𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐮𝐮 @kkinou - Tumblr Blog

Jan 19

clueless | sjy

synopsis: in which your best friend finally stops pretending, and one confession ruins your oblivious friendship for good.

genre: best friends au

pairing: best friend!jake x oblivious!reader

warnings: jealous!jake, possessive!jake, touchy!jake, hard dom!jake, dub-con-ish, jake is strong, manhandling, groping, messy makeout, biting, tit play, oral (f.rec), spanking pussy + tits + ass, face slap, clit play, fingering, masterbation (m.), cock slapping? he cums on readers face, light bondage, unprotected p in v, creampie, some cuteness at the end to tie it all together!!

wc: 11.7k+

a/n: yall asked and yall have received. this one by a LANDSLIDE on the pole i put out a few days ago and lucky yall i was already like 3/4 done w this fic anyways. this is literally pure filth and i had sm fun writing this. bsf jake is literally what keeps me going istg. anyways…hope yall enjoy! as always notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

.ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ

you're sitting cross-legged on jake's bed, a carton of pad thai balanced dangerously on your knee, ranting about your latest situationship like it's a normal tuesday night and not a personal attack on his blood pressure.

jake is leaning against the headboard beside you, one arm casually draped behind your back—not even touching you, just hovering, like he's ready to pull you into him at any second.

he's acting like he's listening, nodding at the right beats, but his eyes keep dropping to the hem of your shorts. they're barely shorts at this point, basically denim underwear, and every time you shift, they ride up higher. he's suffering quietly.

"so then he ghosted me for two days," you say, stabbing your fork into a noodle like you're reenacting a murder. "and suddenly he texts me like nothing happened. men are insane."

jake's jaw ticks in mild frustration, he forces a shrug. "yeah, he sounds... busy. maybe he has a lot on his plate."

i don't care. i don't care. i don't care. his mind is in absolute shambles right now.

you blink at him, annoyed. "you told me last week that guys who disappear like that 'should step on a lego and rethink their life choices.'"

"well," he says slowly, eyes flicking to your bare thigh before snapping back up, "maybe stepping on a lego would give him perspective. doesn't mean he's bad. just... confused."

he's giving terrible, contradictory advice on purpose, trying to gently sabotage any chance of you forgiving this man. but you miss all of it, too focused on your rant and your noodles.

you shove another bite into your mouth and keep talking, oblivious. jake's hand drops from behind you to your thigh, warm and heavy as he gives it a little squeeze—casual, friendly, like he's always done that. because he has. because jake has made touching you look normal for years.

you don't even flinch when you feel his grip tighten on you slightly. "do you think i should give him another chance?"

jake stares at you, expression flat. "no." that shouldn't even be a question, you shouldn't give any man who isn't him a chance.

"but you just said—"

"i lied," he says plainly. "don't date him. he's... not your type."

"you don't know my type."

jake scoffs, watching a noodle you failed to keep on your fork land on your thigh. "i know everything about you." he watches your expression morph into one of defeat before he's reaching his fingers out to grab the stray noodle and sneak it into his mouth.

and he does, jake knew you like the back of his hand, painfully so.

you stretch your legs out, half laying against him, your head dropping onto his shoulder like it's instinct. jake stiffens for half a second before melting, his body curving around yours like he was designed to hold you.

"ugh," you groan. "why can't i just find someone normal?"

jake stares at the top of your head, his fingers brushing absently along the inside of your knee, tracing small circles like it's nothing. like he isn't one wrong move from losing his mind.

he clears his throat. "maybe you're just looking in the wrong places."

"where am i supposed to look?" you mumble, mouth full again.

"i dunno," he says, gaze locked on the way your lips wrap around your fork, "maybe... closer."

you don't catch it, of course you don't.

instead you just scoot even closer to him, thigh pressing against his, stealing some of his fries like you always do. jake lets you, leaning into the touch, smelling your shampoo, watching as another stray noodle falls onto your shirt. he plucks it off without hesitation, choosing to flick it away this time.

you laugh. "thanks, mom."

"i'll remember you said that next time you're crying about someone ghosting you."

you hit his arm lightly but he catches your wrist, fingers wrapping around it, thumb rubbing lazily over your skin. he's smiling but his eyes are sharp, warm, lingering—like he's memorizing the way you feel under his hand.

but you don't notice a thing. you're already going on about another red flag your situationship displayed, gesturing wildly while still half in his lap.

jake just watches, letting you rant, letting you lean into him, letting you stretch out across his bed like you own it. like you own him.

and honestly? you do.

"you're too good to me," you sigh dramatically, looking over at your best friend.

jake laughs under his breath, low and a little bitter. "yeah," he says quietly. "i know."

your phone buzzes beside your thigh.

jake's eyes snap to it before you even glance down. the name flashing on your screen makes his entire body go rigid. it's the situationship idiot —the one who's been ghosting you, breadcrumbing you, ruining jake's sanity for weeks.

you reach for the phone but jake is faster. he snatches it first, holding it above his head like a relic he plans to yeet into the sun.

"jake!" you shout, scrambling into his lap to grab it. "give it back!"

the position shouldn't be normal. it shouldn't be casual. but you've done this a thousand times— climbing over him, knee pressed between his legs, one hand braced on his chest as you stretch up to reach.

your t-shirt barely hides the curve of your chest, you were practically smothering his face—and jake didn't mind it one bit.

jake swallows so hard he might choke. "why do you need to text him back right now?" he asks, voice too calm to be real.

"because he messaged me," you say, fingers grazing the phone but not grabbing it.

jake's eyes flick down, you're straddling him. you don't notice but he absolutely does.

his hands curl around your waist automatically, steadying you like he's afraid you'll fall—or like he's afraid he'll let go.

"you can reply after we finish eating," he tries again. "or in... a week."

"jake."

"what?" he says, blinking innocently. "i'm helping."

you finally get a grip on your phone and tug it out of his hand. he lets it go, but reluctantly, like he's handing you a loaded weapon.

you drop back onto the bed, legs still draped over his, and open the message.

jake leans over your shoulder immediately, chin practically resting on you. "what'd he say?" he mutters, eyes narrowed like he's assessing a threat.

you read aloud, "he said: sorry i disappeared, things have been crazy at work. i wanna make it up to you. drinks this weekend?"

jake exhales sharply. "wow. romantic. he's really outdone himself."

"you're being dramatic."

"i'm being honest," he shoots back. "he's a loser. you shouldn't go."

you look up at him. "and why not?"

he holds your gaze for a beat too long—warm brown eyes, pupils blown a little, intensity simmering just below the surface.

then he shrugs, voice low. "you're gonna get your feelings hurt. again. and then i'll have to listen to you cry. again. and you ugly-cry, so that's an extra layer of torture for me."

you gasp. "i do NOT ugly-cry."

jake just raises a brow. you don't, you look pretty when you cry. jake quite enjoys the flushed look on your face, but it aches him that your crying over losers and not because his dick isn't down your throat.

you throw a pillow at him. he catches it, smirking, then lays down fully on his back, arms spread like he's claiming the entire mattress.

you fall beside him automatically, head splayed over one of his arms.

he turns his head toward you, eyes soft. "don't go."

you freeze. "what?"

"don't go on the date," he repeats softly, almost gentle. "just... stay here instead. with me."

you laugh it off, nudging his shoulder. "jake, i'm not ditching someone for movie night."

"ditch him for me," he says, no hesitation. "you do it all the time."

you blink, he's right. you absolutely do.

you've cancelled plans—actual plans—because jake didn't want to watch a movie alone, or because he was bored, or because he wanted boba at midnight and didn't want to walk alone.

but that was different, that was friendship. obviously.

"you're being clingy today," you tease lightly, pulling at the sleeve of his shirt.

"i'm always clingy," he says. "you just never notice."

he says it like a joke, but it lands too heavy.

your phone buzzes again. before you can even move, jake flips onto his stomach, throws an arm across your waist, and physically pins you to the bed.

you let out a small squeal at his sudden actions, squirming in his hold. "enough," he mutters into your shoulder. "if he texts you one more time, i'm blocking him."

"you can't just—"

"watch me."

you're half laughing, half exasperated, half aware that his entire body is pressed over yours, warm and solid and familiar.

you shove at him weakly. "get off, you menace."

"no," he mumbles. "you're comfy."

"jake..."

he lifts his head slightly, eyelashes brushing your skin. his voice drops to something almost vulnerable—something that slips out before he can stop it.

"just stay with me tonight."

your breath stutters and he feels it. he looks away immediately, pretending he didn't say anything real. you pretend you didn't hear something real.

the phone buzzes again. jake tightens his arm around you, jaw clenched.

you don't move this time and jake... jake notices.

jake's arm is still wrapped around your waist, heavy and warm, like he's trying to anchor you to him. you should probably get up or at least check your phone.

but you don't and that tiny decision ruins his self-control.

you feel him exhale against your neck, slow and shaky, like he doesn't want you to notice. his fingers—resting right at the curve of your waist—start tracing thoughtless circles into your shirt. lazy, slow, claiming circles. the kind that send a little shiver down your spine.

jake feels it. his hand stills for half a second... then starts again, softer this time, more deliberate.

you're too busy pretending to scroll through food delivery apps to process it.

"what're you doing?" you mumble, a subtle flush coating your cheeks.

"touching you," he answers bluntly, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

it is normal for him, he's always touchy. always grabbing your wrist, fixing your hair, pulling you by the waist, resting his head on your lap when he's tired.

you don't think twice. but tonight? tonight he's different.

his hand slides from your waist to your hip, fingers curling loosely into the fabric of your shorts. not enough to be inappropriate, just enough to make your breath catch.

he hears it. "you okay?" he asks, voice low, almost smug.

"just hungry," you lie, a terrible lie at that. you had just devoured take away minutes ago.

he laughs softly against your shoulder, his nose brushing your skin. that alone sends heat shooting straight through you—something you ignore immediately.

"hungry for what?" he teases, catching onto your lie.

you shove his arm weakly. "food, idiot."

"mm. sure."

he doesn't move away. instead, he shifts closer—practically molding himself to your side. his thigh slides against yours, his knee nudging between your legs just slightly as he gets comfortable. accidentally. or maybe not, you can't tell.

your heart stutters. jake notices everything, especially things you don't realize you're doing.

he props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you a bit, his hand brushing your ribcage as he pushes your hair out of your face.

"you got sauce on your cheek," he murmurs.

you reach up to wipe it but he catches your wrist mid-air.

"i got it."

and then—way too gently—he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth. except his thumb lingers, longer than necessary. brushing your lip once, twice, slow enough that you swear he's doing it on purpose.

your chest tightens, you force a laugh. "okay mom."

jake's eyes flick down to your mouth. his thumb leaves your lip, but he doesn't pull his hand away. he lets it drift along your jaw, curling lightly behind your ear, like he's pushing your hair back just to keep touching you.

"do moms do this?" he asks quietly. the tone—warm, teasing, dangerously soft—makes your stomach flip.

he leans in just a little closer. close enough that you feel his breath when he talks.

"or this?"

his hand slides from behind your ear, down your neck, thumb stroking your pulse point for the briefest second.

you freeze. your phone buzzes. again.

jake's jaw flexes, and his hand drops to your waist, grip tightening possessively.

"you gonna get that?" he says, barely masking annoyance.

"i... dunno," you mumble.

"good," jake whispers, leaning in until his forehead almost touches yours. "don't."

his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt this time, barely there, just the pads of his fingertips brushing your bare waist. testing. waiting to see if you'll pull away.

you don't and that's all he needs.

he lets out a small breath—relief, disbelief, hunger—then slides his hand fully onto your skin, warm and steady on your waist, thumb tracing slow circles again, this time deliberate. claiming.

"you're staying with me tonight," he murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges.

you swallow hard. "jake..."

"no," he says, shaking his head just slightly. "don't say my name like that."

"like what?"

"like you don't know what you're doing to me."

your heart stops. the room feels too quiet. too warm. too intimate. and jake... jake is staring at you like he's wanted to say that for years.

your heart is beating stupidly fast. the room feels too quiet. too warm. too charged.

jake's hand is still under your shirt, his thumb tracing slow, burning circles on your bare waist. he's hovering over you, eyes pinned to yours, and for a second—just a second—you swear something is about to happen. something irreversible.

his gaze drops to your lips and your breath catches.

you don't move and jake—jake looks like he's seconds away from doing something he's been holding back for years.

"jake..." you whisper.

his fingers press a little deeper into your skin. "yeah?"

you open your mouth—

RIIIING RIIIING RIIIING.

you both jump.

your phone lights up between you two, vibrating violently against the mattress like it's possessed. the moment snaps in half. the tension dissolves like it never existed.

jake curses under his breath and jerks his hand away from your waist like he touched a hot stove.

you sit up way too fast, hair messy, face flushed, pretending you weren't about to let your best friend climb into your bloodstream.

"oh—uh—my mom's calling," you blurt, even though you haven't even looked at the caller ID.

jake scoots back immediately, expression neutral but ears bright pink. "yeah. yeah, answer it."

you grab your phone, awkwardly clearing your throat. "h-hello?"

jake stands from the bed like it's on fire. he runs a hand through his hair, pacing a little, avoiding eye contact like the plague.

you talk to... whoever... on the phone, but you're barely listening. your mind is spinning.

did that just happen?

no. no, it couldn't have. it was jake. your jake. clingy, touchy, overly affectionate jake who once held your hand for thirty minutes because you saw a spider and screamed.

this is normal. he's always like this.

he wasn't gonna kiss you. that's crazy.

meanwhile jake stops pacing just long enough to glance at you—your flushed cheeks, your dazed eyes, the way you're tugging nervously at your shirt.

his jaw clenches, he looks away again. when you hang up the phone, the room is weirdly silent. awkward in a way it's never been.

you try to laugh it off. "okay, wow, that was... dramatic."

jake forces a smile. "your ringtone scared the fuck out of me, not gonna lie."

"same," you giggle. "i thought something exploded." you wait for him to make a joke. tease you, say something flirty and dumb like he always does.

but he just nods. "yeah."

you tilt your head. "jake... are you good?"

he blinks once. twice. then shrugs way too casually. "yeah. why wouldn't i be?"

"you're... acting weird."

"no i'm not."

you squint at him. he avoids your eyes, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie like it suddenly became fascinating.

you shrug, letting it go. "okay, whatever. do you want the rest of my noodles?"

jake finally looks at you—soft, fond, longing. too much. he covers it instantly with a smirk.

"yeah," he says, ruffling your hair like he didn't just have his hand under your shirt two minutes ago. "give them."

you laugh and shove the container into his hands, the moment already fading in your mind.

because that's just jake, he gets weird sometimes. touchy. clingy. possessive. but he's your best friend, so none of it means anything.

right?

jake sits beside you again, shoulder pressed to yours, stealing a bite of your food like nothing happened.

but his hand stays firmly on his thigh now, not daring to slip his hand to rest somewhere on your body.

and you don't notice—but he doesn't look at you again for the rest of the night.

.ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ

you don't even notice when jake closes the distance again.

one second you're scrolling through your phone while waiting for your friends to arrive; the next, jake is suddenly behind you, his chin hooked over your shoulder like he belongs there. his arms wrap around your waist as if it's the most natural thing in the world, sliding under your hoodie and settling warm against your stomach.

"you're early," he murmurs, breath brushing your neck. you squirm slightly at the feeling, your neck feeling tingly.

"and you're clingy," you laugh, leaning back into him without thinking. "as always."

jake smiles into your shoulder—except it's tight, a little strained. because across the room, one of your friends is watching with raised brows, mouthing see? he's so into you.

you roll your eyes at her, whispering, "no he's not, he's just touchy."

jake's arms tighten around you immediately, like he heard even though you were whispering. which he probably did—he always seems to hear when it involves him.

"what're you talking about?" he asks casually, playing innocent as he nuzzles your neck, his lips brushing your skin way too much to be "friendly."

"nothing," you wave off, patting his forearm. "they think you like me or something."

jake freezes for half a second—barely noticeable —before smoothing his expression again.

"crazy assumption," he hums, though his thumb is rubbing slow circles into your hip, his chest pressed flush to your back like he's trying to merge into you. "i just like being close to you. that's all."

your friend across the room gives you a look. jake, still pretending not to notice, tightens his hold again.

and then it gets worse—or better, depending on perspective.

you move to the couch, and he moves with you; you sit down, and he pulls you onto his lap like it's routine. he doesn't even give you time to think, just a gentle tug at your waist and suddenly your thigh is slotted between his, his hand splayed over your leg protectively.

"jake," you whisper, half-laughing, half-confused, "i can sit next to you, you know."

"yeah," he shrugs, resting his chin on your shoulder again, "but why would you do that?"

your friends stare. one of them raises their brows so high they practically touch their hairline. you wave them off, whispering, "he's always like this, don't even start—"

"always like what?" jake asks, his breath warm on your ear. you jump—he heard that? you said it so quietly...

"clingy," you say, poking his forehead. "you know. you're a koala. it's your whole thing."

jake's hand on your thigh slides just a little higher. "only with you," he says simply.

you blink and the room goes quiet for a moment. your heart skips—not because you think he means anything by it, but because you're flustered.

"you mean... because we're close," you correct yourself out loud, nodding firmly, like you're reassuring yourself more than him.

"mm," jake hums noncommittally, but the hand on your thigh squeezes gently, possessively, like he's claiming the entire limb.

the conversation in the room starts up again, but jake doesn't let you move an inch. he's touching you everywhere—knee, thigh, waist, hip, shoulder. every time someone talks to you, his hand finds a new place to rest. at one point he tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering against your jaw a little too long.

you don't question it but everyone else does. finally, one of your friends cracks. "okay, i'm sorry, but jake, babe? you're acting like she's your girlfriend."

your breath catches—but not as much as jake's does. he smiles—slow, lazy, almost smug—and tightens his arm around your waist.

"am i?" he asks lightly, but his eyes are sharp. "hm. didn't notice."

your friend snorts. "oh, please. you're practically—"

"he's just like this," you cut in quickly, panicked embarrassment hitting you all at once. you swat at jake's chest. "tell them. you've always been touchy."

he looks at you, really looks at you, something soft and frustrated dripping underneath it.

"yeah," he finally says, voice dropping lower, more intimate, "i guess i have."

you grin, relieved. "see? nothing new."

your friend gives you a 'you cannot be serious stare'. jake presses a slow kiss to your shoulder— not fully a kiss, more like the ghost of one and whispers, "nothing new."

but the way he says it...it's a confession you don't hear. because that's jake, your jake. clingy, chaotic, glued to your side.

totally harmless.

right?

he hopes you figure it out. he hopes you catch on. he hopes you feel any of this. he was basically slamming his undying love for you in your face.

but as you shift in his lap and lean into him without realization, he knows. you don't. not yet.

and jake? jake's coming undone faster by the minute.

you don't even realize how long you've been sitting in jake's lap until your leg starts to fall asleep. you shift a little, trying to wiggle out of the pins-and-needles feeling in your thigh, but jake's hands tighten instantly, fingers digging into your hip like he's anchoring you in place.

"hey—" you laugh, elbowing him lightly. "i gotta move, my leg's numb."

"then move," he says, chin still on your shoulder. "i didn't say you could get up."

you snort, assuming he's joking—because jake jokes, that's what he does—but when you try to get off his lap, he doesn't budge. he actually pulls you back, one hand sliding up your waist, the other locking around your thigh, guiding you back down firmly until you're flush against him again.

your breath stutters. "jake—"

"where're you going?" he asks softly, almost amused, but there's something else simmering under it—something dark and territorial.

"i just need to stretch," you say, trying to twist out of his hold. jake holds in a groan when he feels you shift over his crotch, eyes shutting briefly before he's trying to think of thoughts that would kill his boner.

boner or not, he doesn't let you get up.

with one swift motion—fast enough you barely process it—he shifts you sideways, turning you so your legs drape over his thigh instead, your side pressed to his chest. the entire movement is so smooth and confident that a little gasp escapes your lips.

you freeze, your friends who've been watching this whole ordeal go down freeze.

jake acts like nothing happened. "better?" he murmurs, one hand casually rubbing your outer thigh, thumb brushing bare skin where your shorts ride up.

you swallow. "y-yeah. sure."

your friend across the room mouths, 'HE PICKED YOU UP?? HELLO??'

you glare at her, mouthing back, 'he didn't PICK me up, he just—' you gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything.

she looks like she's about to scream. jake feels your glare move off him and immediately refocuses you by nudging his nose into your neck. not subtly, not gently but like he's reminding you: look at me.

"you're tense," he says into your skin.

"because you tossed me like i'm a little dog—"

"you are little," he says, deadpan. "and you fit on me. so stop fighting it."

your cheeks burn. "i wasn't fighting—"

"you were," he says quietly. "don't. i want you here."

your brain short-circuits for a second. your friends are staring like they're watching a crime unfold.

you clear your throat and try to steer the attention away. "okay, anyway—has anyone heard from lena? she said she was coming—"

"she texted me," one friend says, but her eyes stay glued to you and jake. "she's—uh—running late."

jake's hand trails up your thigh again. slow. intentional. claiming.

"good," he mutters under his breath.

you assume he means because you're all here longer, hanging out. because jake likes group nights, right? he always shows up. he always sticks close.

"anyway," another friend says loudly, clearly trying to save you, "should we order dessert?"

your phone lights up in your hand at that exact moment.

it's your situationship, the one you like. the one you vented to jake about last week.

your thumb barely lifts before jake's hand closes around your wrist—gently, but firmly enough to shock you.

"who's that?" he asks, eyes trained on your screen.

"oh— it's just—"

"him?" jake interrupts, his jaw tightening and his teeth grinding. if you hadn't been so shocked at his behaviour you would've found this hot, cross that, you still did.

you laugh nervously. "don't start—"

he doesn't let go of your wrist. "what does he want?"

"jake," you whisper warningly, "you're being weird." you looks over at your friends who're trying their hardest to not stare at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"i'm being normal," he says calmly. except he's not. he's staring at the name on your phone like he wants to burn the pixels off the display.

"maybe he got my message," you say, shrugging.

"what message?"

"just— i told him i might be free this weekend. maybe."

jake goes completely still behind you. still like he's holding his breath, still like he's about to break something.

"you're busy this weekend," he says quietly.

you blink. "since when?"

"since... now."

you turn toward him, brows furrowing. "jake. i didn't make plans with you."

he finally meets your eyes—and it's the first time tonight he's fully let the intensity show. all that simmering jealousy he's been swallowing. all those territorial touches he pretended were casual. it's all right there, unfiltered.

"you're not going out with him," he says, voice low. your heart jumps at the tone—serious, possessive, steady.

"jake—"

before you can finish, he grabs your waist again, pulling you tighter against him, one arm banding across your middle like he's shielding you from someone only he can see.

"he doesn't want you," he says. "not really."

you frown. "you don't know that—"

"i do," he snaps, then softens his tone when you flinch. "i do," he repeats, quieter. "i know men. i know what that look means when he talks to you. i know what he's in it for."

you blink, confused. "...what?"

he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he whispers: "he wants what's mine."

your breath leaves your lungs. immediately, you laugh because it's jake—your jake—and he says dumb things all the time.

"oh my god, you're so dramatic—"

but the room is silent, your friends have turned to stone and jake? jake is staring at you like he didn't mean to say it out loud.

like the truth slipped. like he wants it back, but can't.

he swallows hard. "jake," you whisper, suddenly flustered. "you're... you're joking, right?"

he opens his mouth—you won't know what he would've said because suddenly someone knocks on the front door. loudly.

everyone jumps. the spell breaks. jake's hand loosens on your waist. your phone buzzes again.

and you exhale, convincing yourself: he didn't mean it. jake always says intense stuff. he's just clingy. that's his personality.

right?

meanwhile jake sits behind you, jaw locked, chest rising and falling too fast, fingers flexing like he's resisting the urge to pull you back into him.

this is unraveling faster than he planned and you still don't see it.

.ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ

you don't realize it, but you've created a monster.

ever since that night in his lap—the one where he said too much and almost let everything slip—jake has stopped pretending he's subtle.

he's touchy. clingy. bolder than before. not hiding it anymore.

he wants you to notice. he needs you to notice.

but you don't. and every day, without meaning to, you throw gasoline on the fire.

it starts when you get ready for a party.

your dress won't zip, so you call for him—because of course you do.

"jakey? can you come here?"

he nearly punches the wall. that nickname has turned into his personal trigger. he walks into your room and stops dead.

you're standing in front of your full-length mirror, dress half-open, back bare, hair pinned up. you look over your shoulder and smile like you didn't just stab him in the chest with a look.

"help?" you ask sweetly. he should turn around. take a breath. be normal.

he doesn't.

he walks behind you, slow, deliberate, hands coming to rest on your waist before he even touches the zipper.

you tense—just barely—but don't pull away.

you never do. his fingertips drag lightly up your spine as he takes the zipper between two fingers, pulling it up inch by torturous inch.

your breath shivers. he notices.

he leans in, not even pretending anymore, and murmurs, "you should really ask someone who can handle this."

you blink at him in the mirror. "huh?"

"nothing," he says, zipping the last inch with a soft tug. "turn around."

you do, confused—and jake's eyes slowly drag down your body with zero shame. "you look good," he says, voice low, warm. "too good."

you laugh, flustered. "it's just a dress."

he steps closer, his tongue jutting out of his mouth to swipe over his lips. "you have no idea how you look."

you should catch it. the tone, the stare, the tension.

but you don't. you just pat his chest and grab your shoes and he swallows the frustrated groan he wants to let out.

later, at the pregame, the living room is crowded —which is your excuse.

"jake, there's no space," you say, scanning the couch. he shakes his head. "come here."

"where?"

he stares at you like it's obvious.

"here," he says, patting his thigh. you watch his thigh flex under his blue jeans, your eyes widening when he spreads his legs wider—inviting you.

your brain short-circuits for a moment—because he's never this blatant—but you go anyway, dropping onto his lap without thinking.

jake inhales sharply. then his hands are on your waist. holding you in place. possessive. claiming.

"good girl," he mutters under his breath.

you don't hear it—but your friend next to you almost chokes. you shift, adjusting your weight—and he grips your hips tighter, fingers digging in.

jake feels as if god was torturing him, your ass was directly over his crotch and your wriggling was killing him.

"stop moving," he murmurs into your shoulder. "you're driving me insane."

you laugh lightly. "sorry, your pants are slippery—"

"they're not," he says flatly. you shrug. "well, i'm sliding."

"you're staying," he corrects.

your cheeks warm. "you could've sat next to me, you know."

"why would i," he asks softly, lips brushing your ear, "when i can have you right here?"

you freeze and your friend mouths silently, 'HELLO????'

you pretend you didn't hear him but he knows you did.

the next morning, his patience finally snaps.

you walk into his kitchen wearing one of his hoodies—the one that barely covers anything—and nothing else.

he turns from the fridge and chokes.

"morning," you say, stretching your arms above your head. the hoodie lifts, your thighs show and jake actually sees black for a second.

"you—" he clears his throat. "you're not wearing shorts?"

you look down like you're shocked. "it's long enough."

"no," he says immediately. "absolutely not."

you roll your eyes and steal the jar he's holding. "open this."

he stares at you. at your bare legs. at your smile.

"say please."

you blink. "...jake."

"say it," he repeats, stepping closer. "please."

you groan. "open it, jakey."

the lid pops off with a violent twist. you laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "thanks."

his eyes close for a moment—because if he looks at you, he might lose control. "you can't walk around like this," he says, voice tight.

"like what?"

"like you're mine."

you freeze. "huh?"

he straightens instantly. "eat your breakfast."

you shrug it off, confused and jake watches you walk away, hoodie swaying, thighs soft and bare and his hoodie swallowing you whole. he almost slams his head into the counter.

.ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ

you're halfway through the movie when it happens—that slow, sleepy slump you always do, the one jake pretends he doesn't wait for every single week.

your head drops against his shoulder first. then his chest. then, like it's the most natural thing in the world, you curl into him, knees tucked up, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt.

and jake... jake stops breathing. because you're not even awake, and you're already ruining him.

his arm is draped around you—like it always is—pulling you against him so snugly it's almost indecent. but tonight is worse. tonight you're extra clingy, extra tired, extra soft.

"you good?" he whispers, even though you're clearly far gone.

you don't answer, obviously, but your hand fidgets again, fingertips brushing the warm skin of his stomach.

jake silently thanks every god he's ever heard of.

he glances at the screen, trying to focus, but every time you exhale against his chest, it punches air out of his lungs. your cheek is warm through his shirt. your thigh drapes across his lap like it belongs there.

and he lets it. he lets every second of it melt him down into something pathetic.

then—then the real problem starts.

you shift. innocently, mindlessly, stupidly dangerous.

you drag your leg over his, body sliding up slightly as you readjust in your sleep, and suddenly you're straddling his thigh. not fully, but enough that your weight settles on him—soft, warm, perfect.

jake's whole body locks up. his heartbeat goes ballistic.

you murmur something incoherent, nuzzling into his chest deeper, fingers gripping at his shirt like you're holding onto him in your dreams.

he is going to combust. his hands hover uselessly in the air for a full second before he grips your waist—carefully, firmly, but maybe a bit too tight —because if you move again, he is not going to be normal about it.

you're half-asleep, breathing slow and sweet, completely unaware that you're sitting directly on his thigh like you own it.

you shift again. just a tiny roll of your hips— unconscious, searching for comfort—but to jake it's catastrophic.

his jaw clenches so hard it aches. his eyes squeeze shut and his brain turns into static.

he whispers, strangled, "oh, my god... baby, please don't do that—"

you're not awake enough to hear him. or maybe you are, but you're you—which means you're clueless.

your fingers slide higher, brushing his ribs. your lips part against his shirt as you breathe.

jake has never known true fear until now. he's sweating. he's trying not to move. he's praying you don't feel how tense he is, or worse, how much he's struggling to keep himself together because you're on him, touching him, sleeping on him like you're trying to kill him without even trying.

you wiggle again. he chokes on air and that's what wakes you.

you lift your head slowly, eyes hazy and unfocused as you blink at him.

"jakey?" your voice is soft, raspy from sleep. "why're you... so red?"

he stares at you like you've asked why water is wet. you're still sitting on his thigh.

he can feel the heat of you through your little sleep shorts. his hands are still on your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips like he forgot how to let go.

"m'fine," he says, voice not fine at all. "you were just—uh—moving a lot."

you frown, still half-asleep, still oblivious, still sitting exactly where you shouldn't be sitting.

"oh... sorry," you mumble, and instead of getting off him, you lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck in this slow, sleepy hug that absolutely destroys whatever sanity he had left.

your chest presses against him. your lips brush his collarbone. you melt into him like you belong there.

his voice comes out low, tight, dangerous. "you're really trying to kill me tonight, huh?"

you blink. "what? i literally just woke up."

he laughs—breathless, disbelieving, windows-fogging kind of laugh—and slides one hand up your spine, fingers splayed, possessive, like he can't help himself.

"yeah," he murmurs against your ear, "that's the problem."

you shift again, confused, and jake's grip tightens automatically, almost like he's anchoring you, holding you in place, keeping you where he wants you without thinking.

you finally look down and see exactly where you're sitting.

your eyes widen. "oh."

jake groans—actually groans—head falling back against the couch. "yeah. oh."

you scramble to move, but his hands clamp around your waist, not rough, but firm, guiding you back down in one slow, controlled motion that sends shivers through your whole spine.

"don't—" he says quietly, voice wrecked. "don't move so fast. you'll make it worse."

you freeze. he stares at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, chest rising and falling way too quickly.

and then—soft, low, dangerous, "you have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

your breath catches. you're finally—finally—a little aware.

but jake? jake looks like he's one second away from picking you up, putting you exactly where he wants you, and showing you everything you've been too oblivious to see.

you try to move again. you really do—you lift your hips maybe an inch, ready to scramble off his thigh and pretend none of this ever happened.

but jake doesn't let you. his hands—big, warm, shaking just a little—slide from your waist to your hips, and he drags you right back down onto his thigh with a slow, controlled pull that makes your breath stutter.

"jake—" you whisper, shocked.

"no," he breathes out, forehead pressing to yours, eyes dark and wild. "stay."

the way he says it—low, rough, like he's been holding it back for months—freezes you completely. you blink at him, stunned, hands lightly resting on his shoulders.

"i— i didn't mean to—" you start.

"i know you didn't." his fingers tighten around your hips, thumbs digging in as if grounding himself. "that's the problem."

his grip shifts, sliding down the sides of your thighs before pulling you in closer—not indecent, but confident, deliberate, like he's finally done pretending.

you gasp softly at the sudden closeness, at how easily he moves you like you weigh nothing. your hands instinctively grab his shoulders. his hands instinctively stay exactly where they shouldn't.

"jakey—" you breathe.

he groans—shuddering, almost pained. "don't—don't call me that right now," he mutters, voice shaking with restraint.

"why?" your voice is soft. confused. innocent. he stares at you like that's exactly what broke him.

then he grabs your waist—firmly, possessively—and shifts you forward another inch, guiding your body with both hands like he's claiming you without permission, without shame, without fear.

his breath stutters when you end up chest-to-chest with him, thighs tightening around his.

you can feel every muscle in his body lock.

"because," he whispers, almost growling, "you're sitting on me like this, half-asleep and touching me like you always do, and you still... still don't get it."

your heart skips. "...get what?"

that's what finally snaps him. he exhales sharply, almost a laugh, almost a curse, and suddenly you're moving—gently but firmly—because jake has had enough.

his hands slide up your back, gripping under your arms as he shifts positions. in one smooth, practiced, entirely-too-strong motion, he lifts you.

you gasp as your body rises—not far, just enough that you feel light in his hands—and then he sets you back down on his lap, straddling him properly now, chest to chest, no space left between you at all.

your breath leaves your lungs. "j-jake..."

he doesn't let you pull back. one hand stays on your back; the other cups the back of your thigh, holding you in place, thumb rubbing slow circles that feel far too intimate.

his voice drops to a low, broken whisper against your cheek. "i like you."

you freeze. "i've liked you. for months. longer, honestly. more like years."

your lips part in stunned silence. his fingers tighten on your thigh—not rough, but desperate.

"and you keep... doing things. leaning on me, wearing my clothes, calling me jakey, sitting on my lap, stretching in front of me—" he shakes his head like he's spiraling, "—and i swear i've tried so hard to be normal about it."

you open your mouth, but he keeps going—the dam is broken and the truth is pouring out.

"i touch you because i want you. i get possessive because i can't help it. i'm obvious on purpose because i'm hoping—" he swallows, jaw clenching. "—god, i'm hoping you'll finally see it."

you breathe out, barely a whisper. "jake..."

"and tonight?" his thumb presses into your hip. "you don't know what you're doing to me. you never do."

you stare at him—his flushed cheeks, blown pupils, the way his chest heaves like telling you this has shattered him open.

your voice trembles. "why didn't you tell me?"

his grip pulls you closer—impossibly closer—his forehead pressing into your jaw, breath hot on your neck.

"because," he admits, voice barely a whisper, "if you didn't feel the same, i wouldn't survive it."

your hands lift shakily, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

"jake," you whisper, softer than you've ever spoken to him, "i didn't know."

he lets out a breath that sounds half laugh, half agony. "yeah, sweetheart..." his fingers slide up your spine, anchoring you against him, voice low and raw. "i know."

his confession still hangs in the air—hot, heavy, suffocating—and you can barely breathe with how close he is. your legs are still wrapped around him from when he dragged you into his lap, your hands still shaking on his shoulders.

his chest rises and falls against yours, unsteady, like he ripped his heart open and now he's waiting for you to crush it or cradle it.

you swallow hard. "jake... i like you too."

he blinks. slowly. like the words didn't compute at first.

"what?" he breathes.

you nod, nervous but honest. "i've liked you for a while."

everything stops. his hands, which had been warm and steady at your waist, suddenly grip tighter. not painfully—but enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs squeeze around him involuntarily.

his jaw flexes. "how long," he says quietly.

you look down at his chest, trying to avoid eye contact. "...since last year."

jake lets out a sound that doesn't even sound human. you can't tell if it's a laugh or a groan or a curse, but it vibrates through his whole body— and yours.

his grip on your waist tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin like he's seconds away from snapping.

"last year," he repeats, voice dangerously soft.

you nod, bad idea. because the second you do, jake suddenly grabs your hips, lifts you off him for half a second, and then slams you right back into his lap, pulling you flush against him.

you could feel him, his cock molding perfectly against your cunt. you gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance.

"jake—!" his face is inches from yours. too close. way too close.

"you liked me since last year," he says again, like he's trying to rewrite reality, "and you didn't tell me?"

your voice shakes. "i— i didn't know if you liked me back—"

he laughs again, breathless, incredulous, pained.

"sweetheart," he says, squeezing your hips as he drags you even closer, "i've been losing my mind over you."

your heart jumps. "jake—"

he cuts you off by grabbing the back of your neck, guiding your face closer, his forehead pressing hard against yours.

"you wore my hoodies with no pants," he mutters, voice rough. "you'd climb into my lap during movie nights. you'd call me 'jakey' when you wanted something. and you thought it was FRIENDLY?"

your face heats. "i— i thought you were just being you—"

his fingers dig into your thigh. "being me?" he echoes, eyes darkening. "sweetheart, I was obsessed."

your breath catches. he inhales sharply, like he's trying to keep control—and losing.

"you let me touch you," he says, hands sliding up your sides, over your ribs, gripping, groping, exploring. "you let me hold you. you let me spoil you. and I thought—" he breaks off, shaking his head, "I thought any minute you'd pull away and tell me I was crossing a line."

you stare at him, breathless. "...i liked it."

his eyes snap to yours—sharp, hungry, disbelieving.

"say that again."

"i liked it," you whisper.

that's when he snaps. your back hits the couch cushions before you process what's happening— not rough, but fast, controlled, like he's been restraining himself too long.

he cages you in with his arms on either side of your head, body pressed firmly against yours. your legs instinctively wrap around him again and he lets out an unsteady breath at the movement.

his hands slip under your thighs, lifting, adjusting, pulling you exactly where he wants you.

you gasp, mind fogging instantly. "j— jake—"

"no," he says, breathing heavily, "you don't get to look at me like that and say you liked it."

his fingers slide up your waist again, slower this time, tracing the shape of you like he's memorizing it. exploring. claiming.

"you made me crazy," he whispers against your cheek. "every day. every little thing you did. and you knew."

your eyes widen. "i didn't know—" he grabs your chin, turning your face to his.

"you knew enough," he growls softly. "you knew how you affected me. you just didn't want to admit it."

your breath trembles. his hand slides down, gripping your hip, dragging you closer until your chest is flush with his, until your thighs squeeze around him again without you meaning to.

his voice is low, ragged. "you liked me," he murmurs, "and you kept it a secret. you let me suffer over you."

his fingers trail dangerously slow up your side, over your ribcage, to the underside of your arm— not touching anywhere explicit, but enough to make your whole body arch into him.

"jake... i'm sorry," you breathe, barely able to think.

"don't apologize," he says, eyes locked on yours. "just—don't lie anymore."

"I like you," you whisper. "i've always liked you."

something in him breaks open. he exhales shakily, hands sliding down your waist, gripping harder, pulling you tight against him like he's afraid you'll disappear if he loosens his hold.

"good," he whispers, voice trembling with relief and hunger.

"because now," he murmurs, leaning down, lips brushing your jaw without quite touching it, "i'm done holding back."

his hands slide lower—firm, bold, claiming— guiding your body exactly where he wants you.

your breath hitches and your mind goes blank.

his mouth crashes down on yours before you can even breathe.

it's not gentle. it's not sweet. it's filthy—all hungry, open-mouthed kisses that taste like desperation and salt and him. he sucks on your bottom lip, hard, before biting down just enough to make you gasp, and then his tongue is in your mouth, claiming you, owning you, consuming you. you can taste the mint of his toothpaste and the heat of his want.

he sucks on your tongue, drawing it into his mouth, and you moan, the sound vibrating through both of you. his hands are everywhere—one tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to arch your neck back, the other sliding down your side, gripping your waist so hard you know you'll feel the shape of his fingers tomorrow.

"mine," he growls against your lips, breaking the kiss only to dive back in, sloppier, wetter. "all fucking mine. you understand? you're not texting anyone else. you're not looking at anyone else."

"jake—" you pant.

"say it," he demands, biting at your jaw, then sucking a harsh, wet kiss into the skin right below your ear. you feel the sharp pull of his mouth, the promise of a mark.

"yours," you gasp, and he groans, the sound wrecked and satisfied.

"fuck yeah, you are."

his hand leaves your hair and slides down, two fingers pressing against your lips. "open."

you do, without thought, and he pushes his fingers into your mouth. you suck instinctively, your tongue swirling around them, and his eyes go black with lust.

"look at you," he breathes, watching you. "taking me so good. always so good for me." he pulls his wet fingers out with a soft pop and uses that same hand to yank your shirt up and over your head in one rough motion.

your bra is next—he doesn't bother with the clasp, just hooks his fingers under the front and pulls it down, baring you to him completely.

the cool air hits your skin for half a second before his mouth is on you, hot and voracious. he licks a broad stripe over your nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth, his tongue flicking relentlessly. his other hand kneads your other breast, thumb rubbing over the peaked nipple.

"so perfect," he mumbles against your skin, his voice muffled. "fuck, i've wanted to do this forever." he bites down gently on the peak, then soothes it with his tongue, before moving to the other side, giving it the same rough, worshipful treatment. he's leaving dark, possessive marks all over your chest—hickeys blooming like violets, the faint imprint of his teeth.

you're writhing under him, your hips rolling up, searching for friction. he grinds his own hips down against yours, the hard ridge of his denim-clad erection pressing right where you need it, and you cry out.

"jake, please—"

"please what, sweetheart?" he lifts his head, his lips swollen, his chin wet. he looks destroyed, beautiful. "tell me what you want."

"you," you whimper. "just you."

his grip on your waist tightens, surely hard enough to bruise. "you've got me. you've always had me." he leans down again, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. you can taste your own skin on his lips. one of his hands slides down, over the curve of your stomach, fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "gonna mark you up everywhere," he promises between bites at your lips. "gonna make sure you feel me for days. every time you move, you'll remember who you belong to."

his fingers dip lower, and you arch off the couch, a broken sound tearing from your throat as his fingers slip under your waistband. you're so ready for him, so desperate, you think this is it—but he doesn't go where you want. instead, his hands slide down to the hem of your shorts, gripping the fabric with a possessiveness that steals your breath.

"these," he says, voice gravelly, "are in the way."

in one rough motion, he yanks your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving you bare beneath him. the cool air kisses your skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looks at you. his dark eyes rake over you, from your heaving, marked chest down to the apex of your thighs, and he lets out a low, approving groan.

"fuck, look at you," he murmurs, his hands sliding back up to grip your hips. "all mine. finally."

he doesn't kiss you again. instead, he pushes your thighs apart, his gaze locked on the wetness he finds there. a slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips.

"you're dripping for me, sweetheart. after all this time... you're gonna make up for every second i spent thinking you didn't want me."

before you can answer, he drops his head between your legs.

the first lick is a broad, slow stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you jolt, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. it's sloppy and messy immediately—he doesn't bother with finesse, just eats you out like he's starving, like he's claiming this part of you too. his tongue fucks into you, deep and wet, and then swirls around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth.

you arch off the couch, your hands flying to his hair, gripping the tousled strands. "jake—oh, god—"

he hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl. he's relentless, licking and sucking, his stubble scratching the tender skin of your inner thighs. you're already so close, teetering on the edge, and he knows it. he pulls back just as you're about to cum.

"no," you whine, tugging at his hair. "don't stop, please—"

he lifts his head, his chin glistening with your arousal. his eyes are dark, a flicker of that old frustration in them. "you kept this from me," he says, his voice rough. "all that time. you let me think i was just your friend while you squirmed in my lap. you think that's cute?"

before you can answer, his hand comes down—not hard, but sharp—right on your cunt.

the slap stings, a bright, shocking pain that melts instantly into a wave of pleasure. your whole body clenches, your hole fluttering around nothing, and a choked sob escapes you.

jake watches, fascinated. "look at that," he breathes, using his pointer and middle finger to spread you open to his eyes. "look how pretty you clench for me. all pink and needy."

he does it again, his palm landing firmly on your swollen flesh. the sound is obscene in the quiet room. your skin flushes a deeper shade of pink, and he groans, leaning down to lick over the spot he just spanked. "so fucking pretty. wanna see this color everywhere on you."

he moves before you can process it. one hand pins your hip to the couch as he leans up, his other hand coming down in a sharp, stinging slap on your breast.

you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure making your head spin. he does it again to the other, watching the skin bloom red under his palm before he ducks his head to suck the tender peak into his mouth, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"jake," you plead, writhing, "please, i need—"

"i know what you need," he interrupts, his voice a low growl. he manhandles you, turning you onto your stomach with a strength that leaves you breathless.

he lands three sharp, successive spanks on your ass, each one making you jerk and moan into the cushion. the heat spreads through you, pooling low in your belly. he kneads the warmed skin, his fingers digging in. "gonna be sore tomorrow," he murmurs, almost to himself. "gonna remember my hands every time you sit down."

he flips you back over, his body caging you in again. his eyes are wild, hungry. he leans close, his breath fanning over your face. "you're mine," he whispers, and then his hand comes up—not to hit, but to cradle your jaw. his thumb brushes your cheekbone. "all of you."

then he slaps your face.

it's not brutal, but it's firm, a sharp, claiming sting that leaves your skin tingling. your eyes water, and you stare up at him, stunned, incredibly turned on.

he circles your clit with two fingers, his touch suddenly teasing, infuriatingly light. "this is mine," he says, watching your face. "this pretty cunt that drips for me. this smart mouth that lied to me for a year." he pushes a finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, and you whimper, trying to buck your hips to take more. he holds you down. "you don't get to decide the pace anymore, sweetheart. i do."

he adds a second finger, curling them deep, and your back bows off the couch. "there it is," he croons, scissoring them slightly, stretching you. "that tight little hole that's been waiting for me. you gonna come on my fingers? gonna make a mess for me?"

"yes—jake, please—" you're babbling, lost in the sensation of his fingers pistoning inside you, his thumb now pressing rough circles on your clit.

"say it," he demands, his own breath coming in ragged pants. he's still fully dressed, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare thighs, and the contrast is maddening. "say who you belong to."

"you!" you sob. "i belong to you, jake, only you—"

"fuck yeah, you do." he kisses you, hard and sloppy, biting at your already swollen lips. his fingers speed up, driving into you with a punishing rhythm. "gonna make you come so hard you see stars. then i'm gonna do it again. gonna ruin you for anyone else."

the coiling tension in your gut snaps. pleasure detonates, white-hot and all-consuming, radiating out from your core. you scream into his mouth as you clench around his fingers, a hot rush of wetness soaking his hand and the couch beneath you. your hips jerk uncontrollably, and he fucks you through it, his fingers relentless, drawing out the spasms until you're trembling and oversensitive.

he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the way you twitch at the loss. he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a dark, satisfied hum. "sweet," he murmurs. "and all mine." he grinds his hips down, letting you feel the massive, hard length of him straining against his jeans. "but we're just getting started, baby. you think i'm done with you?"

he groans at the look on your face, his hips grinding down against you one more time, the rough denim a cruel tease. "just getting started," he repeats, a dark promise in his eyes.

then he's moving, pushing himself up off you, kneeling on the couch between your spread legs. his hands go to the hem of his own shirt, and he yanks it over his head in one violent motion, revealing the muscular, taut plane of his chest and stomach. you reach for him, eager to touch, to feel all that heat under your palms.

he catches your wrists before you make contact, his grip like iron.

"no," he says, voice low and final. he smacks your hands away, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "you don't get to touch. not yet. not after what you've done."

"what i've done?" you breathe, confused, aching for him.

"you made me wait," he snarls, leaning over you, his dark eyes blazing. "you made me think i was crazy. you sat in my lap and wore my clothes and looked at me with those fucking eyes and said it was nothing. so now?" he unbuckles his belt with a harsh, metallic rasp, pulling it free from the loops. "now you learn."

he grabs your wrists again, pulling them up above your head. you don't fight him. you're mesmerized by the intensity on his face, the raw possession.

he wraps the leather belt around both your wrists, cinching it tight, buckling it with a definitive click. the restraint is firm, not painful, but inescapable. you're pinned.

he sits back, straddling your hips, and just looks at you. his gaze is a physical caress, hot and heavy. it travels over your bound wrists, down your marked chest, to where you're bare and wet for him. but it lingers on your face.

specifically, on the faint, warm sting on your cheek where his palm connected earlier.

a slow, wicked smile curls his lips. "look at that," he murmurs, almost to himself. his thumb comes up, brushing over the tender skin. you flinch, and his smile widens. "so fucking pretty. my mark on your face. my color on your skin." he leans down, his lips ghosting over the spot. "gonna keep it there. remind you."

then he shifts back, moving up your body until he's straddling your chest, his knees pinning your arms by your head. his erection strains against the fly of his jeans, a thick, daunting outline just inches from your face.

"look at what you did to me," he grits out, popping the button, dragging the zipper down. he frees himself, and your breath hitches. he's thick, velvety and flushed, already leaking at the tip. he fists his length, giving himself a slow, rough stroke. "all this time. hard for you. aching for you. and you played dumb."

he leans forward, bracing one hand by your head, the other pumping his cock slowly, deliberately. the swollen head nudges against your lips. "you wanna taste it, baby? wanna taste what you've been driving crazy?"

you nod, desperate, your tongue darting out to catch the bead of precum.

he smacks your cheek with the hot, heavy weight of his cock—a sharp, degrading tap that makes you whimper. "i didn't say you could." he rubs the slick head over your lips, painting them with his salt. "you beg for it."

"please," you whisper, straining against the belt. "please, jake, let me taste it."

"not good enough." he strokes himself faster, his hips beginning to piston slightly. the tip prods at the corner of your mouth. "tell me why you want it."

"because it's yours," you sob, the humiliation and need mixing into a potent fuel. "because i need it. i need your cum, please, i need to taste you—"

"on your face or in your mouth?" he demands, his rhythm becoming erratic.

"my face," you beg, the filth of the words thrilling you. "mark my face, please, jake—"

that does it. a guttural groan tears from his throat. his hand moves punishingly fast on himself. "open your eyes. look at me. watch me ruin you."

you force your eyes open, locked on his wild, dark gaze as he tips over the edge. hot stripes of cum land across your cheek, your lips, your chin. it's thick, copious, and the scent of him—musky and uniquely jake—fills the air. he rides out his orgasm, shuddering, his release painting you as his.

he collapses forward for a second, breathing heavily, before pushing himself up. he looks at his work—your face glazed, marked, utterly claimed—and a look of profound, possessive satisfaction settles on his features.

"fuck," he breathes. "perfect."

then he's moving again, unbuckling the belt from your wrists with quick, efficient tugs. before you can even rub the feeling back into them, he's flipping you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up, pushing your knees apart. his hands are rough on your sore ass, kneading the flesh he'd spanked earlier.

you feel the blunt, wet head of his cock nudge against your entrance, slick with his cum and your own arousal.

"you want this?" he grinds the tip against you, not pushing in. "this fat cock you made so desperate? you wanna feel it split you open?"

"yes! god, jake, please, fuck me—"

"beg harder."

you're crying now, tears mixing with the mess on your face. "please, i need it, i need you to fuck me, please, i can't wait anymore, please—"

he drives into you in one brutal, sheathing thrust.

you scream, the stretch overwhelming, the fullness divine. he doesn't give you a second to adjust. he sets a punishing pace immediately, each snap of his hips slamming you forward into the cushions. his hands grip your waist, surely leaving bruises, holding you in place for his use.

"tight," he grunts, his voice strained. "so fucking tight and wet for me. this cunt was made for me. say it."

"it was—ah!—made for you, only for you—"

"gonna cum in this greedy hole," he promises, his thrusts becoming deeper, more focused. "gonna fill you up so deep you taste me for days. you want that? want me to breed this pretty pussy?"

the crude words send you spiraling. "yes! yes, i want it, fill me up, please, jake, i'm gonna cum—"

"come then," he snarls, one hand snaking around to rub rough circles on your clit. "cum on my cock. squeeze me while i pump you full."

the dual sensation breaks you. you shatter around him, clenching rhythmically on his length, a broken stream of pleas and sobs falling from your lips. he fucks you through it, his own groans getting louder, more ragged.

"gonna cum," he warns, his hips stuttering. "gonna mark you inside. take it. take it."

with a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and lets go. you feel the hot, pulsing rush of him flooding your core, claim upon claim. he holds himself there, shuddering, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades as he empties himself into you.

for a long moment, there's only the sound of heavy breathing.

slowly, he pulls out. you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness, the slick drip of him and you onto the couch.

he turns you onto your back again, his eyes immediately dropping between your legs. he watches, fascinated, as a thick trickle of his cum leaks out of you.

"look at that," he murmurs, voice husky with satisfaction. he pushes two fingers back inside you, easily, scooping the escaping fluid. he pushes it back in, stuffing you with his fingers, keeping his claim sealed inside. "keeping it in you. where it belongs."

everything slows down.

the room is quiet except for the sound of breathing—his, yours—still uneven, still catching. the adrenaline drains out of your body in waves, leaving you warm and shaky and strangely floaty.

jake is the first to move. not rushed. not rough anymore.

his hands, which were gripping you like he was afraid you'd disappear, loosen. they slide up your sides slowly, almost reverently, like he's checking that you're real. that you're okay.

"hey," he murmurs, voice hoarse but gentle now. "look at me."

you do. his eyes are softer than you've ever seen them—still dark, still intense, but no longer sharp around the edges. there's something almost fragile there, like everything he's been holding in just cracked open.

he brushes his thumb under your eye, catching a tear you didn't realize slipped out.

"did i—" he stops himself, jaw tightening. "...you good?"

you nod, still catching your breath. "yeah. i'm good."

he exhales, long and shaky, like he's been holding it in since the moment he confessed.

"okay," he says quietly. "okay."

he shifts closer, pulling you against his chest. this time it's careful—an arm wrapped around your back, the other cradling your head, tucking you into him like he's afraid to squeeze too hard.

you melt into it instantly. your cheek presses to his collarbone. his heartbeat is loud and steady under your ear.

for a moment, neither of you says anything. it's not awkward. it's heavy. charged. real.

"i didn't mean to scare you," he says eventually, barely above a whisper.

you lift your head. "you didn't."

his brows knit together. "i was... angry. not at you exactly. just—" he huffs a quiet laugh, embarrassed now that the heat's gone. "at myself. for wanting you that bad and thinking i was insane."

you trace a slow line over his shoulder with your finger. "i should've said something."

he shakes his head. "we both should've."

his thumb rubs slow circles into your arm— grounding, soothing.

"i just didn't think you'd ever see me like that," he admits. "i figured if i pushed too hard, you'd pull away. so i stayed... half-in. miserable."

you're quiet for a beat, then softer, "i was scared too."

he looks down at you. "of me?"

"of losing you," you correct.

that does something to him. his grip tightens just a little, like instinct. "you're not losing me."

you search his face. "promise?"

he doesn't hesitate. "promise."

another quiet moment passes. then, tentative, "so... what does this mean now?"

you smile faintly. "i was wondering the same thing."

he tilts his head, considering, then says, very plainly, "it means i don't pretend anymore."

your stomach flips. "means i get to be honest when i'm jealous. when i want you. when i don't want anyone else near you." he pauses, watching your reaction. "only if you want that."

you don't even think about it. "i do."

his lips twitch—not smug, not cocky—relieved.

"okay," he murmurs. "then it means you're mine."

you raise a brow. "possessive much?" he smirks, but there's warmth behind it now. "you already knew that."

you laugh softly and tuck yourself back into him.

his chin rests on top of your head. one hand stays at your back, steady and protective, like it's exactly where it belongs.

"i'll be better," he says quietly. "gentler. when you need it."

you hum, blushing softly. "i don't mind when you're not."

he snorts, remembering your moans and pleas for more. "yeah. i figured."

silence settles again—comfortable this time.

outside, the night feels different. not tense anymore, just open. and for the first time, jake’s not wondering what you feel.

he already knows.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

kkinou

genuinly loved this my god 🥹💗

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