. ᵒ .༄ DBF!JAKE x ARTIST!READER ! ࿔* ━━ ⋅⋆
·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🎨 possible trigger warnings .' verbal parental abuse, distorted self image and self isolations, mentions of reader seeing a therapist ( past tense )
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* ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws
⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · . MEET THE MEAT ━━ chapter one
⋆ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary in which you ( the reader ) return home and your parents ambush you with a surprise welcome home cookout.
your are rubbing the road from your eyes by the time you pull into the drive way of your parents home. it wasn't a long drive from austin to dripping springs, texas, but as each mile ticked down the more your stomach filled with dread.
sure, you were beyond excited to see your parents ( well, your father at least--your mother was a whole other story ). and you weren't particularly looking forward to the 'what are your plans now?' questions your were certain you'd receive from your parents nosy neighbors.
the plan was simple -- drive the thirty some miles from austin, change into real clothes, maybe shower if you weren't too tired ( but you were certain now that a shower was out of the question ), then unpack a fraction of your life before anyone bothered you.
that was the deal you have made with yourself. return to dripping springs with your dignity intact, finish out the rest of your summer relaxing with a few awkward small town run ins as possible.
then start your new job in august like a functioning adult.
so imagine to your absolute horror when you pulled into your parents driveway--the gravel making that awful crunching sound under your tires that hit your ears like nails on a chalk board--and found your backyard crawling with bodies.
neighbors, old church friends, your father's former coworkers. the lawn clustered with foldable chairs, paper plate and plastic cup. and you?
you were dusty, sweat-slicked from the road, and hair thrown messily into a claw clip you'd haphazardly put on while driving the highway.
someone was playing george strait from from a bluetooth speaker and your stomach had effectively dropped into your feet.
‘shit,’ you mumbled but it was effectively drowned out by the sound of you closing your car door. you leaned forward, crouching in front of your side mirror and groaned at the sight of yourself. and to reiterate—you were sweaty, tired and looked like you just rolled out of bed.
you glasses—to which you only wore in the most dire of circumstances ( aka you forgot to order more contact solution and therefore your contacts dried out )—perched low on your nose and most importantly your hearing aid was tucked into your left ear with out apology.
you—thanks to your wonderful therapist—had finally made it to a point in your life where you could where your hearing aid and not feel less than or ugly ( things your mother had always insisted you were every time she found you with the small pink device in your bad ear ).
in hindsight, your progresses was mostly thanks to not having to hear your mothers playful jabs at your and or appearance every time you walked into a room. but you had promised yourself it would be different this time around. you had told yourself that you wont let your mother bully you into changing your daily routines because it doesn’t fit her aesthetic.
so you had shown up—wearing the hearing aid—despite knowing exactly what she would say. you closed your eyes and began to steady your breath ( another neat trick you’d learned in therapy ).
‘sweetheart!’ you opened your eyes to see your father running towards you at full speed, only stopping to unlatch the side gate—like the golden retriever man that he was.
he practically skipped towards you, apron over his wrangler jeans. you were already flushing with second hand embarrassment by the time he reached you, because everyone was watching. ‘surprise! welcome home sweetie!’
you gave him the largest fake smile you could muster—thank god he couldn’t tell the difference.
‘hi dad,’ you muttered, dropping your duffle to the ground by your feet as he stopped in front of you. ‘you really didn’t have t—’ you started, only stopping when he waved his hands in front of you before settling them on your shoulders. ‘nonsense, sweetheart.’
‘the neighbors heard you were coming back and they wanted to see you, so i thought why not a barbecue!’ your father pulled you into a bone crushing hug, to which you reciprocated, no matter how much this spontaneous cookout irked you.
your father pulled away quicker than he’d pulled you into, a grin spreading across his face. ‘i forgot! i met this guy at the hardware store! you have to meet him!’ you father whisper-shouted. with the way your father was acting like he’d met the pope in their small town hardware store.
you expected and older man—same age as your parents—probably popping high blood pressure pills like they were tick tack.
what you were not expecting was the younger—younger compared to your father age—man standing over your father prized possession, his grill. a grill your father wouldn’t even let you touch because you didn’t have the touch.
‘you have to meet him! he’s great. restored the bayler’s old house at the end of the road all by himself! he’s livin’ there now.’
if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you father might have had a little man-crush on his new best friend. you pasted a smile as your father physically dragged you across the lawn. a smile that you have perfected after four years of visiting home during college.
through four years of thanksgiving dinners and christmas brunches. the one that said : i’m fine. i’m normal. i’m happy to be here.
you were halfway across the lawn ( and halfway to possibly the most attractive man you’d ever seen ) — aka your fathers best friend— when your mother slithered up to you on your left side.
like a ghost in linen and lipstick, wine glass already in hand. ‘do you think you could’ve put on something a little more flattering?’ she muttered under her breath, eyes raking your tank top. ‘and take that thing out of your ear. It’s drawing attention.’
the jab flew up and over your head—at least that id what you were telling yourself. you didn’t listen, hearing still firmly in place as you turn back to your dad who began again as if he didn’t even hear the words that came from his wife. your mother broke formation and wandered away as she saw one of her old brunch friends, leaving you to stew with the insult.
‘thats him,’ your father pointed again to the man standing over the grill in a kiss the grill master apron ( no doubt your fathers silly little memorabilia ).
he was tall, tan, and absolutely wearing the hell out of a flannel rolled up to his elbows—flipping burgers like it was a national pastime. ‘his name is jake seresin, used to fly those planes with the-the-the you know missiles—’
‘missiles?’ you questioned, effectively catching the few around you attention. ‘well it was more than missiles, guns, you know that kinda stuff. for the navy. before his accident, i mean.’
of course he did.
you watched the man—jake—toss a burger patty on to a bun and then hand it to mrs. penny with a panty dropping smiles, then return to the other patties.
and then as if he felt your eyes on him, he looked up, catching your stare. his mouth pulled into a small, crooked smirk, and he raised his beer in something that might’ve been a toast to your father next to you. his hair caught the setting sun. blonde, cut short at the sides, longer on top. messy in a deliberate kind of way.
your mouth actually dried. and your dad, ever the oblivious, dragged you the rest of the way to the grill and by extension jake. ‘you must be the daughter i’ve heard so much about. names jake.’
he extended his hand and for a moment you looked at it like it was going to explode. after hesitating for what felt like a life time, you took it.
his palm was warm and calloused. his grip wasn’t too tight—just firm enough to hold your attention. you watched his eyes flick towards your left ear, barely a second, but it made your stomach churn. you cursed your mother for already crushing your self confidence and making you feel ashamed for using a device that did nothing but help you.
your self loathing didn’t have time to really settle as he leaned a little toward you. ‘welcome home.’
‘um, thanks,’ you said, stomach flipping. ‘didn’t know i was coming home to a party.’
he grinned. ‘didn’t know i was grilling for one until about an hour ago. your dad kinda ambushed me. but i don’t mind.’
you almost smiled. but you should have known your somewhat peace wouldn’t last. ‘oh good, you’ve met,’ your mother interrupted, sidling up beside you, gaze flicking toward your hearing aid like it personally offended her. ‘you might want to go freshen up, sweetheart. jake’s a guest.’
and there it was.
that tightness in your chest. ‘i thought i told you to get rid of that silly thing,’ your mother’s whisper was laced with sugar but it was anything but sweet. her nimble old fingers reached up and plucked out the offending object right from your ear and slipped it into your back pocket.
jake’s brow ticked—just a small movement, but he caught it. your flinch, as half the world suddenly became dull. the heat that rose to your cheeks. the way your fingers curled into fists all while still holding a smile.
‘i don’t mind,’ jake said again, but this time his voice was quieter. now angled toward your right side—your good side. ‘think you look just fine.’
it hit you harder than it should have. you looked at him, and he didn’t glance away. he wasn’t pretending. he wasn’t being polite. he’d meant it.
‘i’m gonna—uh,’ you motioned vaguely. ‘beer. i need a beer.’
jake chuckled. ‘grab me one too?’
you nodded, already backing up. ‘yeah. sure thing.’
and as you turned and ducked into the house, you heard your mother mutter something under her breath—something about how ‘nobody should be giving that girl compliments, not when she’s dressed like that.’
but jake—jake was still looking at you. like maybe, just maybe, he disagreed.
you’d just cracked open a beer—lukewarm and foamy, because of course your dad didn’t chill them first—when your gaze landed on him again.
jake mother fucking seresin. you were beginning to think that his eyes were just naturally draw to him. whats that thing about people begin naturally drawn to beautiful people. whatever the saying, you were inexplicably drawn to his presence.
still manning the grill like it was a battlefield, but he was talking now. not laughing, not smiling—talking, as in standing politely with his arms folded and the world’s most uncomfortable half-smile plastered on his face.
to her. sherri jenkins.
you squinted through the afternoon sun, recognizing the distinct brassy curls and fuchsia lipstick from a mile away. she was your dad’s old coworker and your piano teacher once upon a time. a widow now, but apparently still unapologetically flirty.
and she was laying it on thick. laughing too loud, adjusting her neckline like it hadn’t been perfectly placed before. one hand on her hip, the other brushing jake’s bicep like she owned it.
your jaw tightened around the lip of your bottle and you had to catch yourself from grinding your teeth because what the hell were you thinking being jealous over a man you met a mere hour ago and not to forget your father new best friend.
but jake wasn’t looking at her.
no, he was glancing subtly around the yard, eyes skimming the crowd like he was searching for an emergency exit. or, better yet, your father. a way out of what you assumed was a painfully dull conversation.
he caught your stare. gave you a faint, helpless shrug.
and god help you—you were already moving.
'hi, miss sherri,' you said, wedging yourself between them with your best version of a wide-eyed smile. she turned, blinking in surprise.
'sweetheart! oh, i didn’t see you there.' she said it with a touch too much sugar. 'all grown up, aren’t you? i was just catching up with your dad’s new friend here—jake, was it?'
you nodded like you didn’t already know every inch of the man’s face, then looked over your shoulder—just in time to see Jake slip away behind you. he mouthed a dramatic thank you, eyebrows raised, hands clasped in mock prayer before he disappeared toward the garage.
coward.
and now you were stuck.
'i was telling him all about your recitals.' ( sure you were ) 'you were such a darling on the keys. not sure why you stopped—oh! did you finally get some hearing back, sweetheart?' her voice lowered to a stage whisper. 'didn’t see your aid in.' ( as if that was how it worked ).
you froze.
the music got quieter. not actually, probably. it just felt duller.
you mother had practically ripped the aid from your ear, while you were talking to jake nonetheless, and you hadn’t found the courage to put it back in. not tonight. not when you knew your mother would be lurking in every shadow, waiting to whisper tuck your hair, it’s showing. she'd tucked it in your pocket and left your bad side exposed.
'uh no, no better, uh…,' you blinked. 'just forgot.'
'oh,' sherri said, smiling like she pitied you. 'well. i’m sure it’s hard keeping up with all the little things, bless your heart.'
bless. your. heart. oh, you wanted to scream.
you felt the heat crawl up your neck again—not embarrassment this time. not exactly. something a lot closer to anger. to shame. you couldn’t tell which burned more.
the world around you blurred slightly—the left side, always the left side—and you smiled through it. through the static in your ear and the wine-stained whisper of your mother’s judgment carried on the breeze. through sherri’s syrupy voice still chattering about the young man with the arms and how he should’ve been in a calendar.
you laughed where you thought it made sense to laugh. nodded when she paused. wondered if jake knew exactly what kind of grenade he’d thrown you on top of ( or more accurately the grenade you threw yourself on top of ).
and from across the yard—leaning against the garage door, arms folded, eyes shaded under the edge of his ( what should be illegal ) cowboy hat—jake seresin was watching.
he was watching you. mouth twitching. totally unrepentant.
the bastard.
you were nodding along to sherri’s latest retelling of something—you caught the words cabo, paddle board, and bikini wax, but not much else—when another voice cut through.
'honey, sherri. she’s not wearing it.'
your mother. of course.
you turned your head too quickly and had to blink through the dizzying rush of motion. she was coming up behind sherri, wine glass in hand, a smile too sweet to be anything but venom.
'she doesn’t have her hearing aid in. that’s why she looks so lost,' she said, gesturing toward you with the rim of her glass like you weren’t standing right there.
sherri gasped and placed a hand over her chest. 'oh no, sweetheart, i didn’t realize! were you having trouble hearing me? i was going on and on…'
you opened your mouth. closed it again. then tried to swallow whatever was rapidly building in your throat.
'no i heard most of it,' ( lies ) you said, voice tight. 'It’s fine.' ( more lies ).
your mother smiled like a cat who’d just unstrung a bird.
'i told her not to wear it around the party. i mean, who wants that thing in all the pictures, right?' she tacked on with a laugh. 'we don’t need any of the neighbors thinking she’s got a disability.'
the wine in her glass sloshed. sherri’s brows lifted. your stomach turned.
you felt the blood rush to your ears—and fuck, that only made it harder to hear. the backyard was buzzing now, laughter and music and clinking plates all crashing together in a kind of static storm that made you feel five inches tall.
your hand was already in your pocket, fingers curling around the smooth edge of your hearing aid. you almost ( almost ) pulled it out and put it back in.
you wanted to disappear.
and when you dared to glance up—when your eyes finally broke away from the women flanking you—your gaze snagged again. right to the man ( not boy ) who had been occupying most of your thoughts since the beginning of the evening.
still standing across the lawn.
but now he wasn’t just watching.
his expression had changed. Hat tilted back slightly, jaw set. that lazy smile was gone. in its place—something sharp. something tense.
like he’d heard every word. and didn’t like a damn bit of it.
you couldn’t hold his stare for long and your cheeks flamed as you tucked the hearing aid deeper into your pocket, muttering something about needing to check on the food—even though you knew damn well your father was still manning the grill.
you walked away without another word. and behind you, the voices kept going, whether you heard them or not.
and, similarly, from across the yard, he started moving too.
the sliding glass door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music, the voices, the laughter.
you leaned against the counter, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath for twenty minutes straight. your hand slid over the row of mismatched coolers your dad had dragged into the kitchen, flipping each lid open and peering in.
lukewarm beer. lukewarm cider. flat soda.
jesus, did your father even know how coolers worked.
you dug to the bottom of one, knuckles bumping against ice slurry and half-submerged cans, until—thank god—your fingers closed around something glass.
you popped the cap off with the edge of the counter. didn’t even care what it was. just took a long sip and let it burn. you closed your eyes as you tried to slow your heart rate that was currently pounding in your good ear.
maybe if it hadn't been so loud in your own head, you'd of heard him open and close the glass sliding door. and maybe you'd of heard his heavy cowboy boots on your parents titled kitchen floor. then you'd wouldn't have jumped ten feet in the air when he started speaking.
'didn’t peg you for a modelo girl.'
you nearly choked. 'apologies, i didn't mean to startle you.' his words were ones of sorrow but they were anything apologetic. spinning, you found jake seresin leaning in the doorway like he’d grown there—one hand braced overhead on the frame, body all long, golden limbs and subtle smirks. that damn white t-shirt of his clung to every broad inch of his chest, tucked carelessly into worn jeans and—
jesus christ. the man was ridiculous.
'oh,' you said, swallowing the heat crawling up your neck. 'sorry, i just . . . i didn’t hear you come in.'
jake’s smile flickered, eyes drifting briefly toward your left side—your bad side—and something unreadable passed over his face.
'didn’t mean to sneak up on you, darlin’,' he said, voice quiet but colored with something… softer. 'just came in to say thanks.'
you raised a brow, still catching your breath. 'for what?' you asked before turning back to the coolers, not that you were searching for anything particular inside them, but you need something to do with your hands ( and your eyes ).
'for that heroic save,' he said, stepping closer. 'from sherri.'
you snorted. 'figured you’d thank me with a slice of cake or something. not a surprise kitchen ambush.'
jake’s grin widened. 'woulda brought cake, but didn’t know your taste.'
'i’m a woman. it’s cake. what else do you need to know?'
he laughed at that. a real laugh. one that made his eyes crinkle and his whole posture relax.
and then he stepped even closer.
you tensed—only slightly—but not out of fear. no, it was something heavier. the kind of charged, slow-burn awareness that prickled over your skin when a man stood just a little too close. he wasn’t touching you.
but his fingers brushed the counter beside your hip as he leaned, looking down at the half-empty bottle in your hand.
'you alright?' he asked.
the question caught you off guard.
'yeah. I’m fine.'
his brow twitched. 'you sure?'
you hated how much it meant—that someone was actually asking. that he was asking. you shrugged, glancing away. 'i’ve heard worse.'
he nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything right away. just let the silence stretch, full of unspoken things. observations he wasn’t quite ready to voice.
'i don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with you,' jake said. 'not your ears. not your attitude. and sure as hell not the way you look in that shirt.'
your heart stuttered. 'don't know if my opinion means much to you, but there it is.'
'i didn’t come in here for a compliment,' you muttered, suddenly too aware of the neckline of your tank top and the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.
he grinned. 'wasn’t a compliment, darlin’. just the truth.'
your stomach dipped.
'you’re trouble,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. his eyes dipped to your lips, but if he heard you, he didn't say.
the moment hung there—too long, too hot. until the sudden sound of the screen door creaking open in the next room broke it.
jake stepped back first, glancing over his shoulder, then looking back at you with a wink.
'don’t let sherri catch you in here with me. she might think you’re tryin’ to steal me out from under her.'
you scoffed, grabbing your beer again.
'not my type,' you lied quickly. too quickly. he paused in the doorway, smile lazy and golden.
Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.
Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.
…
Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.
It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.
As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.
You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.
Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.
Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.
Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.
Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.
It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.
His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.
And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.
God, that pretty fucking smile.
Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.
Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.
You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.
He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.
Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.
The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.
If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.
On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.
It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.
Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.
“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.
“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”
Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.
“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”
There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.
It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.
In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.
Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.
“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”
The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.
He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.
Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”
There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.
“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”
The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.
Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.
The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.
It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.
Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.
After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.
No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.
You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.
All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.
Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.
“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”
“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”
The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.
Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…
“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”
Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.
“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.
“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.
“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.
“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.
There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”
“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?
Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.
That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.
“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.
Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”
Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.
“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”
You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”
“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.
He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.
Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”
“What did you say?”
The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.
“I was just kidding—“
Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”
You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”
He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.
“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.
Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.
He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.
Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.
His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.
Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.
Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.
You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.
Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”
You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.
Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.
One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.
Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.
Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.
“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”
Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?
He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.
“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”
Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.
Neither one of you will care in a few moments.
The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.
“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”
Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.
Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?
“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”
“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”
Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.
“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.
“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.
“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.
You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.
“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.
“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”
Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.
“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”
A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.
“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”
His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.
All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.
You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.
“Arms up.”
You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.
Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.
You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.
He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.
The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.
His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.
Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.
Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.
“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.
You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.
“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.
A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”
Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.
“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”
“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.
“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.
“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.
“Yeah, honey?”
“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.
“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.
“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”
He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.
Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.
He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.
Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.
He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.
All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.
He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.
Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.
You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.
His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.
“We don’t have to go any further—“
“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”
Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.
“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.
Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.
“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”
“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”
Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.
Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.
Just looking has your mouth running dry.
Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.
“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.
“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.
You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.
Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.
“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”
“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”
This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.
“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”
“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.
Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.
The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.
Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.
“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.
Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.
“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”
“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.
He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.
All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.
“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”
He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.
“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”
“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.
He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.
“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.
“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”
It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.
You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.
He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.
But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”
Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.
Pairing: Dilf!Jake Sully x Fem!Omatikaya Reader
Warnings: explicit smut, thigh riding, age gap, daddy kink, overstimulation, dacryphilia, corruption, power imbalance, a nice little mix of praise and degradation, not a single hint of plot.
Word Count: 1.2k
a/n: this is probably a surprise to everyone including me who didn't intend to write it until @andraga12 and @jakexneytiri got me riled up about dilf Jake. Inspired by nasty - russ (blame andra) and oxytocin - billie eilish, I'd recommend listening to either or both while reading. So in honour of fathers day, here's some thigh riding with dilf!jake.
Click to join my taglist. Requests are open.
Half moons indent the skin of his back where your fingers grasp to steady yourself, and if it pains him he doesn’t show it. His face is unchanged since the first orgasm he’d forced you to ride out and his refusal to help you in your endeavour still standing as you neared your fourth.
His heavy lidded gaze had barely strayed from your face since the moment he’d dragged you down onto his thigh, his five fingered hand catching your jaw when you’d tried to look away, commanding that your eyes didn’t leave his. And who were you to refuse? You were a warrior in your own right, but he was your Olo’eyktan, the man who’d led your father in battle against the Sky People.
“Come here, baby.” When the foreign word had left his tongue, you’d repeated it softly, baby, brow furrowing as you tried to place its meaning, but nevertheless you had done as you were told. Obedient as you always were, you’d crossed the Marui with no idea what the next hour would hold for you.
“Jake– I can’t.” Your slick coating his thigh made the slide easy, but the ache of your swollen bud and the burn that had started in your thighs had now reached your hips. Your hips don’t stop their circling, even as you complain because despite it all, despite the shame that showed in the blush that coated your cheeks and neck, you wanted what he had promised. “Please Jake, I-I just want–”
“Jake?” He tilts his head, a smile crossing his lips that you can’t help but return, even as he tenses his thigh underneath you, a gasp replacing your attempt to correct your mistake and call him by the name he’d asked, that you aren’t even sure you remember anymore.
“D-Daddy? Please.”
“What else could you want, baby? Daddy’s being so good to you, letting you use his thigh like this.” He shakes his head, his thumb catching a tear before it could reach the corner of your lips. “And you look so pretty doing it, it feels good doesn’t it?” You whimper as his fingers dig into your hips, the first aid he’s given you. “You’re doing such a good job, just one more, baby.”
You nod in assent. You could do one more, but he'd said that before the last, and the one before that. He’d stood firm each time, no matter how much you begged and cried for him to give you his cock, never relenting as he leant back on his arms, watching you writhe over him with a look you would usually only associate with hunger.
Finding new pressure in the way he urges your hips back and forth along the length of his thigh, his leg bouncing to meet the pace he set. You clench around nothing, heartbeat throbbing at your aching clit. It’s not enough and you can’t hold on for much longer. He tuts as your head falls into his neck, tears soaking his skin as you fall into the embrace.
His movements stop and you feel your high ripped away and any attempt to chase it hindered by his bruising grip on your hips stilling your frantic attempts to roll your hips.
“What did daddy tell you, huh?” His voice is so low, you feel it vibrate against your chest. “Told’ya you needed to look him in the eyes, didn’t he?” You nod against his neck, sniffling against his skin, not quite ready to leave the comfort it provided. “Don’t tell me your going all shy on me now, not when you’re so close. You want daddy’s cock, don’t you? Why should daddy give you his cock if you can’t follow one simple instruction?”
“N-No.” Your voice comes out much less sure than you intended as you exit your hiding place. “I can, m’sorry daddy. please.” Your voice breaks through the sobs that wrack your form as you tighten your thighs around his, doing anything you can do to chase the pressure your clit craves.
It’s not enough, his hands releasing their grasp on your hips to hook under your thighs. Time slows, heat rushing your veins as his fingertips inch close enough that your core throbs, hips stuttering forward in anticipation of his touch which never arrives as he pulls your legs apart, denying you any friction. You meet his eyes, blood rushing to your head at the intensity of his gaze.
He seems happy with this, as you flush under his attention and release his hold, your body shuddering at the loss of sensation even as it’s replaced with hard muscle.
“Baby, you’ve been doing so well for me. Lookin’ so beautiful dripping all over my thigh.” His tail wraps around your waist, pulling you in closer as he reaches to push back a strand of hair that had become stuck to your face by sweat and tears. “Daddy loves watching you, sweet thing. You were so close weren’t you?” You nod, tears falling freely, heavy as they land on his chest. “Go ahead baby girl, let me hear you.”
Your heart races as you nod, rolling your hips as fast as your aching muscles allow. He catches your face in his hand, his thumb running along your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open to let your sweet moans free. “That’s it baby, come on you can do it.” You gasp as he tenses his thigh beneath you, his tail rocking you along as you run your cunt along his leg, your slick dripping onto the ground beneath you. “It feels so good doesn’t it?”
“Y-Yes daddy, feels–” Your breath catches, a whimper replacing any words, your mind struggling to gather a single thought as the tension builds in your stomach. Breath unsteady as you near your release.
He laughs, it sounds warm but his eyes are glazed with lust as he watches your mouth open and close in search of the words you want to tell him. “It’s that good, huh? Too fucked out and you haven’t even had daddy’s cock yet. Baby, if this is too much for you, I don’t know if you can handle it.”
You open your mouth to tell him that you can, you can and you will because he promised and you’d been so good. But the coil snaps, thighs convulsing as your release rushes over you, drenching both of your thighs. His eyes never leave your face as you come undone, cries filling the Marui with no regard for who might hear until your throat has little more left to give.
Body spent, you fall forward, tears streaked face pressing into his neck, surprised when he doesn’t admonish you and instead pulls you further into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling you into his embrace.
“Baby, you did so good. Listened to daddy so well.” He pressed a soft kiss against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your eyelids are heavy, it’s so warm, so safe in his arms it would be so easy to allow sleep to take you. “My patient girl, you deserve a reward.”
Okay, okay, what abt older!jake AND neytiri?? Like your parents being close with them, and taking a liking to you or something🤭🤭 you write them so so so good, I love it sm
. ᵒ .༄ DBF!JAKE x ARTIST!READER ! ࿔* ━━ ⋅⋆
·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🎨 possible trigger warnings .' heavy dirty talk, little groping ( all consensual )
‧ 🛩️ ‧ ━━ WC 2.3k
series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request for dbfjake x artist!reader
* ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws
⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · . TIL I SAY SO ━━ chapter ten
⋆ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary after a heated conversation with jake in your kitchen with your father in the next room, he tells you the next time you come, its gonna be by his hand.
the morning was quieter than it should’ve been.
you hadn’t slept. not really. not after the messages. not after what he sent. not after the way you’d nearly lost your mind in bed, thighs pressed tight, mouth bitten shut.
not after you'd almost fingered yourself for the second time before your father so rudely interrupted.
and now you were avoiding him like hell.
you knew he’d been out at the barn since sunrise, helping your father hammer in the final beams. you could hear them from your bedroom window—low laughter, thuds of wood and boot falls, distant conversations you weren’t invited to.
fine.
you stayed in bed too long. then too long after that. when you finally came down, your mouth was dry and your brain still foggy, nightshirt hanging loose around your thighs, panties soft and worn underneath. you weren’t trying to be seductive. you were just tired. and—
you were not thinking about Jake.
you padded into the kitchen, heading for coffee machine, poured yourself a cup and then reached for the the honey jar like muscle memory, telling yourself you needed caffeine, not a good fucking from your fathers best friend. you didn’t even notice him come inside. didn’t realize he was watching—not until you heard his voice.
“mind if i get a refill?”
your heart jumped into your throat.
you didn’t move. you couldn’t. not before he slipped in the kitchen behind you and shut the door. the room suddenly felt too small. your breath stuck in your lungs.
you didn’t have to turn around to feel him. he was right there. close enough to warm your skin. close enough to smell—pine, cedar, sweat, sun. and when he spoke, it scraped through your spine like velvet and heat and trouble.
“did you come on your fingers yesterday after lookin’ at that picture i sent you?” you whipped around. nearly dropped the mug.
“what the fuck?” you hissed. your eyes darted toward the doorway like a reflex. “are you insane? my dad’s right there. he could hear!” you whisper shouted, looking over jake's shoulder which was almost impossible because he was so tall.
jake just smiled. lazy and loose. too goddamn confident. “didn’t ask where your daddy was. i asked if you came. on. your. fingers, darlin'."
you hated him. despised him. and yet your thighs clenched together on instinct. "stop fucking saying that!" you shook your head. “you’re disgusting.”
he didn’t move.
“yeah?” he smirked. he didn't believe you for a second. “if i remember correctly, you were the one beggin’ for vein placement like it was a damn anatomy test. you even said pretty please.”
you did.
oh god, you did.
you gripped the counter edge hard, as if it might keep you grounded. as if it might save you. jake stepped in behind you, didn’t touch—just hovered. all presence, all pressure, all heat.
“i’ll ask again real slow, honey . . .” you felt his breath against your ear. “did. you. slip your fingers inside that sweet perfect little pussy and think about my cock while your daddy was asleep down the hall?”
you thought your knees might buckle. your vision blurred at the edges, everything swimming, every nerve blazing—god, you actually moaned.
“you okay in there?” your father shouted from the dining room. sharp and sudden. you pulled away turned back to the counter. hands scrambling for the honey bottle like it held your dignity. jake was still caging you in expect now his chest was inches from your back.
your voice came out higher than usual—
“yeah, everything's great.” jake muttered back, but he was talking to you more than he was speaking to your father. you didn’t dare look back. not at the door, to which your father was on the other side of. and definitely not to jake, who seamed even closer now.
jake’s smirk burned through the air like smoke. you felt it. “just hope it was as dirty as i imagine,” he murmured, just loud enough for you. then his presence was gone. he wasn't behind you anymore.
he had barely turned toward the kitchen doorway when your fingers wrapped around his wrist. tight. shaky. he paused. looked back. you didn’t say anything at first—just stared up at him, breathing hard, chest rising under your thin nightshirt. and then, without warning, you tugged. hard.
jake let himself be pulled. let himself be spun and pressed back into your space until you were the one trapped—you were the one caged against the counter with nowhere to run. again.
his hands braced on either side of your hips, but he didn’t touch you. your voice came out uneven. frustrated. fractured. a little breathless. “i wanted to.”
jake blinked. “what?” he knew exactly what. but he wanted to hear from you lips, you knew that.
“last night. after your picture.”
"yeah?” his tone dipped lower. “you touch yourself, baby?”
you swallowed then shook your head, bowing in disappointment. “i wanted to so bad, jake, i swear. i was interrupted."
jake’s jaw flexed. “and if you weren’t?”
your breath caught. then steadied. then—soft, sure : “then i would’ve.”
jake stepped just a little closer. your thighs brushed. your fingers twisted into the sleeve of his flannel, still holding him there like he might vanish if you let go.
“and what would you have thought about, angel?” he murmured. “the picture?”
you nodded your head. slowly. deliberately. "i would have thought about you. what you'd've said to me." then rose onto your toes.
and when you leaned in—so close he could feel your lips ghost along the shell of his ear—your voice came out like a secret made of sin. “and it wouldn’t have been the first time either.”
jake froze.
blood left his brain. every muscle in his body locked up. he pulled back just enough to see your face—eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like a dare, like a confession you didn’t care if he survived.
he stared. stunned. possessed.
“jesus christ.”
his eyes dropped. then dragged back up. slow as sin. “do you touch yourself a lot thinkin’ about me?” the words were filthy but casually delivered like he was asking what kind of jam you wanted on your toast.
you blinked. your mouth opened—but nothing came out. he stepped closer ( as if he wasn't already so close you could feel his breath ) but not touching you, but near enough to ruin you. his body radiated heat, his voice lower now, all drawl and dare. “asked you a question, baby.”
your stomach flipped so violently it might’ve knocked something loose. “i—i don’t—” you stammered. your brain, usually so sharp, so meticulous, completely short-circuited.
jake just looked down at you. "ain't a hard question. either ya do or ya don't." his gaze didn’t flinch. didn’t blink. like he had all the time in the goddamn world to watch you squirm.
finally, you managed it. “no,” you whispered. “it was just the one time.” the one time that left you shaking.
the one time that made you bite down on a pillow to muffle the sounds you didn’t know you could make. the one time that started with your eyes glued to a poorly inaccurate sketch of his cock, and ended with your thighs soaked and trembling.
but now it felt embarrassing. shameful. even though your fingers had been yours and the fantasy had been yours, your body had still betrayed you. you weren’t supposed to want like that.
your hand curled tighter around the honey bottle. something inside your chest cracked a little. “i just… i thought about you,” you admitted. "but it-it-it wasn't like weird or anything. i didn't mean to—"
"you didn't mean to finger yourself or you didn't mean to picture it was me instead?" you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t. your voice came out smaller than you intended. delicate. fragile. “either, both. i—are you… mad that i did?”
there it was.
out loud.
like a blade unsheathed between you.
your gaze flicked upward, just enough to catch the way jake stilled—his smirk gone, his mouth slightly parted, his brows pulled together in something that looked an awful lot like disbelief.
“i mean,” you rushed on, voice higher now, breath caught in your throat, “my mom always said that—that men don’t like that kind of thing. girls who do that. girls who . . . touch themselves, or think about men they can't have, or say things like i said—”
you were spiraling now. rambling. “and i didn’t even look at the sketch you left—because i didn’t want to make it worse, i didn’t want to read something you didn’t mean, and—” jake stopped you right there.
just a breath. his hand came up—not touching, not quite—but hovering like he wanted to. like he might. he tilted his head, voice low. rough. “you thought i’d be mad because you touched yourself thinkin’ about me?”
his eyes burned. his body was still.
then came the smirk again—but it was different now. slower and deeper than before. downright dangerous in a way that made your knees weak and your panties damp.
“darlin’,” he said, “i ain’t ever wanted anything more in my whole fuckin’ life.” your breath hitched.
jake’s hand was still hovering—close enough that you could feel the heat of it radiating over your hip, but not touching, not yet. like he knew if he did, he’d lose the last sliver of restraint he had.
your back was against the counter now—chest rising and falling so fast it was almost embarrassing, cheeks so hot you could feel the heat radiating off them in waves.
your heart thudded against your ribs. loud but dull and frantic rhythm. and then he began again. “next time you do it,” he murmured, “i want you thinkin’ about how i’d talk you through it." he kept going, filthy, like he was barely hanging on, “tellin’ you you’re doin’ so good. tellin’ you how wet you are for me. how warm. how tight.”
your knees damn near buckled. “i want you thinkin’ about my fingers." he added, darkly amused now, “sliding in slow, crookin’ just right. how i’d curl ‘em like this—” he held his fingers up, pantomiming the motion. “—until you cry.”
your lips parted. no air came out. “wanna be the reason your sheets are a mess. the reason you bite your lip when you’re tryin’ not to moan. the reason you shake when you come. ”
your pulse went wild. “next time,” he said, “i want you thinkin’ about ridin’ my thigh ‘til you soak me through. real slow too, honey. just your panties between us, all wet and messy and desperate. i’d hold your hips and make you work for it. want you picturin’ me sittin’ back with my arms folded, watchin’ you grind your sweet little pussy against me ‘til you can’t take it anymore”
he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, breath hot enough to burn. “i want you sayin’ my name while you do it.” that’s when you broke. you sucked in a breath, shaky, sharp and your thighs clenched instinctively.
you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t think. everything inside you had gone molten—slick heat coiling low in your belly, heartbeat pulsing between your legs. you twisted toward him, throat tight.
“next time?”
jake just smiled. “baby,” he said, looking at you like you were already undone, “there’s gonna be a next time.”
your breath hitched. you should’ve run. you should’ve turned around and walked the fuck away—back to your room, back to safety, back to anything that wasn’t him and his goddamn voice.
but you didn’t move. you couldn’t. jake looked down at you, his head cocked slightly, eyes hooded and heavy with want. “next time,” he said, slow and deliberate, “i’m gonna watch you.”
you blinked. “what?”
“when you touch yourself,” he murmured, voice like warm honey sliding over gravel, “i want your legs spread open for me. shirt pushed up. nothing on underneath.”
your back arched subtly against the counter, body reacting before your brain could catch up. “i wanna see how you do it,” he went on, “how you play with that sweet little pussy when no one’s watchin’. if you go fast or slow. if you tease yourself. if you moan my name when you’re close. i gotta make sure your treatin' her right, baby.”
your mouth had gone dry. your thighs had gone wet. “and maybe,” jake added, leaning in like he was about to confess a sin, “if you ask real nice—” is lips brushed your cheek, the ghost of a kiss that didn’t quite happen. “—’ll touch you.”
you gasped. actually gasped. jake chuckled low, lips still barely grazing your skin.
“just my fingers at first. one hand on your hip, the other between your thighs. i won’t go deep, not yet—just enough to make you beg.”
our knees buckled. again. “beg me to fuck you,” he finished, pulling back just an inch, “right here in your daddy’s kitchen.”
you stared up at him, wrecked. ruined. your brain scrambled, your body traitorous. jake tilted his head, lips parted like he was still tasting you, even though he hadn’t laid a finger on you. “i’d do it, too,” he added softly. “if you asked. if you looked up at me all needy like this? i’d fuck you stupid on this counter.”
you nearly whimpered.
from the other room : “jake? you get lost in there?” jake didn’t move. didn’t look away. “better go ‘fore he thinks i died,” he whispered, eyes still locked on yours. “you comin', darlin’?”
you mouth moved before your brain did and you let out a breathless, "no." he grinned. cocky. devastating. "comin' to the dining room, baby. your dad made breakfast." he turned but then stopped, hand just short of the handle. "i know you ain't comin' right now. not til i say so."
and with that, jake seresin turned around and left you in the kitchen legs shaking, panties soaked, and jaw slack like he hadn’t just promised to ruin you.
series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request for dbfjake x artist!reader
* ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws
⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · . AND PIE FOR DESERT ━━ chapter two
⋆ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary in which you ( the reader ) are ambushed once again by your parents ( your mother ) and it comes in the form of a family + jake dinner.
you had no idea that he was going to be there.
scratch that—you should’ve known.
the scent of roasted chicken casserole hit you first as you walked down the stairs of your childhood home, then the low hum of your mother’s voice carried down the hall.
you hadn't changed out of your pajamas—and honestly why would you? this is your home so why would you even think to change. you had on pajama pants and threw on a tee so thin it probably counted as a health hazard—when you turned the corner into the dining room and froze.
jake seresin sat at the table.
smiling. relaxed. beer in hand. and for the second time in a week this man has seen you in near pajamas, messy hair and the glasses you only wore after 9 pm.
he grinned as he looked up, caught sight of you, and gave a slow, amused once-over that wasn’t leering, but something else entirely. like you were the moon and he was trying not to howl.
'evenin’,' he drawled, tipping his bottle.
you blinked. 'you’re here.' ( duh, of course he's here, he's your fathers best friend ). 'guilty.' his grin deepened. 'didn’t know i needed a dress code.'
your mother shot you a sharp, faux-sweet glance from where she was setting the mashed potatoes on the table.
'i did mention he was joining us, didn’t i?' she asked airily.
no. no, she absolutely had not. but of course she’d wait until it was too late for you to actually do anything about it. this was exactly the kind of thing your mother was best at. embarrassing you.
you bit the inside of your cheek and slid into the only open chair—only to pause when you saw where it was. next to your mother. diagonal from your dad.
jake caught your hesitation. or your disappointment, who knows. you sat down in the open spot across from your mother, your regular spot. your dad was uncorking a bottle of red wine and jake was standing. not sitting in the seat your mother had clearly set for him
he rounded until he was standing behind the chair to your right and in front of your mother, he leaned across the table, gathered up his place setting and plopped in on the open spot next to your plate.
you flushed.
your mother straightened, her voice sharp with sugar. 'jake, i had you next to me—'
jake, however, was already pulling out the chair to your right—your good side. 'hope you don’t mind, ma’am. figured i’d let you and your husband sit together. always nice to give married folks some alone time. especially now that you have your adult daughter just down the hall.'
your father let out a hearty laugh, but you grimaced. you did not come here to hear about your parents sex life. 'you hear that, honey? jake’s trying to set the mood.'
your mother’s smile tightened. 'mmm.'
jake dropped into the seat beside you with a little too much ease. his thigh brushed yours under the table as he leaned in slightly, whispering just for you, 'hope you don’t mind. i swapped seats.'
you shake your head no and fought the smile that wanted to rise. tried to ignore the way his voice dipped low—private, intimate, like a secret being unwrapped.
jake picked up his fork and pointed at the casserole. 'looks good,' he said to your mom. 'smells better than anything i’ve burned this week.'
your mother preened under the praise. 'it’s my mother’s recipe.'
jake nodded. 'must run in the family, then.' she beamed—until she realized he hadn’t even glanced at her when he said it. he was looking directly at you. 'artistry, i mean.'
you adjusted your glasses, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his knee bumped yours again, totally casual like he had no clue how warm he was.
the conversation moved on—your dad telling some story about the old firehouse—and Jake leaned in to whisper again, 'how’d i do? enough charm to keep her from smothering me with a church casserole?'
you tried not to giggle. you failed.
and across the table, your mother watched the two of you, jaw set. smile cracked and fork still.
jake didn’t seem to notice.
but you did.
and it made your stomach twist—in the best way.
jake waited until your fork hit the plate before leaning in slightly, elbow brushing yours.
'so…' he started casually, voice low and easy, 'city girl now, huh? what’s it like bein’ all fancy up in austin?”
you snorted and took a sip of water to buy yourself a second. 'i live above a vape shop and scream into a pillow every time my neighbor practices bluegrass at three in the morning. i don't think fancy is the right word.'
jake laughed—really laughed, head tipped back slightly. 'still a hell of a view, i bet.'
'only if you like watching college freshmen try to parallel park.'
'i don’t,” he said, smiling at you now, not even trying to hide it. 'i like a good driveway.'
you, yet again, tried not to smile, and yet again failed completely.
he shifted a little in his seat, still facing you. 'what’s the plan now, though? after the welcome parade and all.' he gestured vaguely toward your parents, toward the casserole dishes and too-many glasses of wine. 'gonna take the art world by storm?'
you shrugged, stabbing a green bean. 'not sure yet. i’ve got a couple commissions lined up. might teach, maybe freelance. i’m just… figuring it out.'
he nodded slowly, like he was really listening. 'nothin’ wrong with that. you’ve got time.'
his voice had dipped—softer, just for you—and something in your chest tugged hard.
'she’s always been like that,' your dad cut in from across the table, practically glowing. 'determined as hell. had a whole wall of drawings by the time she was ten. woke me up at two in the morning once ‘cause she ran out of paper. stole printer paper outta my office like it was contraband.'
you laughed under your breath, cheeks warming.
jake’s gaze didn’t move from yours. 'explains that little furrow you get when you’re thinkin’. Saw it earlier.'
you raised a brow. 'did you?'
'yeah. real intense,' he murmured. 'made me wonder what you were thinkin’ about.'
'i was imagining stabbing you with a fork,' you replied dryly, but your tone betrayed you.
he grinned. “oh, i knew it was somethin’ flattering.'
'not everyone has a grill spatula kink, jake.'
'well,' he said with a wink, 'first time for everything.'
that earned a soft laugh from your dad. but the warmth that had settled into your spine cooled the second your mother cut in.
'well,' she said with that tight, too-bright smile, 'i hope all that sketching turns into something practical. it’s not like the world needs more starving artists. we can’t all live above vape shops forever, can we?'
you barely blinked.
jake, however, turned toward her with a smile so slow and syrupy it almost seemed sweet. almost. 'i dunno, doesn’t seem like she’s starving to me,' he said smoothly. 'not with that kind of fire.'
your fork paused mid-bite.
your mother tilted her head. 'i just mean—there’s talent and then there’s stability. not everyone wants to be a wandering creative their whole life.'
'is she’s wandering?' jake said before you could, voice calm but deliberate. 'to me, sounds like she’s just getting started.'
and it was quiet. not for long—but long enough.
then your dad cleared his throat and said something about how the pie was probably burning, and your mother refilled her wine with a little more force than necessary. and you?
you looked down at your plate and fought the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. because jake seresin had just taken your side—again—and nobody even knew why.
the silverware clinked. conversation had settled into a gentle hum of anecdotes and questions. your father was in the middle of a story—something about jake helping him fix the gate out back—when your mother cut in with her signature, saccharine smile.
'you know,” she said, reaching across the table to top off your wine glass, 'i’m just so glad you’re back home, sweetheart. we were worried you’d forget how to participate in a conversation without subtitles.'
you froze, the stem of the glass trembling between your fingers. a particularly mean jab using the information that you had started using live captions on your weekly face time calls to your father.
your dad let out a confused little laugh—he hadn’t quite registered the jab.
jake had. his fork stopped midair.
you stared down at your plate. you didn’t say anything. you never did.
your mother, pleased with herself, kept talking. 'though i suppose art school in austin has its own language, doesn’t it?'
jake cleared his throat. 'well,' he said, voice slow and smooth like a poured drink, 'seems like she’s been keeping up just fine.'
your head snapped up. he was still looking at his plate—but the tone in his voice was deliberate. grounded. and your mother heard it.
she stiffened, her smile dimming just a touch.
jake didn’t look at her. he looked at you.
'besides,' he added, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, 'i wouldn’t mind if dinner came with subtitles. y’all speak real fast for a guy born and raised south of midland.'
your father chuckled. 'that’s because you’ve got city ears now, seresin.'
'what i’ve got is nothin’ but respect for country girls who can keep up,' jake said, voice pitched low, but there was something sharp under it. something aimed just left of the target.
your breath caught. you didn’t dare look at your mother—but you could feel her irritation radiating off her like heat off asphalt.
jake turned back to his food like nothing had happened.
but under the table, his knee was still pressed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time.
and that said more than words ever could.
the heat began to rise to your cheeks for what also felt like the hundredth time. you made it another five minutes.
five minutes of chewing too slowly and sipping too fast and pretending like your whole body wasn’t still humming from the heat of jake’s knee against yours.
you needed air.
'i’m just gonna…' you gestured vaguely, rising from the table and grabbing your empty glass. 'refill.'
jake glanced up, but didn’t say anything. just watched you go, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as you passed behind him.
in the kitchen, the hush was immediate. just the buzz of the ceiling light and the soft tick of the ancient wall clock. you leaned against the counter, trying to slow your heartbeat. you weren’t sure what was flustering you more—jake’s thigh or his voice, low and lazy, dropping compliments like molasses just for you.
you grinned to yourself.
he was charming. unfairly charming. and he didn’t look at you like he was humoring you—he looked like he saw you. you’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
you opened the fridge to hide your smile. poured a splash more wine. maybe just a minute in here to collect yourself before heading back out and pretending not to replay every brush of contact, every glance, every subtle deflection he made when your mother opened her mouth.
you were halfway through a sip when you heard it.
the rustle of her linen blouse. the sharp clip of her sandals on the tile.
'sweetheart.'
you flinched before she even spoke.
'just taking a breather,' you said quickly, turning around too fast. 'been a long day, you know.'
she didn’t smile. she didn’t approach the fridge. she just stood there, hands clasped neatly in front of her, like a queen assessing a mess her maid should’ve cleaned up hours ago.
'you were very… chatty during dinner.'
you blinked. 'i was answering questions.'
'with jake.'
you stared at her. 'he’s dad's new best friend. what, i’m not allowed to talk to him?' you weren't sure why you were feeling so defensively all the sudden. but it put a bite in your tone that you never had with your mother before.
you had never spoken to your mother like this before.
'that’s not what i’m saying,' she said, and her voice was already changing—that gentle, careful condescension that always came before the verbal blow.
you held your wine glass a little tighter.
'i’m just saying,' she continued, 'it’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think? The laughing, the… looks.'
'jesus christ, mom,' you said, already half-laughing, but there was no humor in it. 'we were talking about cities and art and grilled chicken. it wasn’t a fucking strip tease.'
her eyes narrowed. 'don’t be vulgar!'
'don’t be ridiculous.'
'don’t be naive.' she stepped closer. 'he’s a man, sweetheart. a grown man. with already broken career, with a reputation. he’s not going to ruin it further by slumming it with a girl who’s barely got her life together.'
you blinked. the glass in your hand felt heavier. 'and even if he was,' she said, tilting her head, 'it would reflect very poorly on you. can you imagine what people would say? what they’re probably already saying? i saw you two in the kitchen during the cookout.'
the words hit you like a cold splash of water.
'mom,' you said, trying to keep your voice level. 'he’s dad's friend.'
'yes he’s your father’s friend. and yes, he’s very nice to look at. which is exactly why you should be more careful. he’s too old for this nonsense. and frankly—so are you.'
you stared at her. speechless. not because you didn’t have things to say—but because if you started now, you weren’t sure you’d ever stop.
'i was just being polite,' you managed finally.
she arched a brow. 'with your tank top hanging off one shoulder and your bra nowhere in sight?'
your mouth opened. then closed.
she stepped forward, reaching out as if to adjust the neckline of your shirt. you flinched back. 'i’m not having this conversation,' you said.
'you already are.'
'i’m not doing anything wrong. you're the one who forgot to tell me he was coming. if'd i'd of known, i'd have worn something . . . well, i would have worn more.'
'you’re embarrassing yourself,' she said softly. 'and me. your father and i were gracious enough to let you stay here while you pine after that ridiculous job. do not ruin your second chance here.'
the silence that followed was crushing.
she didn’t apologize.
she never did.
and when she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her perfume and her poison behind, you were left standing alone. the wine glass trembled in your hand.
but even then, your mind wasn’t on her. not fully.
it was on him. jake. his knee brushing yours. the way he spoke to you like you were someone worth hearing. the way he said it didn’t matter. that you looked just fine.
and suddenly, you weren’t sure who you believed more.
the woman who raised you.
or the man who saw you.
and just like that, you were back to being the version of yourself she’d raised—quiet, proper, apologetic. even when you wanted to scream.
you came back with pie, sans your glasses ( and prayed you didn't run into something and embarrass yourself even more ).
not because you were hungry—your stomach had curled in on itself the moment your mother walked into that kitchen—but because you needed something to do with your hands. something to ground you, to keep your mind from spiraling back through every word she’d said, every veiled insult, every warning disguised as concern.
you slid into your seat with a soft 'excuse me,' placing the plate in front of you and picking up your fork without really looking at anyone.
the conversation had shifted in your absence. something about college football now—your dad, bless him, animated as ever, explaining the politics of a last-minute quarterback trade like it was foreign policy. jake was nodding along, half-listening, arms folded again.
his eyes found you the moment you sat down.
you didn’t meet them.
instead, you busied yourself with the pie—raspberry, or maybe cherry. you weren’t really tasting it. just chewing. swallowing. pretending like nothing had happened in the kitchen. like you hadn’t just been dressed down in full, every inch of you picked apart and dismissed in the same breath.
jake leaned toward you—barely, just a little shift of his weight in your direction—and said low, 'you alright?'
you nodded without looking at him. 'fine.'
he paused. like he didn’t believe you, but also like he knew better than to push.
the problem was, he’d seen you. a few moments ago before you'd run to the kitchen. a couple days ago, at the cookout. every little flinch. every pulled thread of your composure. and now, even with your smile back in place, you felt his gaze linger longer than it should have.
you didn’t say much after that.
not when jake asked about austin. not when your dad chimed in with something about your old apartment. you answered in short, clipped sentences. polite and measured, but nothing more.
you didn’t dare let your voice rise again. didn’t let yourself laugh at jake’s teasing. didn’t lean when he leaned, didn’t brush your knee against his, even though his was still right there, waiting. you folded in on yourself just enough to be safe. just enough to feel small again.
jake noticed. because of course he did.
you caught it in the way he looked at you—longer now, quieter. he laughed at something your father said but didn’t offer one of his own stories. just stayed there, arms folded, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
and still, you didn’t look at him.
because you weren’t sure what would happen if you did.
you didn’t know if the look in his eyes would make you feel better—or worse. didn’t know if you’d break open, right there at the table, pie fork in hand and your mother watching from across the linen cloth with a satisfied little smile, like she’d done you a favor by reeling you back in.
series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request for dbfjake x artist!reader
* ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ imagine dbf!jake meeting you for the first time
jake had been flipping burgers when he heard the side gate click open. he didn’t turn at first—just another guest, probably. another local neighbor come to sniff around the grill. but something in the air shifted. his gut told him before his head caught up. the quiet changed.
then he heard your father’s voice. 'come on now, honey. you’re not gettin’ out of this.'
jake glanced up.
and froze. like whole body, his burger flipping hand paused. even the smell of burning meat couldn't tear his attention away from you.
you were walking toward him. slippers on the gravel like you didn’t even feel the tiny rocks under the thin nonexistent soles. hoodie too big, sleeves shoved halfway up your forearms. hair twisted into the kind of messy bun and held up by a overstuffed claw clip. the kind of hairstyle girls never seemed to plan—but damn if it didn’t make his throat tighten.
then he saw the glasses. thick black rims. the kind most girls would’ve taken off before stepping outside, but you wore them like you didn’t care who saw.
he noticed your eyes next—hesitant, unreadable—and then, the hearing aid.
left ear. sleek and discreet. something about it made his chest clench. not because it bothered him, but because of the way you flinched when his eyes landed on it. like you were already bracing for a hit.
he barely had time to school his expression before your father dragged you the rest of the way.
'you must be the daughter i’ve heard so much about. name’s jake.'
he stuck his hand out, trying to keep it casual. light, like this wasn’t suddenly the most important moment of his week.
you looked at his hand like it might burn you.
his breath hitched—just for a second. and then, slowly, you took it.
warm and smaller than he expected, but steady. he let his thumb brush the side of your knuckle on instinct. he wasn’t sure why.
you didn’t smile, but you didn’t yank your hand away either. that counted. he let his eyes flick to your left ear again—brief, instinctive—but when he saw the way your jaw clenched, he looked away. not out of discomfort. out of fury. he didn’t miss the way your body language changed. shame was a hard thing to watch settle into someone’s bones.
he leaned in a little. 'welcome home.'
you blinked, surprised. 'um, thanks. didn’t know i was coming home to a party.'
he smiled—real and easy. 'didn’t know i was grilling for one until about an hour ago. your dad kinda ambushed me. but i don’t mind.'
your mouth twitched. like you were trying not to smile. like maybe no one had made you smile in a while.
and then he watched as your entire demeanor physically changed. 'oh good, you’ve met.' it was you mother. his best friends overly flirty wife.
jake knew it before you even tensed. her voice had that edge. the sweet-tea-over-broken-glass tone. he glanced over just in time to see her eyes flick toward your hearing aid like it offended her.
'you might want to go freshen up, sweetheart. jake’s a guest.'
he straightened slightly, sensing it before it came. 'i thought i told you to get rid of that silly thing,' she whispered—loud enough for him to catch.
then she reached up—and pulled it right out of your ear and jake’s blood turned to steam.
you flinched. like she’d slapped you. the left side of your body went still. he saw your lips part, your eyes glaze just slightly, and the way you forced your smile to stay glued to your face made his stomach twist.
your mother slipped the hearing aid into your pocket like it was trash.
his jaw ticked. he didn’t say anything, but he angled his body ever so slightly—toward your right side. your good ear, he noticed, the one that didn't have a hearing aid in it.
'i don’t mind,' he said, softer now. 'think you look just fine.'
your head snapped to him like you weren’t expecting that. he meant it. every word. not just because you looked good—you did—but because fuck her for trying to make you small. for trying to shame you over something that was clearly not shameful.
he looked at you—held your gaze and he knew that somewhere inside you, that meant something.
'i’m gonna—uh,' you motioned. 'beer. i need a beer.'
jake chuckled, tension easing just enough to let him breathe. 'grab me one too?'
you nodded, backing up fast. 'yeah. sure thing.' and then you were gone.
jake stared after you.
and he didn’t smile.
not because he wasn’t charmed—he was—but because his stomach was a pit of concrete.
he’d known people like your mother. knew what they did behind closed doors and even if this wasn’t that, it was close enough to make his fists curl.
he didn’t know you. not really, but he knew that look in your eyes and he knew—right then and there—he’d rather burn this whole house down than let her make you feel like less than you were.
jake seresin had seen war zones with less tension.
he adjusted the tongs in his hand, flipped a burger like it owed him money, and nodded along as sherri jenkins recounted the thrilling saga of how her neighbor’s cousin’s golden retriever had nearly drowned in a kiddie pool last week. tragic stuff, really. edge-of-your-seat material.
he resisted the urge to rub the spot where her nails had just barely grazed his bicep again. her laugh rang out like a car alarm—a high-pitched, looping thing that made his shoulders crawl.
still manning the grill like it was a battlefield, jake tried not to show how desperate he was to escape. but christ almighty, this woman could talk.
'oh, jake,' she said again, with a syrupy lilt that made his spine go tight, 'you wouldn’t believe the kinds of looks i get going to the grocery store alone nowadays. you ever get that? just… too much attention?'
he blinked. 'uh—sure.'
'of course you do,” she purred, reaching out again—light fingers brushing the sleeve of his flannel like she was testing fabric quality. 'with those arms? i bet you’ve broken a few hearts in your day.'
jake offered the world's tightest smile. he folded his arms across his chest in a clear please don’t touch me again signal.
'well,' he said slowly, 'i try to keep the heartbreak to a minimum.'
She giggled—loud, breathy, and deeply unholy. 'ooooh, a gentleman! i like that.'
jake shifted uncomfortably. her hand lingered a second too long. her neckline dipped a half inch lower every time she laughed. he swore she adjusted it on purpose—like this was some sort of suburban mating ritual and he’d been chosen for sacrifice.
where the hell was your father?
he scanned the yard casually—eyes flicking over beer coolers, paper plates, and lawn chairs like maybe one of them would open a wormhole and suck him out of this moment.
then there you were.
over by the porch. holding a drink, standing in a beam of sun that hit your glasses just enough to make you squint. you were watching him.
thank god.
jake gave the faintest shrug, like help me, and hoped you'd get the message.
he watched your expression shift, just slightly. then—the saint that you were—you started walking. jake kept his face neutral as you approached, praying sherri wouldn’t start talking about her pilates class next.
you slipped in between them like you'd been born to do it.
'hi, miss sherri,' you said, all innocent sugar and flawless timing.
sherri blinked at you, startled. 'sweetheart! oh, i didn’t see you there. all grown up, aren’t you? i was just catching up with your dad’s new friend here—jake, was it?'
you nodded, pretending you didn’t already know his name. and jake—god help him—watched you over your shoulder, slipping him an exit like a secret handshake.
he didn’t waste it.
he mouthed a dramatic thank you, eyebrows raised, hands clasped like he was praising a higher power, and took off toward the garage like a man escaping captivity.
he didn’t even care that the burger on the grill was about to burn. again. he’d owe you forever.
he didn’t make it more than ten feet away from you and sherri. jake had just ducked behind the patio chair, mentally running through which tool chest drawer held the bottle opener—when he saw her.
your mother. smiling that smile.
he’d seen that smile before. not hers, but ones like it. it was the same tight-lipped expression his own father used when he was about to land a hit and still expected you to say thank you for the lesson.
jake's feet stalled on instinct. he didn’t even hear your father talking anymore—something about gopher holes or mower belts? whatever it was, he couldn’t focus. not when you were standing frozen by the cooler and your mother was beelining for you like a torpedo with pearls.
he watched—felt something in his gut twist—when her hand reached up to point towards your hearing aid-less ear and—
no. jake’s jaw clenched. she didn’t.
but she had. she’d just pointed out to another living person that you weren't wearing your hearing aid that is why you couldn't hear. as if she wasn't the one that yanked that hearing aid right out of your damn ear.
and you—you flinched. visibly. and then you smiled like nothing happened.
that did it.
jake excused himself with a muttered apology, slipping inside through the back door, his blood still simmering. the hallway was quiet, save for the buzz of a faulty light fixture.
one of the now warm kitchen coolers was open. you were alone now. bottle of modelo in your hand like you were trying to cool the heat in your veins.
jake opened the glass door without thinking. didn’t knock. didn’t hesitate. you didn’t hear him. you didn’t even flinch when he stepped inside, boots heavy on the tile. he noted that your left side was facing him. left equals bad side.
it wasn’t until he spoke that you jolted like a live wire. 'didn’t peg you for a modelo girl.'
you nearly choked. jake winced. 'apologies, i didn't mean to startle you.' he meant it. sort of. but his voice came out low and apologetic in a way that didn’t feel sorry at all.
you spun on your heel, wide-eyed and flustered. 'oh,' you said, blinking hard. 'sorry, i just… i didn’t hear you come in.'
his smile faltered. his gaze dropped—briefly—to your left side. to the absence. the silence. his gut burned.
'didn’t mean to sneak up on you, darlin’,' he said. this time, quieter. softer. 'just came in to say thanks.'
you raised a brow. 'for what?' you asked, turning back toward the cooler like you needed something to do with your hands. jake recognized the move. he did it himself, sometimes.
'for that heroic save,' he said, stepping forward, close enough to smell the citrus soap you’d probably used on your hands. 'from sherri.'
you snorted. 'figured you’d thank me with a slice of cake or something. not a surprise kitchen ambush.'
jake grinned, relaxing into it now. 'woulda brought cake, but didn’t know your taste.'
'i’m a woman. it’s cake. what else do you need to know?'
that—that made him laugh. a real one. from deep in his chest, cracking loose some part of him he hadn’t realized was wound so tight.
and then he stepped closer.
he didn’t mean to. not consciously. but there you were—standing half a foot away, skin flushed, lips soft, tank top clinging in the kind of way that made his thoughts fall out of order.
he leaned in just a little—his knuckles brushing the counter beside your hip, like a damn tease. like a test.
'you alright?' he asked.
you blinked. 'yeah. i’m fine.'
he didn’t believe you.
'you sure?'
you hesitated and jake saw it. the way your shoulders dropped just a bit. the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.
'i’ve heard worse,' you said softly. jake nodded once, slowly. didn’t push it because it really wasn't any of his business, just let the silence stretch there, holding the weight of what he’d seen outside.
'i don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with you,' he said, voice steady now. 'not your ears. not your attitude. and sure as hell not the way you look in that shirt.'
you stiffened. he almost took it back—almost—but the look on your face made him hold his ground.
'don’t know if my opinion means much to you, but there it is,' he added.
'i didn’t come in here for a compliment,' you muttered, voice low, embarrassed, maybe. jake’s grin returned. 'wasn’t a compliment, darlin’. just the truth.'
he meant that. every word and he wasn’t sure what scared him more—that he meant it, or that he needed you to believe it.
you looked at him then—really looked. 'you’re trouble,' you whispered.
his eyes dipped to your mouth. brief. unavoidable and he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. but if he heard you, he didn’t say.
the moment was on the verge of tipping over—too close, too hot, too something—when the creak of the screen door made them both flinch.
jake stepped back first, pulse thrumming, head clearing. he looked over his shoulder, then back at you with a lazy, crooked smile. 'don’t let sherri catch you in here with me. she might think you’re tryin’ to steal me out from under her.'
you scoffed and grabbed your beer again. 'not my type,' you said—way too fast. jake paused in the doorway, grin widening just enough to show his teeth. 'we’ll see.'
and then he walked out—heart pounding like a war drum—and wondered what the hell just happened.
because it wasn’t just a spark. it wasn’t just interest. it was something bigger. something that, if he wasn’t careful, might just burn him down to the bones.
series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request for dbfjake x artist!reader
* ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ imagine jake giving you hard dimensions
it was the buzzing that woke him. or maybe the sun creeping through the blinds. or maybe the half-hard weight between his legs reminding him of the conversation the two of you had six hours ago.
he groaned. rolled over. reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand, blinking against the brightness of the screen. he was still half-asleep, the sheets twisted around his hips, one leg kicked free in the night. his body was warm and lazy and hard.
8:03 am. two new messages. from you.
his brows lifted.
to jake 🐍 8:03 am
i need you to be so dead fucking serious with me for a second
i need measurements like actual dimensions
because i cannot for the fucking life of me get your cock right
i’ve tried. i’ve really tried.
i’m surrounded by sketchbook corpses
and i’m on my last page
he let out a slow, disbelieving breath.
to jake 🐍 8:04 am
ok i think i’m sleep deprived ignore that last message lmao
he grinned.
“nope,” he muttered to himself, voice still graveled from sleep. “you don’t get to walk that one back.”
he thumbed out a reply, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world—even if his cock was starting to throb just reading your frantic little art breakdown.
jake 🐍 8:07 am
well good mornin’ to you too, picasso
you gonna tell me where exactly you’re measuring from?
base? tip? angle of elevation? curve radius?
actually kinda flattered you ran outta pages before you got it right
he stared at the message for a beat, smirking. then, he tossed the phone beside him and stretched, cock twitching under the sheets at the mere idea of you—sleep-deprived and muttering curses, surrounded by crumpled paper and obsessing over his dick like it was some unsolvable math problem. then he added :
jake 🐍 8:11 am
you still want the numbers?
he didn’t even have to wait long.
to jake 🐍 8:12 am
jake. be serious.
he smirked and palmed himself over the sheets. oh, he was very serious.
i am bein serious
this feels like a medical consult at this point
you want soft or hard?
a beat passed. his cock twitched at the thought—hard, you wanted hard, obviously. hell, he was halfway there already. just from your desperation. from the image of you—sweaty, surrounded by crumpled drawings, pencil in hand and lip between your teeth, cursing the width of his shaft like it personally offended you.
jake 🐍
8:13 am
if you want hard you’re gonna have to give me a minute
he tossed the sheets aside. sat up a little, one hand already trailing down his abs, letting the phone rest against his thigh and finally wrapped a full hand around himself. jesus. he didn’t need the minute—but damn if he wasn’t going to enjoy it.
the slow hiss that escaped his teeth wasn’t voluntary. this wasn’t just teasing anymore. not with you in his head.
to jake 🐍
8:15 am
are you actually
he read it with a lazy blink and let out a low chuckle, rolling his wrist slowly and a low groan escaped his throat. he texted back with his free hand.
jake 🐍
8:22 am
patience, angel
it’s a little hard to measure while i’m like this
and fuck, it was. he was already straining—thick and flushed and heavy against his palm, precum pearling at the tip. he gave it a slow, purposeful stroke, hips lifting off the mattress with a quiet grunt.
to jake 🐍
8:22 am
wtf does that mean??
he huffed a laugh. god, you were losing it. and he was enjoying far too much. jake wet his bottom lip. his thumb circled the head once, gathering slick, and he could feel himself starting to unravel—not quickly, but with pressure. the good kind.
jake 🐍
8:24 am
real stiff
real warm
real curious how bad you wanna know
he stared at the typing bubble. waited. he imagined your face. the way you’d look reading that—flushed, caught between exasperation and desire. imagined your hand twitching on the pencil, thighs pressing together. the image sent a pulse down his spine.
to jake 🐍
8:24 am
just put me outta my misery
well. if you insisted.
jake 🐍
8:26 am
you want the truth, baby?
gonna need you to say it a lil clearer
what exactly are you askin me for?
he slowed his strokes, drawing it out. slow. deliberate. shuddering.
to jake 🐍
8:27 am
i want the hard dimensions
width.
length.
curvature.
vein placement.
don’t make me beg again
jake’s head dropped back against the pillow. he moaned.
out loud. no one to hear it but the quiet walls of his bedroom and the ragged rasp of his breath.
god, you were killing him. he bit his lip, let the tension build just a moment longer, and finally tapped out.
jake 🐍
8:28 am
good girl
sit tight
i’m nearly there
he threw back the pillow completely, needing space. spread his thighs wider. braced his phone in one hand and measured with the other, groaning as he did it—because fuck, even his own fingers weren’t enough. he thought of yours. of how much prettier they’d look wrapped around him.
his hips flexed up into his hand. five minutes later—hand still wrapped tight, stomach clenched, the image of your flushed face in his brain—he texted.
jake 🐍
8:33 am
7.8 inches
just shy of eight
little curve up
thicker at the base
two veins—left side’s more pronounced
tip’s real flushed right now
he wiped his hand on the side of the sheet and smirked. he was flushed too. chest rising, muscles tight. he wasn’t gonna last long—not like this. not with the way your voice was echoing in his head.
jake 🐍
8:33 am
need a cross section?
happy to supply a diagram
though you seemed to have one hell of an imagination already
he squeezed his cock, slow and cruel, pulling another drop of precome from the tip.
jake 🐍
8:34 am
gonna draw me again?
or are your hands too busy right now
the tension was unbearable. his spine arched. he let out a quiet, choked-off laugh that turned into a grunt. his cock twitched in his palm. just the thought of you fucking your cunt with your own fingers at the description of his cock.
jake 🐍
8:35 am
need more inspiration, angel?
i could send you something
for reference, of course
and then, finally—
to jake 🐍
8:37 am
don’t tease me
jake didn’t hesitate.
jake 🐍
8:37 am
oh i’m serious
say please
he reached for his phone camera, barely able to hold it steady with one hand. found the light. got the angle right. thumb tight at the base. veins thick and pulsing. he knew exactly how it would wreck you.
to jake 🐍
8:40 am
please.
he was right there, right on the edge, and you were the only thing in his mind—your voice, your sketchbook, your please. now you were asking to see his cock. and so nicely at that. he couldn't help but oblige.
jake 🐍
8:42 am
still need dimensions?
or do you wanna measure it yourself?
jake was so close it was stupid. his hand worked in tight, slick pulls, his wrist flexing, hips shifting against the mattress like he couldn’t quite not chase the friction. the picture he’d just sent still glowed on his phone screen, half-lit with the filtered sunrise glow cutting through the window slats—his cock flushed and leaking, thick fingers wrapped around the base, one prominent vein bulging left of center just like you’d drawn.
just like you’d tried to draw.
he groaned, low and guttural, because the thought of you analyzing it—sketching it, erasing and redrawing—aching for it?
fuck, that did something to him.
jake 🐍
8:44 am
if that’s all…
i think i gotta go take care of my problem
i’ll be thinkin’ of you, darlin
he sent it one-handed, knuckles white around the base of his cock. his phone slipped from his grip and hit the bedspread with a muted thud—forgotten, discarded. his other hand was busy—so fucking busy—pumping faster now, chasing it.
and he did think of you.
not the coy, flirty version of you that bantered back. no—he pictured the one too breathless to finish a sentence, hips lifting off your chair, thighs tight together under the desk, the corner of his sketch burning a hole in your pocket.
his jaw clenched. he rolled his hips up into his fist, back arching, chest heaving.
you’d begged him.
and he lost it.
jake came with a full-body shudder, choking on a curse that never made it out. hot, thick pulses spilled across his knuckles and wrist, slicking over his abs, and he didn't stop—not right away. he squeezed through it, milked every last twitch until his body sagged like a snapped rubber band, limp and satisfied and absolutely fucked out.
the sheets were ruined. his hand was shaking. his mouth was dry.
but all he could do—after—was smile.
because you’d wanted the truth. and now you had it. every inch of it.
his breathing finally slowed.
sweat clung to his chest, a line of it cooling along the curve of his spine. the morning light cut across his room in warm, pale stripes—highlighting the wreckage he’d made of the sheets, the smears of cum across his stomach, the used-up look in his eyes as he reached for his phone again.
still buzzing.
still lit up with your name at the top of the thread.
jake dragged a thumb across the screen to scroll back through the exchange. every word. every needy message. every please. god, he was fucking obsessed.
he shifted against the headboard with a stretch, one arm slung over his head as he looked at the last photo he’d sent. the one that had you spiraling. the one that had him unraveling.
fucking hell, he thought. you were gonna ruin him.
not just because you’d drawn him—cock and all, from imagination—but because you’d obsessed over it. agonized over getting it right. you’d filled a sketchbook with versions of him that weren’t accurate enough. and then you asked him for measurements at eight am with shaking fingers and a brain full of want.
and that was the sexiest thing jake seresin had ever seen.
he rolled onto his side, lazily wiping his stomach with the nearest t-shirt. still smirking. still so fucking smug. and underneath it—hooked.
because if that was what you sounded like over text? what the fuck were you going to sound like in person? the next time he touched you, it wouldn’t be a whisper at your back or a teasing note tucked in your pocket.
it’d be his cock in your hand. his mouth in your ear. his voice saying : you ready to stop drawin’, baby? do you want the real thing?
and he laid there.
still naked.
hardening again.
and still grinning like the bastard he absolutely was.
