The tension in the kitchen is thick, but honestly? You’re not even trying to fix it. There’s something about the way Jake is just standing there, leaning against the counter and scrolling through his phone with that completely blank, indifferent expression that’s driving you up the wall. He’s been giving you the cold shoulder for the last hour over some stupid disagreement, acting like you don’t even exist in the same room.
But even while you’re fuming, you can’t help but stare at his hands.
It’s a total curse, really. Jake has those specific, vascular hands —prominent veins tracing down his knuckles and disappearing under the cuffs of his hoodie. You’ve always been a sucker for them, whether they’re wrapped around a steering wheel or, more importantly, wrapped around you.
"Are you just gonna keep standing there like a statue?" you finally snap, crossing your arms.
Jake doesn't even look up at first. He just sighs, a frustrated sound, and finally tosses his phone onto the marble. The look he gives you is sharp, totally impatient, and tired of the back-and-forth. He isn't the type to yell; he’s the type to just take control of the space until you’re the one breathless.
"I don't have the energy to keep arguing with you," he says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding all rough and dismissive.
He starts walking toward you, and your heart rate spikes up. You want to back away to keep up the angry act, but you’re paralyzed. Before you can even get another word out, he’s in your personal space, and one of those hands reaches out.
He doesn't grab you gently. He hooks his fingers firmly around the side of your neck, his thumb pressing right against your pulse point, forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. It’s such a dominant move that it completely shuts your brain up.
"You’re so loud when you’re annoyed," he mutters, his eyes scanning your face with irritation and dark heat. "You want my attention so bad? Fine. You got it."
He shifts his other hand to your waist, his grip so tight it’s probably going to leave a faint mark later, pulling you flush against him. He isn't being sweet, and he’s definitely not apologizing, but the way he’s handling you is doing way more for you than a sorry ever could. You're practically melting under his touch, your own hands reaching up to grip his forearms just to feel those veins under your fingertips while he stares you down, waiting for you to try and talk back again.
goodnight, my dears ;) enjoy one of my fav dada gifs.
i have the next part of (mis)communication fully drafted and ready to go, but i'm gonna wait until i wake up to post it bc i need to pace myself 😭 i just really love writing smaus, and i can't believe i didn't try it until like two days ago??? gn!!
anyway, now that i have your attention lol, just wanted to let you guys know i'll be pretty ia today! i'm going out w my mother in law (yes, surprise to those of you who are new here: i'm married). i won't be able to write until i get home later tonight, so i might update? idk, guess we'll see 😋
