lie to yourself– you like the way he's handling you. You like it a lot.

He lets out a quiet curse, “You gonna come again?” He asks, nodding when you nod at him, “Yeah I can feel it. You're squeezing me so tight, honey.” Your eyes roll back, and you curse loudly against his palm. He grins, “Come on, pretty girl. Let me feel it. Come all pretty on my cock, go on.”

You come with a muffled cry, your hands digging into his back and tangling into his hair. Your entire body nearly thrashes beneath him as he fucks you through it. Your limbs are weak, twitching and shaking as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his hand moving down to your waist, holding you almost too sweetly for how he was still fucking you, “I wanna make you come over and over,” he admits quietly, “Prettiest fucking thing I've ever seen.”

You huff a breath, an attempt at a laugh, but you feel weak, and almost shy, “You're so fucking dirty,” you whisper.

He hums, his hands moving to grab your hips, “You're dirty,” he retorts, angling your hips up, sending him hitting just right with every thrust, “Making a mess all over me, being so loud while your whole family's here, fucking filthy little girl.”

You moan at that, quiet and subdued. You hate that you feel like you could come again already, “Jake,” you say softly.

He licks over your bottom lip, without a thought, just focused on you. “Think you can give me another?” He asks in a faux sweet tone, before he nods, "Yeah, I think you can.”

You nod regardless of you doubting your ability to survive another, because you want to. And you want him to. You voice that, meek and almost shy as you tell him you want to feel him inside.

“I'll give it to you,” he promises, “Just gimme one more, yeah?”

You can feel it building already– fast and hot and intense. He fucks into you harder, faster, and if he wasn't holding you in place, you'd be moved up the mattress with every slam of his hips against yours. You grab at his hand, your heart almost melting when he tangles your fingers together and presses it into the pillow by your head. You don't know what provokes you to say it, but you whisper a soft plea, almost ashamed until his eyes darken and his other hand falls to your throat immediately.

“Oh, you're fucking dirty,” he teases you again, giving your throat a light squeeze, “You want it like that?” You nod regardless of the embarrassment trying to flood through you. He hums low, tightening his grip on you, “Come for me, Y/n. Just like before, you can do it baby.”

You want to hate that your orgasm hits you almost immediately at those words, but you can't. Not when your entire body feels as if you're floating, your blood is roaring through your ears, and you can feel yourself squeezing around him so tight you almost worry.

“Fuck–” His hips stutter, and that's the only warning you get, before he's hit his own end. It intensifies your own orgasm, knowing you've both finished at the same time. You can hear him faintly talking you through it, soft murmurs of praise and admiration that you can hardly register as you ride out your highs together

He slows to a stop, his forehead falling to your collarbone. His hands pull away from his previous hold to soothe over your heated skin. It grounds you, easing you back down as your chests heave against each other. His lips trail soft kisses along your collarbone, your throat, whispering sweet words against your skin. You let out a heavy sigh, content and exhausted, “Fuck Jake.”

He grins against your skin, lifting his head to look at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to combust– so soft, it makes your head spin. “Why did we not do that sooner?” He asks, brushing your hair out of your face.

You giggle, “I didn't think you wanted to.”

He shakes his head, “Thought it was so fucking obvious.”

“It wasn't,” you say, reaching up to fiddle with his necklaces, draped across your chest in this position.

He smiles at you, “We aren't gonna pretend this is just part of the weekend, are we?”

You shake your head, “I want it to be real,” you whisper.

“Me too,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone, “My pretty girl.”

Your heart swells, and you bite your bottom lip to hide the over-enthused grin on your face, “I'm so in love with you.” Before you can worry about your admission, he kisses you again, soft and sweet and claiming.