Jake is caught hiding on the wrong ship.
Captain Chris Turpin offers him a bargain instead of the sea: stay aboard and work, or take his chances with the tide. Jake takes the bargain. He tells himself it’s only until the next port, only until he can disappear again.
But somewhere between storms, long nights at sea, and the captain who watches him a little too closely, Jake begins to realize freedom might not mean leaving at all.
And if the day ever comes when Chris tells him to go free...
Jake isn’t sure he’ll want to.
WARNINGS: Eventual Smut, Angst, Magic, Copious Pining, Drama, Slow Burn, Gore/Blood, Major Character Death
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!
Author's Note: This will also be a very long fic and updates will not happen often. College student, blah blah blah. This fic will make you cry. I am sorry in advance.
Cover art created by the lovely and very talented @no-other-mashter !!!!
Jake is caught hiding on the wrong ship.
Captain Chris Turpin offers him a bargain instead of the sea: stay aboard and work, or take his chances with the tide. Jake takes the bargain. He tells himself it’s only until the next port, only until he can disappear again.
But somewhere between storms, long nights at sea, and the captain who watches him a little too closely, Jake begins to realize freedom might not mean leaving at all.
And if the day ever comes when Chris tells him to go free...
Jake isn’t sure he’ll want to.
WARNINGS: Eventual Smut, Angst, Magic, Copious Pining, Drama, Slow Burn, Gore/Blood, Major Character Death
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!
Author's Note: This will also be a very long fic and updates will not happen often. College student, blah blah blah. This fic will make you cry. I am sorry in advance.
Cover art created by the lovely and very talented @no-other-mashter !!!!
Hi folks. I unfortunately need to move out of my family's home within the next few months. I just lost my job due to them not having enough hours for everyone. I'm between jobs, so I'm opening commissions.
Below are some examples of my work. Thank you all!
2D and the daughter they didn't know they had. Paula was never too keen on Wren finding out who daddy dearest was, but brown hair dye only covers up that iconic blue for so long.
2D doesn't thing Wren interacting with Murdoc is a good idea at all. (Spoiler alert: it's not.)
You had been a huge fan of Greta Van Fleet for years, if you were being honest. Hours upon hours of listening to their music and dreaming of getting to see them live. And when it finally happened, it was even better than you had imagined. Especially when, after the show, you bumped into the drummer while trying (and failing) to find your car in the parking lot.
"Hey, you lost?" You heard someone say.
Turning around, you were shocked to be met with Danny, the drummer of the band. He had his usual 10,000 watt smile, though his eyes seemed oddly illuminated under the light of the streetlamps and the moon.
"You- um, Hi! You're, uh, Danny!" You sputter.
"That’s my name," he chuckles, the sound a warm, raspy rumble that seems to vibrate in your chest. He takes a step closer, and you catch the scent of him- something like sandalwood and ozone, the smell of a summer storm right before it breaks. "You need help looking for something?"
You blink, your brain struggling to process that *Danny Wagner* is standing three feet away from you, looking at you like you’re the only other person in the parking lot. "I-yeah, I guess. I can't find my car. I think I parked near a fence... or maybe a tree? It's dark."
“These parking lots will do that to you," he says sympathetically. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tilting his head. "I can help you look if you’d like?”
"Really? You’d do that?" You ask, trying to keep your voice from cracking. The idea of wandering the dark lot with Danny Wagner is both a dream come true and slightly terrifying, though you can't quite put your finger on why your heart is hammering against your ribs like this.
"Of course," he says, falling into step beside you. He’s taller than he looks on stage, his frame casting a long shadow under the amber glow of the streetlights. "Besides, it's safer in pairs. Never know what kind of trouble is lurking around this late at night."
"Well, it's definitely this way," you say, pointing vaguely toward a row of dimly parked sedans, though your confidence is thin. You start walking, and he matches your pace easily, his long legs eating up the distance.
"Good thing I have a built-in compass, then," Danny teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. It’s a playful gesture, but the impact feels heavier than it should, solid and warm through the fabric of your jacket. "Or at least, a very good sense of direction."
You laugh, trying to play it cool. "Is that a Danny talent?"
"Yeah, it’s a Danny talent," he says, his voice then dropping an octave, "I'm usually good at finding whatever it is I want."
The air between you seems to thicken, charged with that static electricity of a coming storm you sensed earlier. He turns his head to look at you, and the streetlamp catches his expression full on. He grins again, wide and unguarded, and you notice it immediately- his canines.
They’re sharp points of white that glint dangerously in the yellow light, far more pointed and predatory than any human teeth you’ve ever seen. For a second, your brain stutters, trying to rationalize the anomaly. Veneers? Caps? A stage prop he forgot to take out?
He snapped his mouth shut, the playful glimmer in his eyes dimming just a fraction, replaced by a flicker of something that looked like self-consciousness.
"You're staring," he observed, his voice lighter now, though a thread of tension ran underneath it. He shot you a sidelong glance, the amber hue of his irises seeming to catch the streetlamp glow and hold it. "Do I have something in my teeth? Or are you just admiring the view?"
Your face heated up, but before you could stammer out a lie about dental work or fangs, you jumbled out some words. "Sorry, you're scary." you stammer out, unsure why you said that.
He just grins. "Scary? I promise I'm not..." He trails off, stepping closer, and you realize he’s sniffing the air slightly, just a subtle twitch of his nose. "But I know I can be... intense."
You swallow hard, your back bumping gently against the side mirror of a car you hadn't realized you were so close to. "Intense is one word for it," you manage to squeak out, your eyes drawn inexorably back to his mouth. He parts his lips slightly to speak, and the light catches the edge of a tooth that is definitely, undeniably pointed. "Are those... veneers?"
Danny lets out a short, surprised huff of laughter, but it doesn't quite reach those swirling, amber eyes. He leans one hand against the car beside you, boxing you in. The scent of ozone and sandalwood washes over you, stronger now, making your head spin. "Not exactly, no," he murmurs evasively.
You’re trapped between the cold metal of the car and the overwhelming heat radiating off him. "They make you look like you could bite someone's head off."
He laughs again, a low, dark sound that seems to vibrate through the car and into your spine. He dips his head closer, the curls of his black hair falling forward to frame his face.
"I do bite," he whispers, the playful tone undercut by a roughness that makes the hair on your arms stand up. "But I don't usually bite heads off. Too messy."
Your breath hitches. You know you should push him away, or laugh, or do something normal, but you can't look away from his eyes. Up close, they aren't just hazel anymore; they are burning, swirling pits of molten amber, the pupils dilated into wide, dark pools that swallow the light.
The scrape of his teeth against your skin is electric, a sharp, stinging pressure that sends a jolt all the way down to your toes. You don’t pull away; instead, your head tilts back of its own accord, a silent invitation that he accepts without hesitation. His lips are warm against the pulse point in your throat, and when the nip comes, harder this time, enough to mark, a gasp gets caught in your throat.
Instantly, his tongue follows the sting, a slow, soothing drag over the sensitive skin that feels far more intimate than it has any right to be. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, his chest heaving slightly. Under the harsh wash of the parking lot lights, his eyes are entirely engulfed by that deep, burning amber, the pupils blown so wide that the color looks like a ring of fire around a black void.
The air feels too thin, suddenly. You reach up with trembling fingers to touch your neck, feeling the damp warmth of his spit and the dull throb of the mark. Your brain is screaming that this is impossible, that this isn't how meeting a rock star goes, and your instincts are telling you that you are standing in the presence of a predator who is choosing not to eat you.
"What are you?" The whisper scrapes against your vocal cords, barely audible, but you know he hears it. The way the air shifts around him, the way his head tilts with predatory precision, he catches everything.
Danny lets out a breath that sounds more like a rumble, his gaze dropping to your fingers still pressed against your throat. He reaches out, his hand enveloping yours, his skin burning hot. He pulls your hand away from the mark, interlacing your fingers with his, his grip firm and unyielding.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says, a sad, crooked smile touching his lips. He lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that feels far too tender for a creature with eyes like that.
"Try me," you whisper, your voice trembling but steady enough to meet his challenge. You’re hyper-aware of the heat radiating from him, the way his breathing has synced with yours, heavy and ragged.
He lets out a sound that’s more of a half-laugh, and then his expression shifts. The playful rock star facade melts away, leaving something ancient and feral staring out from behind those amber eyes. His lips pull back, just slightly, revealing those impossible sharp teeth again, and a low vibration starts in his chest—a rumble that you feel in your bones more than you hear.
"I'm not like the guys in the band," he whispers.
He steps closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you, his hips pressing gently against yours. "I'm not like anyone you've ever met. I'm a monster, sweetheart," he growls, the sound rough and textured, tearing out of him with a force that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "I'm a werewolf."
Your shoes suddenly slam against the asphalt, scuffing frantically as you scramble for purchase, your breath tearing out of your lungs in sharp, panicked gasps. Logic, survival instinct, whatever it is that usually governs human behavior, it all shuts down. The only thing functioning is the primal part of your brain screaming *run*.
You don't look back. You can't. If you see those eyes glowing in the dark again, you think your heart might actually stop.
You weave through a row of cars, dodging side mirrors. The venue is far behind you, the security lights fading into a dim haze. You’re running toward the tree line at the edge of the lot, toward the deeper darkness, because the shadows behind you feel heavy and suffocating.
Your lungs burn, the cold night air clawing at your throat as you hit the grass just beyond the pavement. You expect heavy footsteps thundering behind you, the sound of a man giving chase.
But there is nothing. Just the terrified rhythm of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears and the rustle of dry leaves under your fleeing feet.
Then, a voice, calm, terrifyingly close, drifts from the shadows to your left.
"You're going to trip," the voice says, laced with that same dark amusement, but lacking any trace of exertion. "And that would be a shame.”
You skid to a halt, chest heaving, and spin around. He’s not winded. He’s not even sweating. Danny is leaning casually against a thick oak tree about twenty feet away, his hands buried deep in his leather jacket pockets, one ankle crossed over the other. He looks like he’s waiting for a bus, not hunting a fleeing human through the dark.
"How...?" you gasp, bending over to clutch your side as a stitch flares up. "You were... right there."
"I'm fast," he says simply, pushing off the tree with an unhurried grace. He doesn't run, his long legs still closing the distance between you with terrifying ease. The moonlight catches his face, and the amber of his eyes seems to spill over, drowning out the human color entirely.
"It's the moon," he says, his voice soft but carrying effortlessly through the clearing. He takes another step, and you stumble backward, your heel catching on a root. You don't fall, but the stumble breaks your precarious balance. "She makes me restless. She makes me... hungry."
He says the word with a relish that makes your blood run cold, even as your body betrays you with a strange, flushed heat. You look around frantically for somewhere to go, somewhere to hide, but the trees here are sparse, their trunks thin and offering no cover.
"You're not running anymore," he observes. He’s not even panting. It’s infuriating and terrifying all at once. "Why did you run, sweetheart? You asked me to tell you."
"I don't know," you admit, your voice cracking as you press your back against the rough bark of the nearest tree, holding your ground only because your legs refuse to work anymore. "Instinct, I guess? You just told me you're a monster." You force yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes wide and pleading. "Are you going to kill me?"
Danny throws his head back and laughs, a sound that echoes through the quiet woods, loud and uninhibited. It’s not the cruel laugh of a villain; it’s genuine, as if you’ve just told the funniest joke he’s heard all night.
"Kill you?" He lowers his head, shaking his curls, his eyes flashing with amusement. "God, no. That would be such a waste." He steps closer, and the shadows seem to cling to his leather jacket like a second skin. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it ten feet, sweetheart.”
Your knees threaten to buckle at that declaration, the raw honesty in his voice striking a chord of fear deep inside you. "Then what do you want?" you whisper, watching the way his gaze rakes over you, heavy and intent.
He stops right in front of you, invading your personal space with a confident ease that makes your head spin. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch searing against your chilled skin.
"I told you," he murmurs, his eyes dipping to your lips before dragging back up to meet your wide-eyed stare. He leans in, trapping you against the tree, his face inches from yours. "I'm hungry."
The way he says it makes your knees weak, a terrifying mix of predator and lover. He licks his lips again, slow and deliberate, and you can see the tip of his tongue is slightly pointed too.
"Not for food," he clarifies, his voice dropping to a rumbling whisper that vibrates against your chest. He presses his hips forward, pinning you harder against the rough bark, and you can feel the undeniable proof of exactly what he is hungry for.
The friction is undeniable, a hard, heavy heat that sears through the denim of your jeans. He rolls his hips, grinding the thick length against your thigh with a deliberate, languid pressure that draws a ragged gasp from your throat. The sheer size of him is shocking, a rigid line that feels far too large to be contained by his tight pants, and the realization sends a fresh jolt of terrified electricity down your spine.
"Feel that?" he growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest where it presses against yours. He doesn't give you a chance to answer, just shifts his weight again, dragging that thick hardness along your leg until your knees are trembling and your vision is blurring at the edges. "That's what you do to me."
His amber eyes burn into yours, wild and unblinking, as he grinds down again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch of the throbbing heat he’s packing. The air around you feels thick with pheromones and the raw scent of him, of sandalwood and musk and something metallic, like the taste of blood in the water.
The sudden loss of his height takes you by surprise, leaving you gasping for air as the bark of the tree digs into your back. Before you can even process the shift, his hands are on you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and yanks them down to your ankles in one fluid, aggressive motion.
The cool night air hits your exposed skin, raising gooseflesh instantly, but it’s immediately replaced by the scorching heat of his breath. Danny drops to his knees before you, a king bowing before a conquest, looking up at you with those burning, inhuman eyes. He doesn't give you a moment to feel exposed; instead, he leans in and buries his face against the damp fabric of your panties.
A low, vibrating growl tears from his throat, the sound so primal it seems to shake the ground beneath you. He noses against the clothed heat of you, inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring as he scents your arousal.
"Fuck, you smell divine," he groans, the words muffled against you. He doesn't wait for permission; the wolf is done asking. His tongue slides out, hot and rough, dragging heavily over the silk of your panties. The fabric creates a frustrating, friction-filled barrier, but the heat of his mouth soaks through it instantly, teasing the sensitive folds beneath.
He laps at you with broad, flat strokes, tasting the dampness that has gathered there, growling low in his throat like he’s savoring a precious meal. Your hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of that pressure, your hands tangling in his curly hair to anchor yourself.
He sets a punishing rhythm, that rough tongue dragging over the silk until the fabric is soaked through, clinging transparently to your skin. The friction maddening, a teasing preview of the heat waiting just behind the barrier. Every swipe of his tongue feels like a brand, marking you as his territory.
"Please," you gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, tugging hard enough to make him growl against your sensitive flesh. The vibration shoots straight up your spine, making your knees buckle. "Danny, please..."
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes burning with a predatory intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. "I love the way you beg," he rumbles, his voice a dark, raspy scrape. "I need to taste all of you. No barriers."
He doesn't give you a moment to brace yourself. His fingers hook into the waistband of your soaked panties, and with a sharp, decisive tug that rips a gasp from your throat, he pulls them down to join your jeans around your ankles.
The cool air kisses your heated skin for a fraction of a second before his mouth is on you again.
This time, there is no barrier. The contact is electric- a hot, wet shock that makes your back arch violently against the tree bark. His tongue feels different now, not just human softness, but textured and rough, dragging over your clit with a pressure that borders on too much but feels exactly like what you need.
The sensation is overwhelming, a blurring of lines between pleasure and pain as he devours you with an enthusiasm that borders on violence. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding you open and pinned against the rough tree bark while he feasts.
He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh and shooting sparks of electricity up your spine. That rough, textured tongue swirls around your clit with devastating precision, alternating between broad, flat strokes that make your hips jerk and quick, flicking motions that threaten to shatter you completely.
"Danny," you gasp, your head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as the coil of heat in your belly tightens to a breaking point. Your fingers tangled desperately in his curly hair pull hard, but he only groans in approval, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge.
Your wetness is smeared across his cheeks and chin, dripping from his jaw like he's just indulged in the sweetest, messiest feast of his life. He doesn't seem to care about the mess; if anything, it only spurs him on. He tilts his head, changing the angle, and sucks your clit into his mouth with a harsh pressure that makes your vision go white.
"God, look at you," he mutters, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice wrecked and muffled. His breath fans hotly over your oversensitive flesh. "So fucking wet for me. Tastes better than I imagined."
He dives back in, his tongue plunging inside you, fucking you with the same rhythm he uses on the drums: a relentless, driving beat that you can't escape, can't do anything but take. The rough texture drags against your inner walls, finding spots you didn't know existed, and the coil in your belly snaps tight, warning signs flashing behind your eyelids.
The air shifts, the heat at your front vanishing so suddenly it leaves you dizzy. Before you can even mourn the loss of his mouth, hands are gripping your hips—firm, possessive, and inhumanly strong—and spinning you around.
Your front meets the rough bark of the oak tree, scratching against your tender skin, but the pain is distant, irrelevant compared to the primal anticipation flooding your veins. Danny kicks your feet apart with his boot, forcing you to widen your stance, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to the night air and his gaze.
"Perfect," he growls behind you, the sound rough and ragged, like gravel grinding together. "Just like that."
Over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight, and the sight steals the breath from your lungs. He's shedding his pants with rough impatience, and when he straightens up, the silhouette of him is terrifying and magnificent.
His cock is huge, thick and straining upward, flushed a dark, angry purple. But it's the base that makes your eyes widen and your body shudder uncontrollably. There's a heavy, swollen ring of flesh at the bottom -a knot- and you realize with a jolt of terrified lust that he wasn't lying about being a monster. He's built to lock himself inside you, to ensure you take everything he has to give.
"You shaking?" he rasps, one hand coming down to grip the back of your neck, holding you pinned against the tree. He steps in close, and you feel the scorching heat of him against your bare ass. He grinds that massive length between your cheeks, letting you feel the weight of the knot bumping against your skin.
"You're... you're big," you stammer, the words falling out of your mouth in a rush of breathless honesty. It’s an understatement, a laughable description for the sheer size of him, but your brain is too short-circuited to come up with anything better.
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates against your back, warm and surprisingly gentle considering the circumstance. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, his lips soft against your skin. "I know. I'll go slow. I want to feel every inch of you opening up for me."
He reaches between your bodies, gripping the thick base of his shaft to guide himself forward. The blunt head of his cock notches against your entrance, hot and insistent. He pauses there, his hand coming up to grip your hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he holds you steady.
With a deep, guttural growl that seems to rise from the depths of his chest, he presses forward. The stretch is immediate and intense, a burning, full pressure that forces a sharp cry from your lips as your body struggles to accommodate him. He is thick and unrelenting, carving a path inside you that feels like he's leaving his mark.
"Fuck, you're tight," he hisses through clenched teeth, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your ear. He doesn't stop, but he obeys his promise to go slow, feeding that massive length into you inch by agonizing inch. "Relax for me, sweetheart. Let me in."
Your fingers scrabble uselessly against the rough bark of the tree, searching for purchase as he sinks deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of sharp sting and blinding pleasure as your walls are forced to stretch around him. He feels impossibly hot inside you, his temperature several degrees higher than a normal human's, heating you up from the inside out.
He keeps that torturous, steady pace, pulling back slightly only to push forward a fraction deeper, grinding his hips in slow circles that force your body to yield to him. Every time you think you’ve taken all you can, he gives you another inch, the heavy swell of that knot bumping rhythmically against your entrance, a promise of what’s to come.
"God," you whimper, dropping your forehead against the tree, the coarse bark scraping your skin. "You feel... so deep."
"Almost there," he grits out, his voice strained, the controlled rhythm faltering slightly as the urge to take you fast and hard battles with his determination not to break you. "You're taking me so well. Such a good girl."
The air around him seems to ripple, the temperature spiking as his control finally snaps. With a guttural groan, Danny’s pace shifts from that torturously slow slide to something urgent and demanding. He pulls back until just the head remains, then snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
You cry out, your braced arms trembling as he sets a rhythm that is purely animalistic, driving into you with a force that pushes your whole body up against the tree. But it’s not just the pace that changes.
A low, crackling sound reaches your ears, like dry twigs snapping. You risk a glance back, and the sight steals what little breath you have left.
Dark, coarse fur is bursting along his forearms, and where his human hands gripped you before, massive, curved claws now dig into the soft flesh of your hips, piercing the skin just enough to pin you in place without tearing you apart. The sides of his leather jacket strain and creak as his broad shoulders hunch, shifting and expanding.
But it’s his face that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. Ears, pointed and tufted with black fur, swivel atop his head to catch every ragged breath and whimper you let out. His smile is now filled with rows of jagged, ivory fangs designed for tearing.
He catches you looking, and a rumble shakes his chest. Gone are the amber eyes from before; now they are glowing, fiery coals set deep in a face that is terrifyingly beautiful.
You've never been more turned on.
The friction of him inside you is unbearable, a sweet, scorching agony that builds with every brutal thrust. He isn't holding back anymore; he’s taking what’s his, driving into you with a force that makes the tree bark groan against your back. The thick knot at the base of his cock bumps relentlessly against your entrance, stretching you wider with every pass, demanding entry.
"Danny!" you scream, your voice cracking as the pressure coils tight in your belly, threatening to snap. "I'm... I can't..."
"Do it," he snarls, his voice distorted, thick with the growl of the beast. "Cum for me. Now."
His command tears through your resistance like a claw through silk. The coil in your belly snaps, white-hot blinding you as your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body seizes, walls clamping down around him impossibly tight as the pleasure rips a scream from your throat.
Danny roars, the sound half-human howl, half-wild beast, and he bucks into you one last time, violent and deep. That massive knot breaches your entrance, a thick, burning stretch that locks him inside you, tying you together.
The sensation of him pulsing inside you is indescribable. You can feel the throb of his cock as he unloads, spurts of scorching heat flooding you so deep it feels like it’s filling your entire belly. It doesn't stop; he keeps coming, rope after rope, painting your insides with his release until your stomach feels heavy and full, a sensation so intense it borders on delirium.
As the flood of heat finally begins to ebb, the world narrows down to the point where your bodies are joined. The burning stretch of the knot hasn't faded; if anything, the swollen ring of flesh feels larger, a tight, unyielding seal ensuring that not a single drop escapes.
You are trapped, impaled on him, held up only by the tree at your front and the iron grip of his claws at your hips. Every throb of his cock inside you sends a fresh jolt of oversensitivity through your system, making your knees tremble violently.
Danny is panting behind you, hot, ragged gusts of air ghosting over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck. The fur on his arms brushes against your back, coarse and ticklish, a stark contrast to the length buried deep within you.
The minutes stretch out, suspended in the quiet aftermath of what just happened. The frantic rhythm of your breathing begins to slow, syncing with the deep, steady rise and fall of Danny’s chest against your back. The tension that had locked your muscles slowly bleeds away, leaving you trembling and weightless, utterly dependent on the strength of the arms wrapped around you.
It feels like an eternity before that swollen lock of flesh finally begins to subside. The pressure eases gradually, the agonizingly full sensation dulling into a heavy, throbbing ache. Danny makes a low, soothing sound in his throat, a rumble that feels less like a growl now and more like a purr, as he holds you steady, letting gravity do the work. When he finally slips free of you, a rush of warmth follows, trailing down your thighs, but he doesn't let you fall.
He shifts instantly, turning you around in his arms so your back is against the tree again, but this time his body is a shelter, blocking the cold night air. The changes are receding as fast as they came. The coarse fur vanishes from his skin, leaving only smooth, sweat-slicked flesh. The claws retract, his nails shortening back into human blunt edges, and the sharp, predatory lines of his face soften, his brow smoothing out. Those glowing amber eyes dim, fading back into the familiar hazel you saw earlier, though they remain dark, dilated, and filled with a concern that seems at odds with the creature he was just moments ago.
"Hey," he murmurs, his voice raw and raspy, stripped of the animalistic growl from before. He reaches up, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. "You with me?"
You nod weakly, your head swimming, and he lets out a soft sigh of relief. He doesn't let go. Instead, he crouches down, keeping one arm firmly around your waist to support your weight while he uses his other hand to pull your jeans and panties back up your legs. His movements are painstakingly careful, his knuckles grazing your skin with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.
When he stands, he doesn't step back. He gathers you against his chest, wrapping you tightly in his leather jacket, shielding you from the world. He tucks your head under his chin, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubs soothing circles against your back.
"Can I take you back to your hotel?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against your ear, still thick with the lingering remnants of his other form. "Get you cleaned up, tucked in safely?"
The thought of your own lonely hotel room suddenly feels unappealing. You look up at him, at the way his hazel eyes are soft with concern, the way his hands are still holding you like you're something precious. You don't want to be away from him yet. You don't want to let go of the warmth that radiates from him, the electricity that still hums between your bodies.
"No," you whisper, shaking your head slightly against his chest. "I don't want to go to my hotel."
He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You need to rest, sweetheart. Trust me, after that, you need to sleep."
"I know," you say, lifting a hand to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your fingertips. "Take me to yours."
A flicker of genuine surprise crosses his face, quickly followed by a slow, widening smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. He looks down at you like you’re a mystery he’s just solved, and one he’s delighted to unravel.
"To mine, huh?" He lets out a soft, disbelieving huff, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "You really are full of surprises, aren't you?" He kisses you, a soft, lingering press of lips that tastes faintly of copper and musk. "Okay. If that's what you want, that's where we'll go."
He shifts his weight, keeping one arm securely around your waist, and bends to scoop up the keys he must have dropped in the grass earlier. With effortless strength, he guides you back toward the venue's parking lot. His support is steady, practically carrying half your weight as your legs wobble unsteadily over the uneven ground.
He helps you to your car, setting you in the passenger seat and draping his jacket over you as a sort of blanket. Climbing into the other side, he takes a moment to adjust the seat and steering wheel to his liking.
“You cozy there, sweetheart?” Danny asks, sparing you a glance before he pulls out of the now-empty parking lot.
All you can bear to do is give a sleepy nod and a yawn. You were exhausted, understandably. Danny seemed to find this cute, smiling and patting your thigh with an assurance that you’ll be able to get some sleep soon.
You doze off along the way, trusting him to get you both there in one piece. You find yourself waking once more when he’s gently lifting you out of the car and helping you stand. You’re in the parking lot of a nicer hotel, and the tour bus is parked out along the back of the lot. While in the elevator, you decide to ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind.
Well, one of the questions, anyway.
“Why did you pick me?” You ask, leaning into him.
“Hm?” He hums out a noise of curiosity, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” You begin, suddenly self-conscious, “There were a lot of very… attractive people at the show. Why did you pick me?”
Danny laughs a bit as the elevator doors open, his voice soft and low, mindful of the other rooms. He swipes the keycard to let you both into his room as he explains.
“I couldn’t get your scent out of my head.”
“My… scent?” You asked, sniffing yourself as you pulled your shoes off.
“You humans all have specific scents. Some are nice, some are… rather unpleasant. You smelled irresistible. Like something I had to have. I could barely resist climbing off stage to search for where it was coming from. The rest of the band had to tell me to wait until after the show.” He chuckled, handing you some of his spare clothes to change into.
You took some time to clean yourself up in the bathroom, and thought about how wild this evening had been. You found out werewolves were real and slept with the drummer of your favorite band, all on the same night. After freshening up with a quick shower, you pulled on the clothes he’d given you. You recognized the “church of rock” shirt, as he wears it often and has had it for a few years. He had also given you some of his sweats, which were definitely too tall for you, pooling at your feet.
Emerging from the bathroom, you asked him another question you’d had.
“Are the others…?”
“Are they like me?” Danny finished your question, shaking his head. “No, they aren’t. That isn’t to say they’re human, per se. Just that they aren’t werewolves.” And before you could ask the follow-up question, he grinned and replied, “There’s a reason they’re such good singers and they’re so alluring. The water bill does get kind of crazy if all three stay in the same place though.”
You sat with this information while Danny showered, wondering just how many people you’ve passed on the street were secretly supernatural creatures. Werewolves, sirens… What else is real? Was Chris a vampire? Fae?
Your head swirled with these questions that you decided were better left unanswered in the end. All that mattered now was that you were cuddled up in bed with a very handsome and warm man who seemed to love being your personal heater. And when morning came, you were happy to swap numbers so you could continue talking.
And when, a couple weeks later, you were staring at a positive pregnancy test, you were glad you’d kept his number.
warnings: grumpy pouty bf!Jake, pajamas, stupid ugly pajamas, Jake really fucking hates those pajamas, slight arguing but with joking and sexual undertones the entire time, SMUT 18+!, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, spanking, light hair pulling, no pull out, lemme know if I missed any!
Masterlist
Jake hates waking up alone.
He hates it more than anything.
When he reaches for you on your side of the bed, and you're not there, he immediately sits up with a frown directed to the empty sheets.
So he sets off to find you.
As soon as he enters the room, his hand buried deep in his tangled hair as his other hand absentmindedly rubs at his rumbling tummy, he knows he’s fucked.
You're leaning forward on your stomach on the stretch of the marble counter beside the stovetop, bent forward so that your backside is sticking out towards him. Your elbows are propped on the surface below you, chin resting between both of your palms as you stare curiously into the single pot that is boiling on one of the spots on the stove.
Your fingers are unconsciously tapping against your cheeks as you wait out whatever is cooking inside the dish, your body slumping slightly as you release a bored sigh.
Jake folds his arms across his chest, head tilting a bit to the side as he worries his plump lower lip between his teeth, ogling your ass. He’s most definitely enjoying this small spoonful of unintended bliss that the universe had so kindly gifted him. The only thing that is ruining it is the baggy pajamas.
He lied. More than he hates waking up alone—
He hates those fucking pants.
They’re not only hiding you away from him, but they’re ugly, as well. They’re humungous on you, the pattern plaid with black and an ugly dark green that reminds him of a swamp.
The dark colors hide the curves of your backside and he just really fucking despises it. Hates those stupid pants that are too long for you— long enough that the cuffs drag along the ground when you walk— and that keep him from enjoying the simplicities that usually come from a relationship, like gawking at your partner’s ass in free spirit.
And now that he thinks about it, he hates the shirt too. It’s an oversized tee the color of grass that reads Have some elf-respect! in big, blocky white letters with a drawing of a grumpy elf in the middle.
It’s cheesy and lame but you’d laughed for a solid ten minutes when you’d first seen it and begged him to get it for you, so he’d reluctantly complied.
It was hard to say no to you, especially when your wide gaze was working its charm and your pretty mouth was quivering in a childish pout.
“Why are you wearing that?”
You flinch, spinning around and frowning at him almost immediately, “When did you wake up?”
He ignores your question to frown at your outfit once again, “I'm gonna throw those pants in the trash.”
“No,” you protest immediately, your hands grabbing at the sides of them to pull them up from where they'd pooled at your feet, “They're so comfy.”
“They're fuckin’ ugly.”
“Your attitude is ugly,” you grumble, turning back to the stove. He simply hums in response, making his way to the fridge, scratching his lower stomach as he pulls the door open.
“You could just ditch the pants,” he suggests, grabbing the carton of orange juice, “Run around the house in that shirt and those pretty panties you usually wear.”
Your cheeks flush hot as you avoid his eyes, “I like my ugly pajamas,” you mutter, arms still crossed over your chest, “You can just deal with it.”
His hands still from where he was twisting the cap off the orange juice, his eyes narrowing almost dangerously.
Then he sets the carton on the counter, and you turn back to the stove, like maybe if you aren't looking at him, it will deter him.
It doesn't.
He's pressing his chest to your back before you can even take in a breath, his hands at your hips, and his mouth brushing your ear, “Is it so bad that I wanna see my pretty girl?”
Your hands move to grip the edge of the counter to hold yourself up, but you huff a sigh of faux annoyance, “You're so… lusty.”
“Mm, no,” he disagrees in a low voice, pressing small kisses along the side of your throat, “I'm in love.”
“You're horny,” you refute.
“S'your fault.”
You open your mouth to respond, but his hand slips beneath the waistband of your pajamas, brushing over the lace sat snug at your hips, and he lets out an affronted sound.
“Take those fuckin’ pants off.”
“No,” you say stubbornly as he bunches the sides of your panties in his hands, the elastic popping beneath his grip.
“Fuck,” he breathes, tugging lightly at the flannel from the inside of them, “Please, baby?”
“I'm trying to make us breakfast–”
“I'll eat if you make breakfast with no pants on.”
You huff a breath, wanting so badly to just let him push you against the cool marble of the countertop, but you reach for his hands, pulling them out of the baggy pants and forcing them back to his sides as you turn to face him.
“You're gonna eat breakfast either way,” you say firmly.
He sets his jaw, taking a step back, “You're the worst,” he mutters, moving back to his carton of orange juice, “You're almost as bad as those stupid fucking— stupid and ugly pants.”
You want to laugh at his frustration, because he's had you like that many, many times before. But you can't, because then you really will end up bent over the counter and your breakfast will end up burnt and you really just want to eat before anything.
He snatches up the carton again, taking a drink directly from it, before he twists the lid back on, and shoves it back into the fridge.
“Breakfast will be done in a little bit,” you call out to him as he all but stomps out of the room.
“I don't care,” he calls back, but you know better.
You also know you're probably in for it later.
—
“You’re really not going to eat?”
“I can’t,” he says flatly, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. “Those pants ruined my appetite.”
You scoff, heat rising to your face. “You’re so dramatic.” Your foot stomps before you can stop it, irritation bubbling up. “They’re just pajamas.”
“Mhm.” He leans back in his chair like he has all the time in the world, gaze dragging over you in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.” A beat. Then, casually, “Let’s compromise.”
Your eyes narrow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
His mouth tilts, slow and knowing. “You take them off—” he gestures lazily toward your legs, “—and I’ll eat.”
“Jacob Thomas—”
“Ooh,” he cuts in, amused, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “Am I in trouble?”
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite to it. “I worked hard on this, you know.”
That does it. You see the shift immediately— subtle, but there. His expression softens just enough, the teasing edge dulling as he studies you more carefully.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “I know you did.”
For a second, you think he’ll drop it entirely. He always does when it matters— when he thinks you’re actually upset. That’s the annoying thing about him.
Then he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll eat.”
You try not to look too pleased, pressing your lips together to hide it.
“But,” he adds, pointing his fork at you, “those pajamas are still going. After.”
“Maybe,” you say, lifting your chin, pretending you have any real intention of arguing.
His eyes flicker with something sharper, more certain. “Not a maybe.”
Before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead— brief, but deliberate.
“I’ll eat,” he murmurs, already reaching for his plate. “And then I’ll deal with you.”
Your stomach flips again. “You will not.”
He hums, unconcerned, like you didn’t say anything at all. “We’ll see.”
You look away, trying to hide the warmth spreading through your chest, the small, quiet pride of winning this round— Because with Jake, a victory is a victory, no matter how small.
He's a menace like that.
And you love him for it.
—
You should've expected it.
But he'd left the room– your guard was down, you didn't expect it when he's suddenly behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist, reaching up, grabbing at your chest with a whisper of, “Let me fuck you.”
You drop the rag in your hand as you brace yourself against the counter, “Jake—”
“C'mon, baby,” his voice takes on that slight whine to it that makes your knees buckle, “You've got me so fucking hard.”
“It's the pajamas, isn't it?” You manage to tease, gasping when his fingers harshly pinch your nipples through your shirt.
“You and your fucking jokes,” he mutters, grabbing you by your hips and pulling your backside against him. You can feel him through your pajamas, hard and warm and mouthwateringly thick, as he grinds against you. “C'mon,” he repeats, leaving tiny kisses along the hack of your neck, “You've made your point with those stupid pants, just let me fuck you.”
You hum like you might disagree, but before you can respond, his hand has already snaked up your torso, grabbing you by your throat.
“You've got me fuckin’ aching, Y/n,” he rasps in your ear, “Be a good girl, and let me in.”
You bite your lip to hide your grin, “What if I don't wanna?”
He doesn't hesitate to shove his hand into your pajamas, past your panties, his fingers slipping along your slick folds, “Yeah, that's what I thought,” he murmurs, “Soaked through your fucking panties trying to pretend you don't want it.”
Your eyes roll back when he pinches your clit, “Jake—”
“Shut up,” he says, grabbing your pajamas and shoving them down your thighs. You whine when his palm collides with your backside in a harsh smack, the sting zipping through your body.
He pushes your upper half against the counter, rucking your shirt up just enough to reveal the curve of your ass, hidden by your panties.
“You've got the prettiest ass, and you wanna fuckin’ hide it from me,” he sounds irritated, but his hands are grabbing and squeezing the plush skin, fingers digging in just enough to potentially leave bruises.
You whine again, crossing your arms beneath your head and giving in to your fate– he's about to ruin you, and you're one hundred percent okay with that.
One of his hands disappears, and you know it's coming before his hand even cracks down against your ass again.
Your toes curl, and you try to wiggle away, but he holds you in place, grinning to himself as he watches you squirm.
Okay, maybe he is a bit sadistic, but watching you get so worked up and shy over something as simple as fucking your own boyfriend, it makes his cock and his heart ache.
He knows you're a little more reserved, a little less open about your desires— you'd never even asked him to fuck you before, you usually just have to bat your pretty eyes or touch him just right and he's driving into you.
And, all that considered, he wants you to ask him. He knows you well enough to know what you want, to know what you're doing, but after the games you'd both been playing all morning, he wants you to say it.
And if that means he has to wait until nightfall to hear those words fall from your lips, he will. He'll get you there.
Despite his impatience today, he's a very patient man. Usually.
He doesn't even realize he's just been grabbing your backside for the past half minute or so, just watching the way the supple skin spills between the cracks of his fingers, until you whine softly.
“Quit staring,” you mumble, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.
“I'll stare as long as I want to,” he retorts, spreading you apart and eyeing the way the drenched lace covers your cunt. “Not my fault you've been hiding from me.”
“I'm not like you,” you say, words muffled, “I don't just… show off.”
“Oh, you think I'm a show off?” He asks, pressing the pads of his fingers over your clit through your panties.
“I know you are,” you say, voice shaky, “You've been half naked all day.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” he murmurs, half distracted as he circles over the swollen bud of your clit, barely visible through the lace.
“It's not,” you breathe, still hiding.
“Why are you hiding from me?” He asks, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them aside.
“You're just touching me and staring at me,” you grumble.
He huffs a laugh, grabbing your panties and pulling them down. They slip down your thighs and join your pajama pants on the floor.
“It's cute, y'know,” he starts, moving behind you, “No matter how many times I fuck this pretty cunt— no matter how many times I have you naked and whining for me— you're still so shy. It's so fuckin’ cute.”
“Jake…”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
You immediately frown, looking back at him with a pout, “Do it.”
He shakes his head slowly, an evil glint in his eyes, “Say it.”
“You bastard.”
“Tell me you want my cock,” he says, pressing the head to your clit, slowly slipping along your soaked heat, “Tell me you want me to fuck your pretty pussy ‘til you can't fucking take it anymore.”
“No,” you whisper, “You know what I want, Jake—”
“If you won't say it, I'll just get myself off right here— just rub my cock over this wet cunt until I paint it with my come… Say it.”
“Fuck, I do! I want you to…” You pause, hands tightening into fists, “I want you to fuck me.”
“Where?”
“I hate you.”
“Where?” He repeats, giving you another sudden, harsh spank to your backside.
“It's so dirty,” you try to protest one final time, but his hand tangles into your hair and he pulls you up to his chest, angling your face to his.
“Say it, baby,” he takes on that gentle voice that makes your knees weak, “Tell me you want me to fuck your pretty pussy.”
You take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut to hide from his lust-filled gaze as shame overtakes you, “I want you to fuck my pussy…”
“Pretty pussy,” he corrects softly.
“Fuck, Jake,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his throat, “I want you to fuck my pretty pussy.”
God, he feels like he could come untouched from that alone. Hearing such filth from your sweet, pretty lips has him throbbing against you, and he nods, “Fuck, that's it.”
He moves you back down to the counter, and before you can even anticipate it, he's pushing inside your soaked entrance.
Your mouth falls open around a hiccuped whine as he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside of your pulsing, slick walls.
His grip is impossibly tight at your hips, his blunt nails digging in— and you hope for bruises after this.
You don't think you'll ever get over how big he always feels inside of you, no matter how many times you take him, he always feels like he's stretching you out for the first time.
He draws back, the head dragging deliciously over that little bump inside that makes your toes curl and your stomach tighten, and you can't help but whine when he pushes back in.
He grabs your backside again, spreading you apart as he mutters a quiet curse, “Fuck, look at that,” he hums, “You were fuckin’ made just for me, weren't you, baby?”
You nod, letting out a tiny uh-huh that makes his cock twitch.
He smirks to himself, his hands sliding up your back, drifting beneath your shirt, only to dig his nails in and lightly scratching on the way back down.
He can't stop staring at your ass. The curve of it, the way it bounces with every slam of his hips, the pretty red staining your skin from his hands.
And the longer he looks, the more he hates those fucking pajama pants.
He glances down at the floor where they lay, using his foot to kick them behind him to hide them from you later.
He knows how it'll go— you'll look for them, get whiny when you can't find them again, and end up bouncing on his cock later as bribery. And he'll fold.
God, he loves you.
He voices that right as he slams inside you again, his hand tight at your waist, holding you in place as he fucks into you with the lewd, wet sounds of your cunt taking him in and the smack of his skin hitting yours.
You reach a shaky hand behind you, your fingers fumbling against his until he tangles them together, and you let out a choppy, “I love you.”
“I don't think you do,” he teases, ever the tormentor, “You wouldn't even let me look at you, sweetheart.”
You let out a strangled sound, squeezing his hand tightly against the small of your back, “I do— I just don't—” You cut yourself off with a whine, “Don't like to be looked at…”
“I know,” he soothes, catching a glimpse of the flush on your cheeks, “But I fucking love you, Y/n. I love to look at you, I love to touch you,” he draws out until just the head is nestled inside your wet warmth, “I love to fuck you…”
“You're insatiable,” you retort softly.
“I love all that because I love you, baby,” he says easily, making a warmth bloom in your chest as tears threaten your eyes, “Everything about you.”
“I— Fuck, I do love you,” you breathe, wiggling against his hold to get him to push back inside, “I love you so much…”
He pushes back inside completely and leans over you, his chest pressing to your back as he brushes his fingers through your sweat-damp hair.
He moves your hair out of the way to press tiny warm kisses to your neck, “You always make my heart soft at the most inconvenient times,” he teases. “Here I am trying to be mean and you just make me so fucking soft for you.”
“I like it,” you admit softly, “When you're mean… I like it.”
“I know you do,” he murmurs. “You're so fucking cute.”
You nod, lifting a sock-covered foot to curl it around the back of his calf, “Please…”
He hums low, straightening back up, brushing his thumb over your southernmost entrance just to feel you tighten around him.
“I'm gonna fuck this pretty ass one day,” he says, almost to himself, and you let out a sound that makes your face burn.
“Jake,” you chastise, gasping when his palm lands against your ass, the sound echoing around the room.
His hand snakes around to your front, fingers pressing over your swollen clit, “Poor baby, she's begging for some love, isn't she?” You nod as he begins rubbing tight circles over it, his fingers deft and unforgiving.
“Fuck,” you moan, your mouth falling open when he uses his forearm to push against your lower stomach.
“Feels like you're about to come, baby,” he murmurs with a teasing edge, “Your sweet cunt's squeezing me so tight… Fuck, Y/n.”
“I'm so close,” you sigh, that familiar heat burning in the pit of your belly as your orgasm builds too quickly for your own good, “Please, Jake…”
“Yeah, listen to you now,” he grits out, “Playing your fuckin’ games all day just to beg me to let you come on my cock— I shouldn't even let you.”
“No,” you cry out, grabbing his arm with one hand to keep it at your clit, “No, please.”
“You're gonna come, baby,” he assures you, “Even though you don't deserve it, I fuckin’ want it,” he angles your hips up with one hand, making each push inward of his cock slam into your sensitive spot perfectly, “You're gonna come for me, baby.”
You nod, the greedy part of you thankful he was playing it that way— he talks a big game, but more than anything in the world, he gets off on you getting off, and despite his threats, he's never not let you finish.
Still, with the mood he's in today, you never know.
And you'd rather not chance it.
Your hips start moving of their own accord, meeting his thrusts with gentle rocking onto his cock, your eyes fluttering as your body tightens.
“Fuckin’ come,” he demands, “Give it to me— Make a fucking mess on my cock, baby.”
With a final sob, your orgasm hits, like it grabs you by the throat and slams you down into it. You can feel your cunt spasming around his thick length, squeezing him as the room is filled with filthy wet sounds, heavy breaths and moans, and skin hitting skin.
He grunts out a sound, and within seconds, you feel his warm release painting your walls. It only serves to add to the intensity of it all, and before you can register it— before you're fully through your first orgasm— another one hits.
“Fuck—” He curses loudly, his hands slamming against the counter on either side of you as he fucks you through it to the point of overstimulation.
Your hips hit the counter with every brutal smack of his own hips, and yeah, you're definitely going to be bruised, but you couldn't care less as you ride out your prolonged high.
He eases down to gentle rocking of his hips, a slow grind of his cock moving inside of you as you still twitch and spasm around him, your upper half completely collapsed onto the marble counter top.
He stills, resting inside, as he leans over you, pressing the gentlest kisses up your neck, “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his lips soft and warm against your heated skin, “You okay?” He asks softly.
You nod, letting out a strangled Mm-hmm, that makes him smile as his hands smooth up your sides, beneath your shirt, grounding you with his gentle touch and sweet kisses.
“I want a bath,” you say in a sigh, making him grin at you.
“We'll get us a bath,” he tells you, straightening up and slipping out of you with an overstimulated grimace.
He tries not to watch his release leak out of you, but his eyes wander and his cock gives a half-interested throb that he has to put a quick lid on.
“Lots of fuckin’ bubbles,” he says, moving you to your unsteady feet. You grip the edge of the counter to properly hold yourself up, your legs shaking, and you still fight to catch your breath as he turns you to face him, “And we can use that oil you like that smells like vanilla— How's that sound?”
You grin as he lets you go, stooping to hand you your panties, “I love that.”
He straightens once again, “I'll go get it ready,” he places a kiss to your hair, before he leaves you for the moment.
You know you shouldn't bother with putting your panties back on, you're about to get a bath, but you slip them on regardless and scan the floor for your pajamas.
They're gone.
“That bastard,” you mutter, before yelling his name, “Where are my pajamas?!”
You can hear his laughter from the bathroom, before he responds, “I have no idea what you're talking about!”
warnings: SMUT 18+!, oral sex (f. rec), hand stuff (m. rec), masturbation (m. rec), pussydrunk jake, soft sub jake, soft dom reader, impossibly soft unprotected sex, dumbing jake down a little, riding, overstim, begging, crying (jake crying), lemme know if i missed any!
a/n: heard yall wanted some sub!Jake? hope yall enjoy xx
Masterlist
You're bored.
You’re half-lounging against the pillows, phone balanced in one hand, thumb lazily flicking up the screen.
TikTok after TikTok plays in quick, mindless bursts– recipes you’ll never cook, couples arguing over dumb trends, a dog wearing little boots. None of it is actually holding your attention, but it fills the quiet.
Jake’s been in the other room for hours working on music.
You’d offered to hang out, maybe watch something together, but he’d gotten that look on his face–the focused one, the one that means a melody is stuck in his head and he has to chase it before it disappears. So you’d kissed his cheek, told him to go make something pretty, and retreated to the bedroom to give him space.
Now the house is mostly quiet except for the faint, distant sound of him moving around in the studio.
You scroll again. And again.
Bored.
Just as you’re about to toss your phone aside and go bother him, the bedroom door creaks open.
You glance up immediately.
Jake stands there for a second like he’s checking if you’re busy, his hair a little messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms. The second your eyes meet his, you smile without thinking.
“Hi, baby.”
Your smile widens when he crosses the room and climbs onto the mattress, bracing a knee on either side of your legs.
“Hi,” he murmurs back, voice soft.
His hands slide to your thighs, warm through the thin fabric of your shorts, gently nudging them apart so he can settle between them. Your eyebrows lift slightly in surprise as he lowers himself down, resting his cheek against your lower stomach like that’s exactly where he belongs.
You huff a quiet little laugh, “What are you doing?” you ask, already lifting a hand to his head.
Your fingers sink into his hair automatically, nails scratching lightly at his scalp before you start combing through the soft strands.
Jake makes a small, content sound– almost a sigh. “Nothing,” he mumbles into your shirt. “Just missed you.”
Your chest warms instantly.
You tilt your head down to look at him, fondness tugging at your mouth.
“Missed you too, honey.”
His arm wraps loosely around your thigh, pulling himself a little closer. After a moment he tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss just above the waistband of your shorts.
Then another.
And another.
Slow, absentminded, like he’s not even thinking about it.
You keep one hand buried in his hair, gently scratching and smoothing it back while your other hand lifts your phone again, thumb drifting back to scrolling.
Jake stays right there between your legs, warm and heavy and clingy.
Every few seconds he presses another soft kiss to your stomach, sometimes lingering, sometimes just brushing his lips there before settling his cheek back down again. When your fingers scratch just right behind his ear, he lets out a quiet little hum that almost sounds whiny.
You smile to yourself at the sound, eyes flicking down at him for a second before returning to your screen.
The room settles into a comfortable quiet. Your fingers lazily threading through his hair. Jake’s slow trail of affectionate kisses across your stomach. It’s simple. Domestic. Familiar. And it makes your heart feel warm.
Until he lets out a heavy sigh, pushing himself up and grabbing the hem of your shorts. Your eyes widen as he tugs them down without any warning, “Jake! What are you doing?”
“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs, already tossing your shorts somewhere on the floor.
You let out a surprised laugh, “Honey–”
“Please?” He asks, already spreading your thighs open as he rests his head on one.
How can you say no to that? His eyes are wide, soft as he peers up at you almost desperately.
“Okay, baby,” you murmur.
He lets out a soft sound, eager and happy, before he wraps his arm back around your thigh. His head is still resting there, but he shimmies closer, pressing soft kisses all over your inner thighs, over your now-aching center.
He slips his fingers down to your folds, spreading you open as he kisses over your clit. He hums quietly, kissing the swollen bud again, and again. You inhale sharply, “Fuck, Jake,” you breathe, your thighs twitching with every press of his lips to your sensitive skin.
Your head falls back onto the pillow, your eyes fluttering shut as he begins to slowly lick over you. And he lets out the prettiest whine when his tongue slips over your weeping entrance, like your taste is the purest form of pleasure for him– And with as much as he loves to do this, you think it might be.
You hear the familiar sound of his zipper coming undone, before you feel his arm slip away. And you know what he's doing, but you want to see. So you push yourself up onto your elbows, your view just barely blocked by him.
“Are you touching yourself?” You ask quietly, knowing already that he is. He nods against you, and you let out a sigh, “Lemme see,” you urge, tilting your head as he moves to where you have a perfect view of his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking slowly up and down.
You hum, gently rocking your hips up against his mouth, “Does that feel good, baby?”
He nods again, humming a whiny little mm-hmm that makes your core clench. You watch his hand, his hips rocking into his touch.
His fingers grip the base of his cock firmly, the skin there flushed as he drags his hand upward in a deliberate, unhurried stroke. The head glistens with a bead of precum that smears along his palm on the downstroke, making each pass slicker than the last.
Jake's breaths come in soft pants against your pussy, his tongue flicking out to lap at your folds even as his focus splits between your taste and his own building need.
"That's it, baby," you murmur, your voice low and encouraging, one hand threading through his hair to guide him back down. "Slow down– nice and easy. I wanna watch."
He whimpers softly into your skin, the vibration sending a shiver up your spine, but he obeys without hesitation.
His strokes lengthen, thumb circling the tip lazily before sliding back down to squeeze gently at the base. His hips buck faintly, chasing the friction, but he reins it in, eyes fluttering half-closed as he presses his mouth more firmly against you.
His tongue traces slow circles around your clit, sucking lightly before dipping lower to push inside, tasting you deeply while his free hand braces against your thigh.
You arch slightly, grinding against his face, but your gaze stays locked on his cock in his hand. It's thick, veins standing out under the pressure of his grip, twitching with each teasing pull. "Mmm, look at you," you coo, your tone affectionate. "So hard for me already. Don't rush it, Jakey. Go slower... just like that. Feel every bit of it."
A needy whine escapes him, muffled as he buries his face deeper between your legs, his lips sealing around your entrance to suckle gently.
His hand complies, the pace dragging out– palm gliding over the sensitive underside, fingers flexing to add just a hint of twist at the top. Precum leaks steadily now, coating his knuckles, and his thighs tense as he fights the urge to speed up. His whines grow softer, more desperate, vibrating through your core each time his tongue swirls back to your clit, lapping with focused, obedient strokes.
"Good boy," you praise, rocking your hips to meet his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Keep going– No coming yet. Just touch yourself for me while you make me feel good. Slower now... show me how much you want this.”
He whines again, making your core tighten.
“Fuck,” you sigh, your eyes moving to his– and the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His eyes are still glued to you, half-lidded and practically glazed over, still soft and absolutely besotted. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his hair messy from your hands, and the rest of his face is hidden by your lower half as he licks and suckles at you. “My sweet boy,” you murmur, tracing a finger along his nose.
He whimpers, his mouth working a little more fervently, his fingers digging into your skin tighter.
“Oh, my God,” you breathe, the heat burning hotter by the second.
Lewd, wet sounds fill the air, his mouth warm and practiced, but you can't look away from his eyes. You can't get over how sweet he looks despite the rather explicit situation you're in.
“M'gonna come, baby,” you warn, your lower half grinding against his face without a care in the world as your orgasm looms closer. “Don't fuckin’ stop– Fuck–”
He hums, like the idea of stopping now is absolutely preposterous, his eyebrows tilting up, making him look impossibly needier.
You cry out his name as it hits you, like you're being dragged under an ocean wave, all of your senses disappearing for a split second. Your blood rushes through your ears, your heart pounding as you twitch and shake through it.
Your grip tightens in his hair as he eases up, still not pulling away from you. He slows to gentle kisses, light swipes of his tongue over your throbbing heat as your chest heaves.
“Fuck,” you sigh, scratching lightly at his scalp as you huff a breath.
“Love watching you come,” he murmurs against you, “Wanna make you come over and over and over.” And with that, his mouth is back on you completely, lips attached to you like his life depends on it.
You gasp, your thighs twitching as you tighten your grip in his hair, “Baby–”
He holds you tighter to him, letting out a desperate hum like he isn't ready to part from you just yet.
“It's too much, honey,” you barely manage to say, your chest still heaving. He hums, still flicking his tongue, his lips suckling around your throbbing clit. “Jake.”
He eases up just a bit, but he's still lost in it, like he's drunk off of you. And as endearing as it is, your clit is aching and sensitive, so you muster what willpower you have and lightly push his head away.
“No,” he whines softly, “Please–”
“Give me a minute,” you say, “You're being so good, Jakey, don't start acting up now.”
He whines again, sinking into the mattress as he rests his forehead against your inner thigh, “M'sorry.”
“Just let me recover,” you murmur, raking your shaky hand through his hair.
He sighs, and after a moment he reaches a hand up, spreading you open with two fingers, just staring at your slick heat.
“So pretty,” he whispers, leaning in and pressing another kiss over you. Then another, and another, until he flattens his tongue, licking over your slit like he just can't help it.
“Jake–”
“I'll be good,” he says quietly, his words humming straight into your core, “Just wanna taste you, mama.”
Fucker. You nod, “Go slow, baby.”
He nods, pressing his lips against your clit in an open mouth kiss. Your thighs twitch, a little hum escaping you.
He whimpers quietly when he traces his tongue over the swell of your clit, leaving gentle kitten licks over it.
“Fuck, just like that,” you breathe, “You're gonna make me come again, angel.”
He lets out the prettiest noise, and when you lock eyes with him, he looks breathtaking. His eyes are somehow even softer, almost dazed, perfectly content to be between your thighs.
Your fingers slip into his hair, your head falling back as you rock your hips, and just like that, your second orgasm is washing over you, slow and warm and making you feel fuzzy.
He finally pulls away, not too far, as he rests his head against your thigh again, his eyes heavy as he smiles softly up at you, watching with an enamored gaze as you recover.
“Fuck, I love you,” you breathe, your fingers flexing in his hair.
“I love you,” he murmurs, “So much. Can I fuck you? Please?”
You nod, your thighs falling open as he eagerly climbs over you, his eyes lit up as he captures your lips in an enthusiastic kiss.
He hardly even gives you time to register it before he's slipping inside of you. You gasp into the kiss, whispering a quiet curse as you tilt your head to watch where the two of you meet.
“Fuck, baby, look how good you fill me up,” you say, clenching tightly around him.
He hums a soft sound, his eyes now glued between you as he eases out, “You feel so good,” he breathes, “I love your pussy. Fuck– I love you. So much.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” you rake a hand through his hair, smiling lightly as he starts to slowly fuck into you. “You make me feel so good, Jakey, so fuckin’ good.”
He whines softly at that, his hips stuttering for just a beat, and he grabs you around the waist, burying his face into your throat, “I'm trying,” he whimpers, shaking his head lightly.
You immediately pick up on it. You'd known from the second he'd peeked in the door, from the way he'd lazily had his head resting on your thigh, and now, how his thrusts would occasionally falter, how he'd sigh and whine with every roll of his hips.
“Are you tired, Jakey?” You ask, clenching around him just to hear his breath hitch as he nods. “Aw, poor baby's so sleepy, hm?” He whines at that, his hips hitting yours just a little harder, as if he's embarrassed. “You want me to help you?”
He slows to a stop, his face still hidden, “I don't wanna make you work.”
“Do you worry that pretty little head about anything,” you say, pulling him back by a hand in his hair.
His cheeks are flushed red, his eyes softening and dazed as he sits back, readjusting when you move him back, climbing over his lap.
You let out a sigh as you settle, your ass pressed flush to his thighs, filled completely to the brim as he lets his head fall back against the headboard with a solid-sounding thud.
“Easy, baby,” you reach a hand out, cradling the back of his head as you slowly start rocking your hips. You lean in close, your breath ghosting over his ear as you murmur, “You're knocking yourself silly trying to keep up, aren't you, Jakey?” His cock slides deeper with each grind, stretching you deliciously as you coat him in your slick heat. He groans low, his hands gripping your thighs like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go, “No more hurting that pretty head of yours. Let it go empty, let me ride you until you're filling me up.”
His eyes glaze over instantly, pupils blown wide as a shudder rips through him. He bucks up weakly once, then stills, surrendering completely, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. “F-fuck… please…” he slurs, voice thick and wrecked, his cock pulsing hard against your walls as you pick up the pace.
You roll your hips faster, sliding down to take him to the hilt while he dissolves into soft, needy whines, his fingers digging into your skin as his mind blanks out, lost in you clenching around him.
Every thrust pulls another broken moan from his throat, his body trembling beneath you, utterly pussydrunk and pliant, fucking up into you only when you demand it with a squeeze.
“I'm gonna come,” he whines, his eyebrows tilting upward as his thighs tighten beneath yours.
“That's my good boy,” you whisper sweetly, your voice a gentle caress as you grind down harder, your pussy swallowing his cock whole with every deliberate roll of your hips.
His length throbs inside you, thick and hot, veins pulsing against your clenching walls as you chase the rhythm that makes him unravel. You keep your hand cradling his head, fingers threading softly through his damp hair, holding him steady against the headboard while your other palm strokes his chest in soothing circles.
“Just let go for me, Jakey. Feel how wet I am for you– you're doing perfect, baby, so perfect just like this.”
He whimpers beneath you, his body arching up instinctively as you lift and drop. His cock drags out slick and glistening before you sink back down, taking him deep until your clit grinds against his pelvis.
Tears well in his eyes already, his lashes fluttering as the pleasure builds too fast, too intense. “P-please... Oh, God,” he chokes out, his voice breaking into a sob, hips jerking erratically under your control.
“Shh, I know, sweetheart,” you coo, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead, your movements never faltering– slowing just enough to tease the edge, then picking up to fuck him relentlessly. You clench around him on purpose, with rhythmic squeezes that make his breath hitch into desperate gasps.
“Come for me, my sweet little baby. Fill me up, Jakey– You've been so good, holding on until I say so.” Your words wrap around him like silk, soft and insistent, guiding him over the brink without a hint of rush, just pure, affectionate command.
His cry rips from his throat as he shatters, his cock spilling thick ropes of cum deep into you, flooding your walls with heat. He sobs openly now, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks, his hands clutching at your waist as his body convulses.
“F-fuck... yes... love you...” he babbles, voice wrecked and high-pitched, lost in the haze of release. But you don't stop– you ride him through it sweetly, your hips circling to rub your clit against him, drawing out every twitch and spurt until he's oversensitive and trembling.
“Such a pretty crier,” you murmur against his lips, capturing them in a soft kiss as you keep bouncing gently, your pussy fluttering around his spent cock.
He whines into your mouth, tears soaking your skin where his face presses close, but you hold him there, one hand wiping his cheeks tenderly while the other pins his hip down. “Just a little more for me, baby. Let me use you– it's okay to cry, Jakey, I love seeing you like this, all soft and desperate for me.”
Each downward thrust sends jolts through him, his cock softening but still trapped in your grip, overstimulated nerves firing wildly as you chase your own peak.
He hiccups a sob, nodding frantically, his body limp and yielding under you as fresh tears stream. “T-too much... please... don't stop,” he pleads, voice muffled against your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a needy hug.
You smile into his hair, slowing to a sensual grind that builds the pressure in your core, your walls rippling around him until the coil snaps. Pleasure crashes over you, your pussy spasming around his cock as you come with a soft moan, while he whimpers and shakes from the continued friction.
Finally, you still, both of you panting, his tears slowing to quiet sniffles as you nuzzle his temple. “There we go, my sweet boy,” you breathe, easing off him with a wet sound, both of your releases leaking onto his thighs.
You pull him into your arms, cradling his head to your chest, letting him bury his face there as the aftershocks fade, his soft cries turning to contented sighs against your skin.
“Such a good boy for me,” you press a kiss to his hair, “You make me feel so good, honey.”
“I love you,” he whispers, “You're so good to me,” he kisses over your chest where your heart is still beating hard, “Thank you.”
“Mm, thank you,” you say with a giggle.
He hums a slightly amused sound, almost embarrassed, before he pulls away to look at you. “M'hungry.”
“Me too,” you sigh, “What do you want to eat?”
His eyes trail down like he just can't help himself, landing on the slick mess between your thighs, “I could go for something sweet…”
“You're a little shithead.”
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