summary: you finally gain enough courage to make a move on your best friend
cw: explicit (18+), dub-con (reader is tipsy), afab!reader, dry humping to piv pipeline, fingering, multiple orgasms, longing/pining losers, love (?), push-over!jake, needy!reader, 'just the tip' is never just the tip, alcohol consumption, pet names, daddy kink, creampie, fluff :3 -- not beta-read
wc: 5.1k
a/n: pls, it was never supposed to be this long. i'm sorry for taking FOREVER to write this. anyways, this is based off my blabbering in discord -- i dedicate this to my whores (affectionate) <3
mk masterlist | main masterlist
----
You don’t drink.
At least not in front of Jake.
Alcohol makes you…indulgent, to say the least, and that’s a side you’ve been holding back from your best friend.
Yes, you’ve had a drink or two at some group hangouts in the past, but this, you, Jake, and a few bottles of gifted wine, surprisingly has never happened in the past. You’ve made sure of it.
What almost makes it worse is that Jake’s always been a sweetheart about your choices to avoid drinking around him. After your first few bouts of excuses and timid declines, he doesn’t pressure you to keep up with him when he’s knocking back shots or drinking pitchers of beer.
Whenever your other friends press another drink into your hand, he subtly takes it for you, drinking it in large gulps before returning the glass from your hand. And when he pulls away, his fingers always find a way to graze against yours. Thankfully the bars are usually dimly lit so he can’t see the blush heating at your cheeks.
He doesn’t realize it’s because of him. He’s the reason bartenders give you weird looks when you ask for watered-down vodka cranberries or why you’re always the last one standing in your friend group whenever you go out. This restraint around alcohol has gone on for years all because you harbor an intense attraction for your best friend.
It didn’t start that way. He crashed into your quiet life and obliterated the dynamics of your friend group. When you first met him, you thought his cocky and blasé attitude was overcompensating for something.
He’s always been a natural sweet talker, not afraid to approach people and get what he wants, but it seemed too good to be true. He’s too charismatic, too interested in the dull life you live, how did he dig out a hole and place himself so easily in your life?
Easily, too easily, you fell for his sweet words, words that would inevitably draw you into his orbit and leave you hanging off of every syllable.
You learned that no matter what he says, or does, he’s just being friendly. He’s just like that with everyone. It means nothing when he gives you a cheeky grin from across the bar or when he consistently insists on walking you home at night. Sure, he might stick closer to your side than anyone else's, but it’s just because you’re best friends. Right?
Of course, girls have tried and failed to lock down your best friend, misinterpreting his outgoing personality as him propositioning them. And they always come to you – whining over his lack of interest, the sudden and unexpected rejection of their advances, and grappling for any advice from his girl best friend.
“He’s single, isn’t he?” The words are said over the thin rim of a martini glass. She glances over at you with hopeful eyes framed by beautifully dark lashes.
You barely knew the girl’s name, but she offered to buy you a drink (a shirley temple) so you stayed for the conversation, however, you weren’t expecting the topic to circle back to Jake. But after watching her down a couple of martinis, gushing more and more about the man you’ve been pining after for an eon, you felt too bad to leave her.
“Um…as far as I know.” It’s a little uncomfortable, talking about Jake like you’re his keeper.
“Then – then why won’t he go out – or even hook up with me?” Her voice has gotten louder with the exasperation of her inquiries. You look around at the bar, hoping she can keep it together before you’re kicked out for causing a ruckus.
“Look, I don’t know if I’m the best –”
“But you’re his best friend, right?”
“Yes, but –”
“What’s his type?”
His type?
God, you wish you knew. It would make things a lot easier for yourself (and the world). But you genuinely don’t know. You’ve never seen him with a girl. Sure, he could be hooking up on the side, but why would he tell you?
You look down at your glass. All that’s left is ice, melting into an amalgam of pink-tinted liquid around the one maraschino cherry you refuse to eat.
“I don’t know.” You mumble.
—
You’re already through a bottle and a half, lounging comfortably on the overstuffed couch in your living room. Something is playing on the TV but it’s all a blur behind the feeling of his thigh pressing against yours.
Jake has never been afraid of showing his affection through physical means, whether it’s greeting ladies with a friendly peck on the cheek or ruffling one of the guy’s hair when he goes by. It’s natural to him. Casual.
But with you, he’s mostly hands-off.
It’s not that you deign to feel his touch, to feel the scratchiness of his whiskers rub against the edge of your hairline, or lower against the sensitive skin of your throat, you just can’t control your reactions when he does it. Even the light touch of his hand against your lower back when he guides you has you standing straighter.
He noticed your strong reactions to him and backed off, assuming you were uncomfortable or unused to friendly touches. And it was fine until you would do anything to feel him against you again, just one more time. It’s desperate, really, but you don’t really care when he looks at you with those cocoa-butter eyes.
And now, he’s closer than ever but still hands-off. He politely sits next to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch and the other in his lap. But not touching you.
He’s been making commentary about the dumb hallmark movie you impulsively rented, pointing out all the unrealistic plot conveniences and bright red flags that the main character blatantly ignores. He seems relaxed.
You aren’t.
Two stained wine glasses sit on the coffee table, dangerously close to the edge, still holding a sip of liquid. You can barely make out the intricate print of his lips on the edge of the cup, highlighted by the brightness of the hallmark snow scene.
You want so badly to steal the glass away and lick up the residual bitter-sweetness of the wine that’s touched his lips. To taste him, even indirectly. Or directly. Lick the sweetness straight from the source, tongue intermingling with him as he takes just as much from you. You feel yourself pulse from that image alone.
“Bunny?” Heat prickles against the back of your neck as you realize how far away your brain is, thinking such filthy and depraved thoughts of the man who is sitting right next to you.
He dotes on you like a person would their favorite pet cat. He calls you pet names, ones that make you bite your tongue and hide your face in your hands. Bunny was the first one and the one he uses the most.
It came out of nowhere, really. You were both at a small house party and Jake convinced you to join his team in a game of beer pong. You were still a bit nervous around him, still surprised when he’d seek you out for a conversation or to get your opinion on something entirely irrelevant.
You told him upfront that your hand-eye coordination leaves much to be desired, but he was determined to teach you. The first few throws were pitiful, so pitiful, in fact, that the other team gave you a freebie to make up for it.
“Here, lemme give you a hand.” You couldn’t even react before he was sidled behind you, his chest nearly flush against your shoulder as his hand wrapped around your wrist. Your body is frozen, soaking in the overwhelming closeness.
You can barely decipher the individual cups of beer with his voice low behind your ear as he directs you, “Keep it right….there” He lets go of your arm and you already miss his touch, “and put a little more power into your throw.”
He steps back, giving you space to take a breath and refocus.
You throw it, more mechanical than you would’ve liked, but it – miraculously – goes in.
Immediately you turn around to get his reaction, the praise that you secretly crave from a man you barely know.
He grins down at you, “You’re a natural, bunny.”
And the nickname stuck.
You look over at him, lazily blinking up to meet his fond gaze, “Hm?” You feel all fuzzy inside, overexcited yet pinned down by the unexplainable need to stay close to him.
He smirks down at you, arm subtly lowering to barely touch the back of your head, “What’cha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?” You try to lean into the feeling of his arm, hoping that if you ease into it, he won’t notice. “You had this… faraway look in your eyes for a moment.”
Oh, he noticed. But there’s no way he knows what you were thinking, right? A flash of embarrassment stings hot in your cheeks. You don’t think when you shyly nuzzle your face into his bicep to avoid his curious eyes, “I think I just zoned out or something.”
He hums, “You tired?” You turn your face to look at him, cheek resting against him. God, he smells so good. You never want to move from this spot. “Want me to tuck you in?” His voice coos teasingly, but you soak in the sweetness of it. He can be so soft sometimes.
Scrambled words echo in your mind: But if you go to bed, you’ll leave. You’ll take your arm out from under me and leave me here to think about you, all alone. Why can’t you just – Your thoughts quickly dissipate when he pulls you closer to him, hand at your waist to press your body against his.
Your hand presses delicately against his chest in surprise and you can barely feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat underneath the firmness of his muscles.
You softly shake your head, “Not tired.”
“Sure, baby.”
Baby.
That’s new.
Your thighs involuntarily press together with how good it sounds coming from his lips. Directed at you. Somehow, even with all the pet names he’s given you throughout the span of your friendship, this one hits home.
He says it with the casualness of a boyfriend and tenderness of a lover. You can almost feel him panting it against the crook of your neck as he pushes inside of you, hand clutching yours as his hips roll perfectly against yours.
You don’t even realize your legs are rubbing together like a cricket at dusk until a warm hand wraps around the top of your thigh. He pulls them apart, spreading your legs like you’ve always dreamed he would. Despite the suggestive position, you still whine at the loss of friction, thoughtlessly fighting against the insisting tug of his hand.
He hushes you gently, a soft tone barely easing your frustration. You latch your fingers onto his wrist, attempting to guide him to the spot that you really need him to touch, but he barely budges. His grip on your thigh tightens when his name drips brokenly from your lips.
“J-Jake…”
“Sweetheart, stop.”
“But –”
“Please.” Jake looks down at you with a pained expression, all past chivalry betrayed by the darkness pooled in his eyes.
You look up at him with misty eyes and flushed skin, innocence in the palm of his hand. “I need you.” You bite your lip at your admission, stained red from the wine, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. You pull at him again and this time he lets you. Both of you look down as his hand cups you over your shorts.
“You’re too drunk right now.” The whispered attempt of resistance falls on deaf ears as you arch your hips into his touch. Neither of you notice that the movie ended, leaving you in a silence where only the exchange of breathless pants can be heard.
“Touch me.” You whine, desperate for anything. Desperate just to be accepted by him.
His gaze briefly flicks up from where he’s touching to regard your eagerness with half-lidded eyes. He shakes his head and looks away like he’s looking for answers on the blank wall next to him. “I…shouldn’t.”
You start to panic when you feel his hand pull away. It can’t end like this. You hold onto his wrist when a particularly needy idea pops into your mind. If he doesn’t want to ‘defile’ you, then fine. You’ll do it yourself.
“I…c-could i just rub myself against you?” You berate yourself for sounding so meek, so unsure, but you’ve never done anything like this before, never had to take control of the situation. “Like, if you don’t want to…um, touch me.” He looks at you wordlessly, gorgeous lips parted at your suggestion.
His tongue brushes over his bottom lip, “I– Okay, sure…”
With his permission, you push up against the couch to get up and straddle over him. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it with how his hands barely hover over your body like he’s unsure whether he wants to pull you closer or shove you off his lap. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” He sounds strained, “But just for a little bit, alright?”
“Ok.” You promise though you’re sure that once you get a taste, you’ll never want to stop. You have to make this good for him so he’ll want you back.
You settle against him, body thrumming with anticipation when your clothed cunt meets the prominent hardness under his jeans. So he does want it. His hands clasp onto your waist when you start to move over him, hips experimentally rolling against his.
Jake watches you move over him with a look of deep hunger and awe. It’s endearing how shy you are, even now grinding on his lap. Your movements are clumsy – unpracticed as you desperately try to chase that spark that’ll satisfy the heat buried deep down inside of you.
“That good, baby?”
You nod, mewling quietly as the seam of his jeans drags perfectly against your clit. Pleasure pools in your stomach, nudging you closer and closer to the edge. You hold onto his shoulders as you work yourself over him, panting from your effort. He starts to cant his hips upwards to meet your thrusts, pressing his erection roughly against your core to show you just how much he wants you.
All you can think of is how good it would feel to have him bare against you, skin to skin. When you meet your peak, body hot and trembling as you rub against him, the end never comes. It’s not enough. You’re just left teetering at the top with no drop in sight.
You huff, “Jake, can I – just…please.” You let your hands drop from his shoulders to start working on his belt.
“What is it bunny, what do you need?” He looks so good under you with his wrinkled shirt unbuttoned just so to give you a peak of his collarbone and the newly open belt hanging from the loops in his tight jeans. You undo the button, fingers briefly fumbling as your knuckle brushes against his bulge.
“Just need to feel you.” You paw at the waist of his pants, trying to subtly indicate that you need his help to take them off. But he sits there and smiles sweetly at your frustrated huffs.
“And what about me?” He says in a teasing drawl. He drags you closer to him and cups your face until your lips nearly meet yours. He’s so close that you can make out the light dusting of freckles that grace his nose and cheeks. Amber eyes bore into yours as he whispers, “You’re using my body and haven’t even given me a kiss yet.”
“Oh.” Your gaze drops to his lips, “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, baby.” He leans in, “just kiss me.” Your eyes flutter close when you meet the softness of his lips. You immediately melt into the gentle caress of his hand on your jaw with a sigh as he desperately keeps you close.
Jake groans, drinking in the sweetness of your lips, a taste of pure heaven melting on the tip of his tongue, before hungrily deepening the kiss. He licks against the seam of your mouth, begging you to open yourself up to him. You surrender yourself to him, letting him slide in and taste you from the inside out.
Your hands move up from his shoulders to his soft curls, tugging eagerly in an attempt to hear the soft groan that rumbles in his chest. He nips at your bottom lip, suckling it until it’s pink and tender, wanting to leave a mark so you’ll always think of him. He can’t help but press against you when you whimper for him, grinding eagerly against your center, wishing he was inside of you instead.
“Just the tip.” You mumble it against his lips. He’s too far gone to clearly hear what you said, lost in a thick fog of awe, lust, and…love. At his silence, you pull away to look at him, scared you’re asking for too much. “Jake.” He nods thoughtlessly, chasing your lips, already missing your taste. He almost whines when you pull away from his touch, but quickly comes back to reality when he sees the way you’re nervously looking at him.
He squeezes your waist comfortingly, “Anything you want, bunny.” You smile at the pet name and gratefully peck his lips. He tries to deepen the kiss, hand already pressing against the back of your head, but you cheekily pull away before he gets too far. You stand up, ignoring his objections and clingy touches as you get off of his lap.
You fluidly slip your shirt over your head before carelessly dropping it to the floor behind you. There’s fire in his eyes as he sits back on the couch and watches you reveal the cute bra that cups you so perfectly. You tease the edge of your waistband as you look down at him, “Off, please.” You gesture at his jeans. He follows your directions, quickly shimmying his pants off, eyes on you the whole time.
You follow him, tugging your shorts off to show him the matching panties. You squeak when warm hands abruptly pull you to the couch, eagerly wandering over your waist and hips as he buries his face against your neck.
“Can’t help it, baby,” His touch drifts up to cup the underside of your tits, trailing carefully over the curve to memorize the shape of you. “You’re just so fucking pretty.” He groans hot and heavy against your neck as he squeezes your softness.
You’re back on top of him, naked thighs draped over his, skin against skin, and now, you can feel all of him. He’s pressed so deliciously against your core, pulsing with pure desire and heat. The only thing separating the two of you is fading self-control and a pair of thin panties.
His mustache tickles against your throat as his lips drift over your pulse point. He presses heady kisses against the edge of your jaw, gauging where your most tender spots are.
“Oh–!” Your thighs clench around him when he touches a particularly delicate area near your ear. He gently nips at the spot, holding you tighter when you moan at the feeling.
Jake lets out a broken groan when you reach between your bodies and take him into your hand. He tries to continue giving your body loving attention with his lips, but his kisses get messy, dragging lazily over your shoulder and collarbone, with how distracted he is by your touch. He has to pull away for a breather and hold himself back from thrusting into your fist when you squeeze him teasingly at the base.
“Bunny…” You both look down and watch as your smaller hand slowly strokes him. His cock is flush with need, leaking so prettily as you try your hardest to make it good for him. You slip your other hand under his shirt, running your fingers against his coarse happy trail to his rippling muscles. The couch groans next to you as he harshly grips the arm, barely holding himself back with white knuckles. “Oh, f-fuck.” His body stiffens under you as you brush your thumb against the sensitive underside of the tip.
You tenderly massage the spot, watching in awe as he continues to spill over your fingers, making a mess that drips onto your inner thighs and the edge of his shirt. He groans at the sight, his cock throbbing desperately in your hold.
As beads of white paint your fingers, your mouth waters just thinking about how he tastes. You feel ravenous to see him cum, to watch how easily you can ruin him. “H-hold on, cariño. Give me a second.” Jake chokes out. His hips stutter under you before he pulls your hand away.
"Whyy." You whine, pouting up at him with starry eyes. You reach for him again with the hand he isn’t holding onto, brushing your fingers against his sensitive cock. He shudders for you with a broken groan.
“I'm close-- just – stop for a moment –” Both hands are pinned to your side as Jake’s chest heaves under his shirt. He rests his head back against the couch, eyes closed as he struggles to hold himself back.
“But…I want you to.”
“I know, baby,” He lifts his head, dark eyes boring into yours, and pulls your hands behind you. You squirm in his lap, back arching at the position, suddenly remembering your own desperation. It feels good to be bound by his hands, to let him do whatever he wants to your body. “But I don’t wanna finish if it isn’t in you.”
Your face heats in embarrassment. “Oh.”
Jake picks up on your sudden shyness immediately.
“You like that, don’t you, bunny?” He smirks, “The thought of me filling you up, then dripping out of you?”
You bite your lip, “A little bit.”
“A little, hm?” He ponders, “Well why don’t we try it out and see.” Your thighs clench around him at the idea.
“Ok.”
“Sit up, let me see how wet you are.” He helps you raise yourself on your knees so you’re hovering over his lap. Letting go of your wrists, he drags his thumb against your clothed cunt; The fabric has a darkened splotch along your opening, teasing him with evidence of your lust. “Aw, sweetheart, you’re soaked…” He nudges your panties to the side, slipping his fingers against your wet opening. “Gonna ruin these pretty little panties, hm?” You nod wordlessly, hips desperately pushing against his touch.
He gently slides against your dripping entrance, making a mess of your cunt with teasing circling motions. Wet, decadent sounds fill the limited space between you as his fingers prod ever so slightly against the spot where you need him most. A helpless sound is pushed out of you when he finally eases two fingers inside of you.
“Is that good, bunny?” He coos as he slowly fucks his fingers into you. It’s only his fingers, but he’s already filling you up so deliciously. His dark eyes are hungrily locked on how he fills you up over and over again, slick dripping down his knuckles and over his palm. “Hm?”
You nod again, brain foggy with pleasure. “Yes, J–” You can barely get a word out when he curls his fingers up, pressing so sweetly and deep against the sensitive walls of your cunt. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your legs around his wrist, it feels so good. “Uh–!” You almost fall over and have to hold onto his shoulders for support as he begins to speed up.
“That’s it, baby…” Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he rapidly presses against your g-spot. You’re already hurdling towards the edge and he can feel it with how you start to clench around his fingers. “Make a mess of my hand..” Within a handful of thrusts, you’re gasping out with pleasure, your thighs shaking over him. He takes his hand away and holds you against him to keep you sitting upright as your body is overtaken with euphoria. You pant against his shoulder, trying to gather your senses.
You can feel him under you, hard and wanting, throbbing as you whimper and arch against him, letting the pleasure work through your body. Even when you’re barely coming down from an orgasm, you’re still longing to be filled with something more. But he ignores his own needs, instead focusing on you, softly pecking the top of your head and rubbing comforting circles against your arms.
You lift your head from his chest to look at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Jake stares right back, unabashedly, in awe. “You’re so good to me, bunny.” You shiver at the praise. At the comfort. You shyly divert your eyes to stare at the marks you’ve left on his shoulders.
“Only for you, Jake.” You don’t see it, but his lips lift into a small smile at your words.
His hands drift down from your arms to hold you by the waist. “Only for me.” He echos, solidifying the statement.
You gasp when he suddenly presses you down against his cock. Looking back up at him, he meets your wide eyes with a mischievous grin, hips rolling teasingly against yours. “And I’m all yours.” You position yourself over him all while keeping eye contact, wanting to drink in every microexpression on his face.
“Yes.” You both sigh as he barely brushes against your wet opening. He takes a deep breath, clutching your hips as you begin your descent.
Your body slowly manages to swallow the first inch of him. And – oh – it’s so much better than you expected. He stretches you so fully, even barely inside of you, filling you exactly how you need him to.
You let out a strained whimper from the back of your throat as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. You whine as your body desperately clenches and stretches to accommodate him inside of you. His hold on your hips tightens as your thighs meet his, now fully impaled by his hard cock.
“I thought it was ‘just the tip’.” Jake tries to tease, his deep voice gravelly with lust, but it comes out as more of a groan than a taunt.
You slowly shake your head, body trembling as you get used to the feeling of him inside of you.
“You said you’re all mine, daddy.” The words practically melt from your lips, lethargic with heat. It catches him off guard. You moan, hips slowly moving over him to feel him deeper inside. “M-mine,” You repeat with a pant, so lost in desperation that you don’t even notice the way he’s looking at you, frozen in place.
“I-I did say that, didn’t I?” He doesn’t know what else to say, brain overheating from your ministrations. You’ve never called him a pet name before, let alone used the word ‘daddy’ anywhere near him. You’ve always been a shy little bunny around him, always preciously out of reach, a tease to fantasize about, but now you’re wrapped around him, moaning beautifully destructive words.
What really surprises him is the way he’s eagerly throbbing inside of you from that word. Desperate thoughts float in his mind: She wants me to take care of her, she needs me.
“Fuck me.” He groans to himself, willing his body to hold back from cumming inside of you right then and there.
“P-please.” You beg with a broken voice, thinking he’s talking to you. Jake just nods understandingly and holds you closer with an arm wrapped around your torso, wanting to feel your whole body against his. He starts off slow, pressing up into your kneeling body with measured thrusts as he dots kisses along your neck and shoulders. You sigh something wistful before meeting his movements, eagerly lifting your hips against him.
“God, bunny, you feel so good.” He can't help it, you’re all-encompassing like this, with your pretty little sighs and panted breaths, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, so he starts to speed up, projecting his desperation into his actions. Your back arches at the change of pace as he pumps into you, and it only makes him feel deeper. “So tight around me.” He pushes against your front wall on every thrust and you swear it makes you see stars.
Your clit inevitably rubs against him as your bodies move with each other and it takes your pleasure to another level. You’re sure the sounds you’re making verge on embarrassing, but he seems to eat them up anyway. “Ah, right there--! Jake –”
“No, bunny,” He grits out, “It’s daddy.”
You whimper, “Daddy – ” He feels you flutter deliciously around him as your head begins to lull backward. He groans as your cunt sucks him deep inside, desperately milking his cock as you’re seized by ecstasy.
“Fucking take it, sweetheart.”
“I-I think m’gonna…” Your eyes roll back before you can finish your sentence and white fills your vision. You let out a keening sound as you gush over him, thighs clenched around his as your second high moves through you.
His eyes squeeze shut as he gives in and starts fucking you at a punishing pace. Your mouth drops open around an empty moan. You can only hold onto him as he takes what he wants from your body, intensifying your orgasm with sloppy thrusts. With a few more upward pushes, he lets out a breathy grunt and finishes inside of you, painting your walls with his warmth.
You both stay in this position for a little longer.
You can feel Jake’s heart beat rapidly against your chest as you cuddle against him. He’s still recovering from the onslaught of sensations and emotions. Both of you are sticky with sweat and slick, but neither of you care. His cock is still inside of you, keeping his cum locked inside as you dutifully warm him with your cunt.
“Such a pretty girl…” He croons, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He looks down at you with such sincerity in his eyes, that it’s almost overwhelming. You bite your lip nervously at the compliment and attempt to look away, but before you can, he’s tilting your face up with the light touch of a finger, “Really? You’re gonna act all shy with my cock still in you?”
His words only make you squirm on top of him. He nearly chokes at the accidental stimulation.
“You can’t just say stuff like that.” Your voice is small and cute.
“Then how am I supposed to fluster my girl?”
Your eyes widen. His girl?
“Your girl?”
“My girl.” He hums with a small smile before placing a soft kiss on your lips.
cutie pie y/n who bought strawberry muffins for miguel x tired n horny miguel who's looking for a different set of buns
miguel who can't wear rings during fights so he had a little strawberry tattooed on his ring finger that he kisses before every match as he winks at her flustered lil figure in the front row of the cheering crowd
miguel who loves when his pretty gatita clenches her fists to keep herself from clawing at his back when he rams into her, and goes harder bc he gets so so so riled up when you're shy
cutie pie y/n who makes him say sorry to the guys he beat up for talking to her at a party (bc it made everyone else at the party stare at her and it made her uncomfy).. and miguel who pounds her pouty attitude out of her with his fingers n his thick cock bc she just doesnt understand that he just loves her so much and doesnt want anyone to take her away!!!
miguel is so big, he could only slide against your pussy during the first few months of dating you 😵💫
you're barely able to take him into your mouth, let alone down your throat, but you still try your best, giving him sweet licks against the sensitive head and sucking him in with a soft moan.
he loves watching you. how everything about you is smaller -- and not because you're smaller, but bc he's just insanely big.
he needed to be the one to stop you from fucking him the first time. you were so desperate to get him inside of you, convincing him with breathy whines that you can take it, you'll be good for him + stretch out as much as he needed.
though he thoroughly prepped you, he could barely push himself into you and as soon as his tip breached your entrance, you cried out and he could barely move.
he had to grit his teeth when he felt how hot and tight you were, almost losing control when you fluttered around him from the intensity of stretch. he slowly pulled out with a heavy groan, eyes blazing red and claws ripping into the mattress next to your head.
he let you pout, whine, and beg for him to try again, but he wouldn't give in. he was too scared of hurting you.
you mewled and writhed in his arms, whining about how you crave being stretched and filled. the only way he could sate you was by plunging two fingers into your cunt, rubbing relentlessly against your g-spot until you're shaking in his hold.
of course, he makes up for his refusal to fuck you.
miguel is a sweet boyfriend: he'll let you grind your naked body over him at any time of the day until you're seeing white and cumming against him, completely soaking his sweatpants as tears spill from your eyes.
he lets you tease him as much as you want, sliding your dripping pussy over his cock until he's unbearably hard and spurting precum all over himself.
he even lets you ride his fingers, letting you take his arm away from whatever he's working on so you can comfortably roll your hips over him and grind your clit against the palm of his hand.
when he finally does fuck you, it's impossible to get him away from you (not that you mind). miguel is mesmerized by how well your smaller body can take him. how you squeeze around him so sweetly, gushing and trembling as he moves against you.
he loves seeing the outline of cock pressing against your tummy, how he can literally see himself move into you as your body struggles to make enough room. he pushes down on it and you get infinitely tighter. his scarlet eyes stares up at your euphoric expression, pretty lips shaped into an O for him as your eyes roll back with pleasure.
miguel, as spider-man, has no refractory period. usually, he'd stop after two or three rounds, but now that he's felt your molten heat over him, the way you shudder around his cock when you cum, he can't get enough.
even when you're filled to the brim with his cum, he still hard inside of you, fucking you harshly until you're dripping everything onto the sheets below you.
<cw: somnophilia>
sometimes you're so exhausted, so delirious with pleasure, that you pass out while he's still rutting into you. the first time it happened he freaked out a little, hoping he didn't push you to far. once you gave him the green light to continue, so turned on by the fact he can fuck you to sleep, he doesn't hesitate to take you all the way.
you regularly wake up with a pleasant soreness between your legs. miguel makes sure to show you extra soft loving in the mornings, cooing about how sweet and pliable you were the night before. sometimes you wake up and he's still inside of you, face cutely nuzzled against the back of your neck.
warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me
an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers
summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?
Mouse was noisy.
You really wished he wouldn't be.
He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.
Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.
It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.
When he'd be left alone in the flat.
Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.
You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.
There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.
It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.
After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.
Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.
You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?
He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.
You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.
Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.
That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.
Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.
Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.
You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.
Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.
From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.
Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.
Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.
He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.
There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.
You met Marc eventually.
He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.
You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.
More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.
It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.
It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.
The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.
Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.
He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.
There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.
Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.
You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"
His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.
"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.
Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.
He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.
"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.
The man's brow tightened, "Sure."
There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.
"Uh ... I suppose so."
Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.
Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.
"It was nice meeting--"
It closed with a thump.
"... you."
Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.
Steven worried about him, about Jake.
Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.
"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"
Marc's eyes flickered up just once.
"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
His eyes flickered.
"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.
His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.
"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"
And so it passed that way, for weeks.
Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.
It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.
The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.
Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.
You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.
The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.
"Jake?"
He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.
"Yeah?"
His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?
"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"
Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.
You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."
He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."
When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.
That was the first night.
The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.
It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.
Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.
"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.
In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.
Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.
"Jake?"
The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.
"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.
Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"
"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.
He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."
Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"
He nodded.
Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.
You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"
"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."
Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.
"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"
Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.
You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"
Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.
"You're a doc, aren't you?"
"For animals!"
He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."
Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.
The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.
You nodded eventually.
"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."
There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.
He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.
"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."
With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.
"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.
When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.
He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.
"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."
"He tenido peores."
I've had worse.
You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.
Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.
You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.
Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.
When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.
"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."
The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.
"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"
You huffed. "Jake, please."
It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.
You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.
He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.
When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.
"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.
He shrugged, "Are you?"
Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.
Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.
The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.
Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.
"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."
A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.
"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."
You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.
It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.
Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.
When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.
Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."
You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."
He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.
The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.
"Thank you."
You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."
But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.
His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.
"What is it?"
Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."
You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."
"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."
"Meaning?"
He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.
"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."
The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.
"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"
He shook his head in place of answering.
"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.
The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.
-
In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.
Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.
You didn't see Jake once in that time.
Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.
Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.
But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.
That was until he came again.
Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.
The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."
You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.
He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.
"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.
Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.
Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.
When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.
You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.
"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."
Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.
"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.
You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.
Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.
Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.
The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.
Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.
Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.
"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.
He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"
There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.
"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."
Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.
"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."
You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.
"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.
Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.
"Who took out the stitches?"
His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."
The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."
"Yeah."
"What did they say? About the scar?"
Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.
Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."
Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.
Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.
It was warm and sticky with sweat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"
His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.
You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.
"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."
You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.
-
Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.
It peaked suspicion in you.
"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"
Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."
Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."
"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.
Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.
It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.
Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.
He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."
"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"
"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."
You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."
That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.
It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.
You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.
He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.
The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.
It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.
He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.
His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.
A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.
He didn't.
The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.
Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.
It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.
The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.
Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.
Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.
Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.
Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.
"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"
I never stop.
"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"
He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.
You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.
Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.
And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.
You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.
"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"
Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.
Why're you doing it then?
Because Marc and Steven are in there.
They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.
"What's it to ya, Lockley?"
Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.
He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.
Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.
Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.
It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.
"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"
You hummed, not looking at him.
Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."
A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.
"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.
Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."
You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.
He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.
"And white roses?"
"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."
It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.
"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."
"Not to you, I didn't."
Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.
He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.
"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."
You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.
"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"
"You kissed him."
That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.
Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.
"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.
Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.
"Yeah. Tha's all."
He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.
The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.
"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"
As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."
"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."
"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"
You swallowed. "That you're okay."
His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?
"You have work in the morning."
A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."
He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.
"I'm not gonna go change."
"But you're wet."
"A little rain never killed anybody."
"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"
You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.
"Shut up." He mumbled.
You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.
"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.
He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.
The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.
"Where did you find this giant dog--?"
"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"
Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.
"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."
He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.
A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.
"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.
You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.
"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."
There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.
He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.
Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.
A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.
He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.
It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.
His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.
He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.
Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.
Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.
That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--
He blinked the thought away.
There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit.
Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.
But not him.
It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length.
Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights.
You twitched against him.
"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."
I promise.
-
Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.
You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.
It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.
Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.
Marc was around almost as much as Steven.
He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.
You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.
He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.
His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.
"Steven?" You whispered against him.
Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.
"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."
You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."
He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."
You kissed him.
Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.
You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.
But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.
He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.
Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.
"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."
It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.
"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.
He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."
That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.
"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.
Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."
You rolled your eyes.
"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."
"Jake, wait--"
His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"
He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."
You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."
It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.
Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.
"Why're you looking at me like that?"
He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.
You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"
"Like that."
"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.
"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.
Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.
"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.
His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"
He was gone again.
It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.
Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"
"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."
-
Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.
There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.
You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.
The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.
Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.
But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.
With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.
The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.
"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"
Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.
Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.
Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.
It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.
You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.
The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.
Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"
Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."
The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.
“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.
He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”
He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.
“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.
“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”
It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.
The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.
But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.
“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."
Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.
"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."
"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.
"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"
He betrayed you with his silence.
"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.
Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."
"Can't? Can't what?"
"I can't have what I want."
You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.
"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."
Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"
"It's not the same. thing"
"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"
Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.
"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"
You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.
"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.
He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.
His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.
"Don't come back, Jake."
Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.
"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."
Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?
"I want what they have."
He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"
His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."
You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."
It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.
"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"
You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.
"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."
Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"
His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.
"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."
Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.
There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.
When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.
"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."
He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.
"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"
He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."
You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.
"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.
You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"
"You're very annoying."
Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."
His face ran hot all over at the allegation.
"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."
Your face drew closer against his own.
"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."
His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"
"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."
It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.
His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.
"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"
Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."
Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.
You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."
Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.
"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"
A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."
Sorry, not the alcohol type drink, but you can find a masterpost for that here! This masterpost is organized by purpose/need. The ones involving coffee are bolded, since most of them are teas!
DO NOT CARELESSLY ASSUME HERBS IN TEAS ARE OKAY FOR YOU! DO YOUR RESEARCH.
Emotions + Emotional healing:
Drink your sorrows tea
Heal your heart potion
Moody Judy potion
Calm you the fuck down tea
Calming back to school tea
Calm thyself tea
Calm and happy tea
‘Give me sunshine’ potion for happiness
Rejuvenating tea
Self love latte spell
Overall positivi-tea
Mental reboost tea spell
Quick confidence potion
Health + Healing:
Tea to relieve a sinus headache
Headache soothing tea spell
Sore throat potion/tea
Magic sick tea
Soothing tummy tea
Tiny tea spell to feel better
Feel better tea spell
Pain relieving tea
“Ew, cramps” tea
Menstrual relief tea spell
Tea infusions to soothe the stomach
Easy energy tea spell
Energy boost tea
Energizing tea
Morning + Sleep:
Good morning potion
Morning sun cinnamon tea
What a Lovely Morning - Iced Tea Spell
Done fucking around coffee spell (productivity)
Coffee spell
Honey milk for restful sleep
Simple dream tea
Lullaby tea
A bedtime tea spell
Odds and Ends:
Good fortune tea spell
Nan’s good luck tea
“I am a Fucking Joy and Light to Behold” Tea
Spell to charge tea with power
Magical lemon spearmint green tea
Peachy potion to attract love
Hot chocolate spell for wellbeing
Hot chocolate magic
Magic spiced hot cocoa
Apple cider love bringing spell
Magic smoothie recipes
Daily coffee magic
Coffee grounding
Magical frappuccinos
Coffee spell for writers
Enhance magical energy coffee spell
Correspondences:
General tea magic
Fruit tea magic
Floral tea magic
Floral tea correspondences
Herbal tea magic
Chai spells
Coffee brew correspondences
Make your perfect magic coffee - ingredients
Making your iced coffee - witchcraft style
Infused water magic
Milkshake magic
Related posts:
Orriculum’s beverage magic/potions post
Masterpost of simple beginner friendly potions
Drink before casting
Drunk witchery
RESEARCHING HERB SAFETY
Links updated April of 2020. Please inform me of broken links via askbox!
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