A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: Every Breath You Take - The Police / “Every smile you fake”
Warnings: Depression, Mental health issues, Parental stress. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Word Count: 230
Main Story
Ever since the Twins started preschool you've been struggling. You haven't talked to anyone because you can't figure out what's going on and you're scared that it's all because you're a bad mom. That and it was likely to go away when the Twins were home full-time again for summer vacation.
But it didn't.
Meeting with other families for play dates didn't help.
Regular date nights with Jake didn't help.
D&D isn't helping.
But you don't need to talk to a professional, right? It's probably just hormones and recognition of your Twins' growing up. That doesn't require a therapist or anything. It's just the sadness that hits every parent as their kids get older.
Right?
Jake holds you a little tighter that morning. He's been extra worried about you, noticing every smile you fake and times you've had to force your enthusiasm. But whenever he tries to get you to open up about it, you brush it off.
"It's just the back-to-school blues," you tell him. "I'm sure it'll get better when I'm more used to the Twins' going to school full time."
He promises himself that he'll keep trying, if only because it'll show you he's paying attention, he cares, he wants you to be happy. You're his Sunshine but you've been hiding behind the clouds, so he needs to step up. For you and the kids.
AN: For Day 13 of #JuneJukeboxScribbles I’m using my first swap out prompt (I touch myself - Divinyls), for which there could only be one babe - Jake Jensen. Much love to @societynsoelsscribbles for creating the challenge
Unbeta’d. Banner by me and divider by @firefly-graphics
Master list | Jukebox Master list | Join my tag list
Relationship: Boyfriend Jake Jensen x Female Reader
Word count: 300
CW: Fluff, Male Masturbation
A week’s work trip hadn’t been your idea of fun, especially as it had meant four nights away from your loving boyfriend, but now it was over. The contracts had been signed, your boss had promised a bonus and you were walking through your door.
You’d let Jake know that you were on your way and you couldn’t say that you weren’t looking forward to him welcoming you home. However, when you opened the door, he wasn’t there. You wondered if maybe he was in the shower, like last time he’d been home before you, but you couldn’t hear it running.
No. You could hear something entirely different. A low, salacious moaning. Moving towards the bedroom, your mouth watered at the thought of what you were going to see. You weren’t disappointed.
Jake was on the bed. His glasses were skew-whiff, his head craned back and his cheeks pink. His t-shirt – bright orange today – was half way up his torso, giving tantalising glimpses of his abs and his happy trail, and his sweats and briefs were around his knees, giving him enough space to grip his cock. His flushed, erect and weeping cock.
You watched him, almost drooling, as he stroked himself. Listened to him groaning out your name as he did so. He was leaking copiously and a certain hitch in his throat let you know he was close.
“Don’t you dare,” you commanded, giggling to yourself when he jumped at the suddenness of your voice.
He lifted his head, glass still askew. “Hey, baby,” he greeted you, chest heaving with arousal. “Welcome home. Didn’t mean to get started without you, but you know how it is. When I think about you I touch myself. Can’t help it.”
“That’s okay, love. But it’s my turn to touch you now.”
Dog shifter!Jake Jensen x female reader (nicknamed Birdie)
<- Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 -> | Series Masterlist
Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. all my work is 18+. Headers and dividers made in Canva with pics from Pinterest (credit to OG creators).
🐾tags/warnings: none for this part
Summary: After a visit from Officer Jones, you and Jake finally talk some more.
Word count: 2.5k-ish
It took longer than you cared to admit to get back to sleep. Jake's presence was somehow still comforting, yet, your mind was buzzing with a thousand thoughts that wouldn't quiet. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly and you had to remind yourself to breathe normally multiple times as you patiently waited for Jake's snoring to start. It made you smile knowing he snored as both a man and a dog.
The predicament you know found yourself in created more upon more questions that you didn't think Jake was best suited to answer, or even know. Like, for example, was he born a shifter or created? And would it be rude to ask him that in the morning?
You tried not to toss and turn as you struggled to keep your thoughts at bay, eventually succumbing to sleep. But not before you had a mental list of questions to bring to Jake and multiple plans to ensure your safety - just in case.
You forgot all but three questions to ask when you awoke the next morning, and only one contingency plan which so happened to be run away. You also knew that that plan was about as useful as a chocolate mug since Jake looked like he could run faster than you in human form, not just as a dog.
Sighing as you swing your legs out of bed, you can smell a sweet scent in the air. Pancakes.
As you enter the kitchen, Jake was wearing a blanket around his waist and not much else, as he flipped another pancake onto a pile of perfectly golden ones on a plate next to him. You stared at the muscles on his back as he worked before he shot you a smile and said good morning.
You really hoped he hadn't noticed your staring as you took your seat, muttering a bashful good morning of your own before he set the giant stack in front of you.
"Oh, thanks." You pick up the syrup the was waiting for you on the table and drowned your pancakes, before adding a blob of butter. You ignore the tightness in your chest when Jake does the same. "I have a bathrobe upstairs. It's way too big for me if you want to wear that."
"Really?" Jake asks, syrup sliding over his chin. "You wouldn't mind?"
You shake your head. "Not at all."
Not if it stops me from going all goo-goo-eyed.
"Thanks." Jake pauses as he spears one of his pancakes. "How are you feeling? About our... situation?"
"I kinda feel weird about it." You admit taking a bite of a syrupy pancake. "I mean, you were my dog and secretly you were this hot guy all along. It's like that Supernatural episode-"
"But you think I'm hot." Jake interupts and your eyes narrow over at him as your cheeks burn. His head dips and he gives you an apologetic look through his lashes. "Sorry. Continue."
"I keep forgetting that you're not-" You're about to say a dog but instead say, "-that you're a human being. Sorta. Kinda? What-" you shake your head as if physically shaking the question of what are you, actually? away from your tongue. It seemed rude. You sigh at your pancake. "Nevermind."
"It's ok." Jake says with a smile. "I don't really know either."
You manage a meager smile back. "Well, you make really good pancakes."
Jake's smile broadens and he's about to say something when there's a knock at the front door.
"Miss L/N?" A male voice calls out. "It's Officer Jones."
"Uhhh, yeah!" You shout back. "I'll be right-" you go to shoot Jake a look of panic but when you look around he's disappeared. "-there."
You try to act as calm as possible when you answer the door and let the officer in. He's in plain clothes, like the others before and flashes you his police badge from under his jacket. He scans the room as he enters, before he settles on you and you try to look innocent (although you're not sure what you'd be guilty of) whilst your mind races about where Jake disappeared to.
Is he okay? Would he have changed back in time? Where was he?
"You good?" Officer Jones asks, handing you over a small bag of groceries. It was only the weekly must-haves; bread, eggs milk. Survivable things.
"Uh, yeah, um…" You shake your head and smile nervously. "I just… I had some pretty bad nightmares last night and I'm a bit frazzled."
It's not a total lie. You were prone to nightmares.
Officer Jones seems to believe you and nods seriously. "Good news is perimeter looks fine, though so you can put your mind at ease." He gives you a reassuring smile before adding, "Besides, don't you have that dog to protect you?"
"I- yes!" You clap your hands together, hoping Officer Jones didn't notice the look of bafflement at the mention of Jake's dog form. You'd almost forgotten everyone else thought he was just a dog. "I do. Yes."
"Have you come up with a name for him yet?" Officer Jones chuckles. "Back at the precinct everyone tells me you call him Goldie."
"Aha…" You begin awkwardly. "My golden boy."
"That's it!" Jones says, snapping his fingers. "You have to have thought of a better name by now."
"Uh - yeah. It's Jake." You say, immediately feeling stupid.
Who's going to know? Or even guess?
"Jake?" Officer Jones pulls a face. "A human name for a dog?"
You shrug comically. "He acts more human than dog."
More than you'll ever know.
The officer chuckles,"Yeah, my dog is exactly the same."
"Ohhh, what dog do you have?" You ask, inviting him further inside. "I really need some pointers."
Officer Jones closes the door quietly and follows you through to the kitchen, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, actually, it's my girlfriend's dog. And she's hardly trained."
He goes onto explain that Muffin is a very happy, very pampered pooch Lassa Lapso who lives in the city centre, and her tricks include sleeping and knowing whether or not the food she is given is high quality, expensive chow.
"Sounds like you've got your hands full." You tease, hurriedly clearing away the two plates that were left out before he notices. "Jake will eat anything."
As if on cue, Jake appears, shiny golden coat reflecting the middle morning sun. He makes a disgruntled sound, obviously catching the last part of your statement, before giving Officer Jones a cautionary sniff.
Officer Jones squats and ruffles Jake's fur. Knowing what you now know about him, you aren't sure if you should find the affectionate cooing Officer Jones makes over your dog-not-dog endearing or downright strange. It makes you wonder if Jake feels uncomfortable by the constant attention - but from his lolling tongue and wagging tail it doesn't seem to.
"He's real handsome." Officer Jones says finally before standing. "It's good you've got something to protect you and keep you company."
"Yeah," you say, subconsciously fussing Jake when he comes to sit next to you. "I'm really lucky I found him."
"Definitely." Officer Jones smiles again - friendliness rolling from him. He was much nicer to deal with than Officer Chuckles. "If there's nothing you want to report, if you haven't noticed anything strange recently or if you're not settling in, I'll just do a quick walk round the perimeter and report back to the precinct?"
"Yeah, sure." You nod. "I've not noticed anything recently - and I'm doing much better with Jake around."
Officer Jones nods. "Alrighty. I'll stay out of your hair and let you know once the ." He flashes a smile down at Jake. "Nice to finally meet you, bud."
Jake does his usual excited happy dance and a short howl that makes you both laugh. Officer Jones buds you both goodbye and begins a quick perimeter search, leaving both you and Jake in the kitchen.
It's extremely strange. The behaviours he now exhibits are no longer cute but entirely human. He doesn't brush up against you for more scritches, but waits patiently next to you for the officer to come back with the all clear. You half expect him to start speaking to you in dog-form any second.
His gold ears move and twitch to sounds you can't hear, nostrils occasionally flaring at the scent of something new. New questions begin to take form in your head and so many more when he turns to look at you quizically with big brown eyes you were sure were blue when he was human.
Today was going to be a long day.
Once officer Jones had given the all clear and the hum of the undercover car became nonexistent, Jake politely toddled upstairs. You sat patiently on the couch, stroking the sides of your warm mug of tea in an effort to soothe your nerves. You didn't know why you felt anxious but you were glad that it was more of an excitable anxiety than terror.
When Jake reappeared, he was human again and donning the bathrobe you mentioned. It seemed to fit him perfectly - even if it was just a tad short on his legs.
"Hey," you smile awkwardly, knowing you're trying so hard to act normal in such an un-normal situation.
"Hey." Jake says and rubs the back of his head, eyes to the floor. Seems he was just as awkward as you.
"So, um," you shrug, attempting nonchalance. And failing miserably. "The whole-" you gesture vaguely to his body. "-shifter thing. Honestly? Not the worst thing in the world."
Jake beams at you, and playfully tugs at the collar of the robe in a proud, mayoral fashion. "That's reassuring to hear. And look, I swear, I wasn't trying to be weird or a creep or-"
You cut him off with a small wave of your hand. You're smiling softly, genuinely, but you can't help that it's bitter. "You were trying to survive. I can't judge you for that."
Jake makes a gentle hum sound - between a thank you and an I'm sorry you went through that - that makes your heart warm. You're glad he doesn't try to apologise or speak further on the matter. You don't want to confront that demon yet.
Your eyes flicker back to his and you're taken by surprise to see that he's squinting down at the book you'd picked off the shelf while waiting for Officer Jones to finish his checks.
"You... ok?" You ask.
"Sorry- erm..." Jake looks sheepish. "I usually have glasses."
"Glasses?" Now that he mentions it, you can't look away from his face trying to imagine him with glasses.
It's a mistake. You remembered him being hot, though you'd been to pre-occupied by the fact your dog was suddenly a man to really appreciate his features. He had a perfectly chiseled nose that you found hard to imagine glasses sitting a top of, pink pouted lips that you knew would melt your heart if he paired them with that puppy-dog look he's mastered and, worse still; his body was lean but muscular - and covered in dark golden hair. He was built like he was pulled from a romance novel.
"Yeah, I usually have them in a safe area so I can see when I shift back." Jake continues, seemingly unaware of your inner-processing.
"Is that why your eyes change colour?"
"You noticed?" Jake blinks at you and you can feel heat rise up your neck as he smiles. "Yeah - dogs eyes are almost always brown. So, I guess as an evolutionary thing I always have brown eyes as a golden since it would look weird if I didn't."
"Makes sense." You nod. "Is your eyesight better when you're a dog?"
"Yeah," Jake shrugs. "Most of my senses are heightened as a human but all are increased as a dog."
"That's-" you catch Jake's look of worry and smile. "-really cool."
"You think so?" He brightens.
"Yeah," You say trying not to laugh - but his energy is infectious. "Is it the same for all shifters?"
"Mostly. Eyesight being the biggest issue - really depends on what you shift into." The more he talks the more animated he becomes, clearly excited by getting to share this information. "Like I knew a guy who shifted into a cat. Man, that was so awkward - I chased him up a tree. His eyesight was fine but he suffered with chronic fatigue."
Jake eyes the spot on the sofa beside you cautiously and on impulse you smack to call him up; immediately recoiling. However, Jake chuckles and plops down ungracefully next to you whilst still maintaining a respectful distance.
You take a sip of your coffee thoughtfully. "Do you know many shifters?"
Jake shakes his head. "It was mainly my family. The community is small and so far as I know many shifters like keeping to themselves."
You hum distantly. "So you didn't really have a big support system for all of these changes?"
Jake blows out a long breath as he thinks of what to say and you watch him carefully. It was nice to be able to have a conversation with someone that wasn't a cop or detective or lawyer. It was nice for your dog to talk back. Still, you didn't know him very well and you should be on your guard... but something about Jake told you you were safe with him. Something about him made you comfortable. Relaxed.
Even when you thought you shouldn't be.
"My mom did her best for me and my sister. She was great." He says finally. "That's all I needed."
You huff a little chuckle, somewhat envious. "I'm glad. And a sister? That's new."
"And a niece." Jake says proudly. "And before you ask, being a shifter is a genetic thing. I don't know how or why - but if you're worried I'll bite you to turn you it doesn't work like that."
"I wasn't," You say playfully. "Until you mentioned it."
Jake looks so terrified for a brief second you can't help but laugh. "I'm kidding! If you wanted to have bitten me, you'd have done so by now."
Jake breathes a sigh of relief and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."
"It's fine." You wave him off dismissively with a smile. "Look, I could order some glasses online if you know your perscription and if I can get away with ordering an air-bed-"
"I'm happy sleeping on the floor!" Jake interjects. "I was in the special forces. Just gimme a pillow and a blanket and I'll sleep like a baby.
"Absolutely not!" You gasp. Jake only shrugs.
"Or I can sleep on the sofa - so long as I wake up early."
"I can take the sofa." You say defiantly. "And if you're not happy with that then we can take turns."
"Deal." Jake says quickly. "But I'll sleep down here tonight since you didn't get a fullnight's rest last night."
You roll your eyes but your heart skips at his thoughtfulness. "Okay, let's get you some glasses and I'll make a list of some snacks to stock up on."
Part 6 END
A/N: I finished this ages ago but never got around to posting it because i wanted more consecutive parts... I think y'all have waited long enough 🫠😅
For reblogs of my fics follow @grems-library or join my taglist here
Pairing: Odd Job Worker!Jake Jensen x Bar Tender!Female Reader
Summary: When the heating breaks at Steve Rogers stable hands Bunkhouse Jake’s sent to fix it.. the fact you to already have a thing and well are both two big gossips just makes the service call all the more fun!
Word Count: 10.3k
Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Friends with Benefits, Small town Gossip, Fun hookups. Unprotected Sex (cos I’m lazy), Jake talks to much… Not Beta (if there are errors please be kind.. I’ve had a hell of a week)
A/N: For Small Town challenge Week 3 @thezombieprostitute and @1000plants This is late and I am so sorry. This weeks been.. a trail and thus this didn’t get finished… Will make sure Week 4 is in one time!
By the time the second bead of sweat slipped down the back of your neck, you were ready to pick a fight with the heater. You lay sprawled across the old couch in the front room, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other foot planted on the scarred floorboards, wearing the smallest pair of sleep shorts you owned. A thin, washed-soft tank that did absolutely nothing against the heat blasting through the vents covered your upper half. Winter sat sharp and clean on the other side of the windows. But inside the little rental house, it felt like mid-summer. You
Steve had sworn he’d send someone to look at it ‘today sometime.’ Which, in Steve Rogers time, could mean any hour between sunrise and the apocalypse.
You tipped your head back against the cushion and blew a breath up at your damp hairline.
“This is ridiculous,” you groaned dramatically to the empty room. “If I die of heatstroke in the middle of winter, I am haunting him.”
The heater rattled in the hallway like it was laughing at you.
You flicked through channels on the tiny TV with one hand, the other wrapped around a sweating glass of lemonade and vokda. The back door was propped open to coax in some of the crisp air from outside, but it barely took the edge off. The house had soaked up the warmth like a sponge and was refusing to let go.
At least you had the day off… Well until your shift at the bar.
Another bead of sweat rolled between your shoulder blades. You grimaced, lifting the hem of your tank and fanning it uselessly.
Naturally, that was the exact moment someone thumped on the front door.
Three quick, familiar knocks. Cheerful. Off-beat.
Your heart did a stupid little skip.
"Door’s open!" you called, not bothering to move right away.
The knob turned, hinges squeaking a protest before the door swung inward. A blast of cold air rushed in first, followed by Jake Jensen.
He wedged his shoulder against the door to push it shut behind him, a toolbox balanced easily in one hand. Beanie pulled down, glasses already fogging a little from the temperature change, cheeks pink from the cold. He wore a graphic tee under an open flannel, tool belt slung low on his hips, jeans clinging just right.
"Holy sauna, Batman," he announced, squinting around like the heat itself offended him. "Rogers wasn’t exaggerating. Thought he was just being dramatic to get me out here."
You smirked from your sprawl on the couch, lifting your glass in greeting.
"Welcome to my hell," you replied. "If I burst into flames, make sure they write ‘killed by overenthusiastic ducted heating’ on my tombstone."
Jake’s gaze finally landed on you and lingered. His eyebrows climbed over the top rim of his fogged glasses.
"Well," he drawled, grin spreading slow and bright, "if this is what heatstroke looks like, I see why Steve’s in a panic."
You rolled your eyes, but your mouth tugged at the corners.
"I'm melting away, death is coming," you complained. "I’ve already planned my funeral twice."
He set the toolbox down, shaking off the last of the cold as he padded further inside. The floorboards creaked under his boots.
"I am exactly on time," he countered. pulling off his beanie "You just started dying dramatically early."
"Well, what did you expect from bar staff?" you conceded. "We’re taught to suffer for tips."
"That why you’re dressed like that?" he asked, eyes very obviously doing another slow sweep from your bare legs to the strap of your tank top slipping off one shoulder.
You snorted. "I am dressed like this because the stupid heater is trying to cook me alive. And because my roommates aren’t home. And because-"
"Because I’ve seen you in less," he finished, entirely too pleased with himself
You flicked a cushion at him without getting up. He caught it one-handed, laughing.
“I did not know Steve would send you, now shut up and fix my house, Jensen."
"Yes, ma’am," he drawled, with a mock salute before pulling off his beanie. "Per orders of your glorious landlord, I am here to audit your heating, check your smoke alarms, test your carbon monoxide detector, and change out your pest traps."
You narrowed your eyes. "He actually said all that?"
"More or less," Jake admitted, shrugging. "Got a whole lecture about duty of care and not letting Jax's barstaff quietly die in their sleep. I told him if you did die, I call dibs on your coffee mug collection."
"Wow," you muttered. "Good to know I’m loved for my assets."
He flashed you a grin that softened at the edges, something quick and fond in it.
"Trust me," he called large vent in the living space, "your assets are already booked under a different column."
Your stomach did a little flip at that. You looked away, sipping your self made cocktail to hide it.
Friends with benefits, that’s what you’d called it. Casual. Easy. No strings.
Didn’t mean your chest didn’t warm a little every time he said things like that.
Jake knelt by the wall vent, popping the cover off with a practiced flick. His shirt rode up as he bent, exposing a sliver of skin above his waistband. You were absolutely not staring. Not even a little.
"So," he went on, peering into the ductwork. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret moving into Rogers’ Discount Sauna Palace?"
"Depends," you answered. "Today? Nine. If you compare it to the time the pipes burst when I was living at the Barton place. Solid four."
He snorted, reaching into the vent, arm muscles flexing under the flannel.
"Gonna have to recalibrate the thermostat," he muttered, pulling out something electronic to much about with something inside the vent "This thing’s blasting like it owes somebody money."
"Is that the technical term?" you asked, sliding off the couch at last. The floor felt warm under your bare feet as you crossed to lean nearbaby, glass dangling from your fingers leaning on a nearby doorframe.
"Yep," he replied. "Tech term number two is ‘what the actual hell, who spilt water on this?’"
He wiggled something inside the vent, a metallic thunk echoing through the ductwork. The heater rattled in response, then dropped a notch. The air coming out cooled from ‘surface of the sun’ to ‘uncomfortable tropical.’
You sighed in relief.
"Already better," you breathed. "I can almost remember what oxygen feels like."
"Gimme twenty and you might even need socks again," he promised. "Don’t get used to walking around like you’re in a summer ad, though. You’re giving the safety inspector ideas."
You arched a brow. "Oh?"
He glanced back over his shoulder at you, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. "Yeah. Like maybe we need to institute a ‘clothing optional when Jensen’s on call’ policy."
You snorted, heat creeping higher in your cheeks despite yourself.
"You literally fixed the heater to stop that from being an option."
"Yeah, well," he said, turning back to the vent, sticking his head fully inside "I can always break it again on my way out."
You shook your head, biting back a smile.
The thing about Jake was; he never shut up. Ever. Half of what came out of his mouth was nonsense, the other half gossip, all of it wrapped in a golden-retriever enthusiasm that made it impossible to take offense. He should have been exhausting. Somehow, he wasn’t. Not to you.
You watched the line of his shoulders under the flannel, the easy way he moved through your space like he’d been born in it. This wasn’t the first time Steve had sent him to ‘just pop by’ with tools and excuses. Change a light blub. Leak check. Fence post assessment. You suspected at least half the work could’ve waited, but you weren’t about to complain.
"So," Jake said after a moment, voice echoing faintly from inside the vent. "You hear about Ted’s niece?"
You nudged the frame with your shoulder. "The new vet?"
He pulled his arm back out, flexing his fingers before reaching for a screwdriver.
"Yep. She's apparently a bit of a 'Livestock whisperer'," he said. "She’s been doing the rounds, shaking hands, patting calves, promising not to judge anyone’s coffee if offered."
You huffed a laugh. "You boys smitten already?"
"I mean," Jake started tilting his head like he was considering it, "Turner won’t shut up about her. But...Ari clearly made the play there"
You grinned. "Of course he has."
"Man owns the diner and a ridiculous face; hospitality is in his blood," Jake continued. "Anyway, rumor is she’s some kind of breeding expert," he went on. "Ted’s over the moon he’s finally going to have the help. Says she might actually be able to build the practice up a bit instead of him just patching everyone up in between foalings."
You traced the rim of your glass with your fingertip, that pricking a little sharper than generic vet talk. Breeding expertise was the sort of thing that made ranchers either nervous or greedy, depending on how they treated their stock.
"Good," you murmured. "He’s needed that for a while. And if she’s got breeding experience… well, at least that’s something to talk to her about when I finally meet her."
Jake huffed a laugh.
"Yeah, people been saying how she was some big deal back in Colorado," he added.
"Huh," you breathed, interest sparking a little brighter. "Okay. Definitely talking to her, then."
"Of course you are," Jake replied, amused. "You horse girls always find each other. Next thing I know, you’ll all be out back, conspiring over bloodlines and pretending the rest of us don’t exist."
He tightened something with a quick twist, then slapped the vent cover back on, testing it with a firm push. Satisfied, he stood, the movement smooth, and turned to face you fully.
Up close, you could see the way his glasses had slid almost comically crooked, one ear of the frame caught higher than the other. His hair stuck up in soft, ridiculous tufts. There was a smudge of dust on his cheek.
God, he was cute. Stupidly, unfairly cute.
"Heater’s behaving for the moment," he reported, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Now we do the grand tour of smoke alarms and death detectors."
"Such a romantic," you teased. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."
"Babe, you kidding?" he said. "Nothing says ‘I care’ like making sure your carbon monoxide detector has fresh batteries."
You laughed, unable to help it. The sound bounced off the low ceiling and filled the cosy little hallway. He watched you for a second, a softer look flickering over his face before he covered it with another grin.
"C’mon," he jerked his chin toward the rest of the house. "Walk with me while I do the alarms. And tell me all the dirt you’ve collected since last week."
"You hear more than I do," you pointed out "You’re the one who does the rounds."
"Yeah," he agreed, following close behind, the heat of him brushing your bare shoulder as you passed each other in the narrow space. "But you’re the one they loosen up around when they’ve had two beers and you smile at ‘em. Big difference."
The little house felt even smaller with Jake moving through it.
He didn’t take up space in the way some men did; no looming, no puffed-up chest, But he had a way of slotting into every room like he’d always belonged there.
“Where’s that ladder you girls use for the top cupboards?” he asked, peering toward the back of the house.
“Laundry,” you answered. “Behind the door.”
He padded down the hall, disappeared for a moment, then came back with your little metal step ladder folded under one arm. In the narrow hallway it made him look even broader as he snapped it open under the alarm.
“Okay,” he said, climbing up a couple of steps and reaching for the beige plastic unit near the ceiling. “We’re gonna test this sucker, so get ready for your neighbours to hate me.”
“Pretty sure this ridge’s seen worse than a noise test,” you remarked. “Last month the Vasquezes tried to deep-fry a turkey in the garage and almost took the roof off.”
Jake winced. “Ah, yes. The Great Turkey Boom of ’26.”
“You heard about that?”
He gave you a look over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, I know everything that happens on this ridge.”
He pressed the test button. The alarm shrieked to life, high and piercing. You clapped your hands over your ears, scrunching your nose as the sound knifed through your skull.
“Okay, okay, she works,” Jake said quickly, jabbing the button again until blessed silence fell. “See? Odds of you dying in your sleep just went down by at least twelve percent.”
“Comforting,” you muttered.
He stepped down
“Anyway,” he went on, picking up the ladder “I did get some interesting real estate gossip...Someone’s looking at the Walker place.”
You blinked. “The Walker place? Someone’s actually taking that?”
He nodded, moving down the hall to the next one “That’s the word. Apparently someone’s coming to look at it. Said they’re serious about making it a working property again.”
Your brows rose.
“After all this time?” you mused. “Place has just been sitting there collecting dust and raccoons.”
“Yeah, well. Bet you'll hear about it at work…This is brand new goss, towns just hearing it” he remarked moving the ladder down and climbed up two steps with easy balance, reaching for the second smoke alarm mounted closer to the ceiling.
“Half of ‘em think it’s gonna be some city slicker who lasts exactly one winter,” he added as he twisted the casing off. “Other half think it’s gonna be somebody like Hal.”
“God help us if it’s another Hal,” you muttered shaking your head.
Jake grinned down at you. “Relax. If the rumours are right, Hal’s about to be officially off the market anyway. Which is tragic, I can’t handle the pressure of being the only charmer in town.”
You snorted. “Please. Your ego would love that.”
“Hey, I have a delicate ecosystem of flirtation to maintain,” he protested lightly, popping the old battery free and slotting a fresh one in. “If Hal settles down, it'll fall to me to ensure Silver Ridge doesnt fall into a total charm drought.”
“That’s not how that works,” you said, but a smile tugged at your mouth. “And it's hardly 'offical' that Hal is off the market..”
Jake’s brows rose behind his skewed glasses. “Yeah?” Jake working out that you already knew what he was talking about “Is that what you heard at the bar?”
“Yeah... I mean sure. He's been... 'jumping the fence' a lot,” you replied. “But it's not like anyone's seen them out together or anything yet...”
He huffed a pleased little sound, clicking the alarm casing back into place and giving the test button a quick tap. A short beep chirped overhead before the hallway settled into a quieter hum of heater and soft winter wind outside.
“One of his boys came into General store the other day,” Jake added. “Was bragging that Hal had practically moved in... He's having dinner almost every night.” He flicked you a glance.
You felt a small, unexpected warmth spark in your chest at that.
“Good,” you shrugged happy to be proven wrong “She deserves that.”
“She deserves a hell of a lot more than that,” Jake said quietly, almost to himself, then cleared his throat and brightened. “Anyway. My point is: if Walker’s place ends up half as lively what's going down near the river, this side of town’s gonna get real interesting.”
“You say that like it’s not already a soap opera.”
He laughed, sitting back on his heels.
“Fair. Speaking of soap operas…”
You groaned. “Oh no.” He had that look.
Jake’s grin went sly.
“So Ari and the new vet,”
You perked up despite yourself. You were both terrible.
“What about them?”
“Well,” Jake was already drawing the word out, “Ok, so I was told she didn’t even make it up to her uncle’s before Ari got her settled. Word is she rolled in late, parked her truck out front of the dinner, and he had her tucked into that corner booth for hours. Whole place was empty except for Lee doing his grumpy sheriff coffee thing, and those two looked real comfortable.”
Your eyes widened. “No way...” This was the stuff you lived for
Jake’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, talk about 'warm welcomes' huh.. you’re up here in Steve’s bunkhouse missing all the good drama.”
You groaned again, tipping your head back against the wall. “I knew moving up here was going to wreck my gossip game.”
“You chose to live with the cowgirls,” he reminded you. “The diner is where the real cinema happens.”
You huffed, picturing it anyway; Ari leaning against the counter, big and solid and smug.
“Please tell me someone got pictures,” you said, Silver Ridge was a fun place to live but sometimes people were a little sneakier then others let out.
“Oh, you know Yelena tried,” Jake said giving you that face. “She was passing by, phone out, pressed to the window like a wildlife photographer. Melina confiscated it after the second flash and told her to stop terrorising paying customers.”
You grinned, shaking your head. “Those two are gonna corrupt that poor woman so fast.”
“Better them than Kemp,” Jake tone, made you pull back. Kemp gave you bade vibes. You don’t got what people liked about him sometimes.
You pulled a face. “Ugh, he still comes into the bar every Thursday. Like clockwork. Same drink, same seat, same smug look. You’d swear the way he act, it’s like poker night didn’t end with him and Melina shouting at each other in three languages.”
Jake huffed a laugh. The memory of that taking the edge off “Sounds about right.”
You laughed, the sound bubbling up easier than it had all week. Poker night two months ago had been a shit show at the bar, sure let the town blow off steam. It’ll be fun Jax had said.. it was been chaos.
“Oh my god, I thought Alexei was going to explode,” you leaned back against the doorframe. “Curtis and Lee practically had to drag them apart.”
“And Bucky sitting there like a raccoon with a shiny object, just pulling chips into his pile while everyone else fought,” Jake added, you’d forgotten that detail. Barnes.. just waiting everyone out like he had all the time in the world.
“Jax is out of his mind if he thinks he’s gonna run another poker night after that,” you shook your head rubbing your neck.
Jake shot you a look over his shoulder, eyes bright behind his skewed glasses.
“Funny you should say that,” he started, the tone telling you everything “Because your boss is absolutely planning another poker night.”
You groaned, letting your head thump gently back against the wall.
“Of course he is.”
“He asked me to fix the wiring on the ceiling fan before then,” Jake went on, you quietly banging your head into the wall. “Apparently last time it got a little… excited.”
“It was swinging like a drunk ceiling octopus,” you corrected. “If it comes down on my head mid-shift, I’m haunting all of you.”
“Duly noted,” Jake clicked his tongue gfvbbb“Though personally, if anything around you is gonna start acting like a drunk octopus, I’m filing a complaint if it’s not me.”
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself. “Pretty sure Steve sent you to fix his property, not hit on his tenants.”
Jake climbed down off the ladder, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stepped closer.
“Good news,” he replied easily. “I can do both.” Jake closed the last of the distance between you, close enough now that you could see the faint smudge of dust along his jaw, the way his lashes cast little shadows on his cheeks when he blinked.
“Pretty sure there’s nothing in your lease about letting the odd job guy ogle you in your pyjamas,” he said softly. “And yet… here we are.”
Heat crawled up the back of your neck.
Jake’s mouth tipped at the corner
“Got one more to do in the kitchen,” he said lightly. “Ceiling above the stove. Going to come? Make sure I don’t steal your mugs.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Lets go..”
He folded the ladder and carried it ahead of you, while you trailed after him into the small kitchen. The linoleum was cool under your bare feet, the overhead light a little too bright after the softer hallway.
He set the ladder up by the stove, climbing the first couple of steps with easy balance as he reached for the detector above. From your spot by the counter, you could see the line of his calves, the flex of muscle under worn denim, the familiar way he fit into your space like he’d always been there.
“See?” he called down, fingers working at the plastic casing. “Totally professional. No tenant‑ogling happening in here at all.”
You snorted, lifting your mug to hide your smile.
“Sure, Jake,” you said. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
By the time Jake finished fussing with the last smoke detector, the little house felt like it was holding its breath.
You yanked the fridge door open. Cold air kissed your bare legs, a brief mercy against the thick warmth in the room. You grabbed a can from the back, cracked it open with a hiss and took a slow sip before nudging the door shut with your hip.
“Supervision break,” you muttered, boosting yourself up onto the counter beside the stove. The laminate was cool under your thighs, the edge biting a little into the backs of your legs as you settled in to watch.
Jake stood on the little step ladder by the stove, one hand braced against the ceiling while the other snapped the smoke detector casing back into place. His T‑shirt stretched across his back as he reached, the hem riding up to expose a strip of warm, tan skin and the faint curve of a tattoo curling over his hip. At some point between the hallway and here he’d shrugged off his flannel and left it slung over a chair, leaving just soft cotton and worn denim and the easy line of muscle beneath.
“Okay,” he announced, giving the alarm a firm tap before thumbing the test button. It beeped once, loud and bright, then fell silent. “Kitchen’s officially less likely to try and murder you in your sleep. House is safe, smoke detectors are happy, carbon monoxide can go haunt someone else.”
He climbed down, folding the ladder with one hand and carrying it to lean against the opposite wall. When he turned back, he wiped his palms on a rag he’d hooked into his belt and leaned his hip against the counter across from you.
Glasses slightly crooked. Hair mussed from his own hands.
You took another sip just to give yourself something to do with your mouth and realised, belatedly, that you were staring.
Not subtle, either. Just… looking. At the way his forearms flexed when he twisted the rag. At the tendons in his throat, working around a swallow. At the way his T‑shirt clung a little to his chest with the heat.
Jake noticed.
Of course he did.
His mouth curled, slow and wicked.
“Careful, princess,” he drawled. “You keep looking at me like that and I might start making jokes about seeing to your pipes.”
You groaned, tipping your head back against the cupboard with a hollow thunk.
“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes “That line is awful. Even for you.”
Jake let out a delighted laugh pushing off the counter to close the distance by a step.
“Are you kidding? That’s gold,” he insisted. “I’ve been saving since I got here.”
“You’re a menace,” you said, but the words came out softer than you meant.
“Accurate,” he agreed easily shrugging. “Besides, you’re the one swanning around in tiny shorts while I’m over here doing honest labour.”
You snorted, lifting your can again. “You are not working right now.”
Jake pressed a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Wow. Objectified in my own workplace. Tragic.”
“You’re in my kitchen,” you pointed out.
He hummed, stepping in closer again, thumbs hooking into his belt loops.
“Then I’m just appreciating the view my boss is giving me,” he said.
You meant to roll your eyes again But the way he was standing now; hip almost brushing your knee, head tipped to look up at you, smile doing that crooked thing that made your stomach swoop.
“Jake,” you warned, though there wasn’t much heat in it.
“What?” he asked, mock-innocent. “I fixed your heater. Checked your detectors. Pretty sure I’m allowed a five‑minute ogle break.”
You huffed a laugh, tension loosening just enough around the edges to make room for something else.
He slipped between your knees before you could overthink it, hands finding the edge of the counter on either side of your hips. The move knocked your legs a little wider. Your shorts rode up another fraction, the mood clearly shifting as you looked up at him.
“Hey,” you murmured.
“Hey,” he echoed, gaze flicking from your mouth back up to your eyes.
You could smell him from here that the faint hint of whatever coffee he’d nursed on the way over. His fingers flexed against the counter, like he was holding himself in place by force.
“You do realise,” he started quietly, “that you’re not exactly innocent in this scenario, right? Tiny shorts. Little shirt. Sitting up here like a temptation..I’ve seen these kinda movies.”
You snorted, but your pulse was thudding hard enough that you could feel it in your throat.
“I didn’t dress for you,” you protested.
“Didn’t say you did,” he replied. His mouth twitched. “Doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying the perks of the job.”
His hands slid off the counter to your thighs, thumbs brushing over warm skin. The contact sent goosebumps racing up your legs. You didn’t pull away. Your knees nudged around his hips instead, like your body had already made a decision your brain was still catching up to.
The air seemed to thicken.
“You’ve got some time before you need to be at the bar, right?” he asked, voice dipping lower.
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
“And the girls aren’t back till late.”
“Probably not,” you admitted.
He nodded once, as if confirming some internal checklist, palms smoothing along the outside of your thighs in slow, easy strokes that did nothing to calm the flutter going on under your skin.
“Pretty sure I can have you back on your feet and pouring beers in plenty of time,” he murmured. “If that’s what you want. Cos you’re doing that thing with your face..”
Your breath hitched.
“Jake…”
He squeezed lightly, grounding, not pushing.
“Hey, question a question” he cut you off. “Do you wanna have some fun or am I actually going home like a good boy?”
You let out a half‑choked laugh at that. “You have never been a good boy in your life.”
“Rude,” he scoffed, but his eyes were searching yours, something steady underneath the tease. “I need you to say it. Yes or no.”
You stared at him for a moment, taking in the whole picture; crooked glasses, mussed hair, Jake started to unclip the tool belt still clipped from his hip putting it to one side. The familiar warmth of him wrapped around a thread of want that felt a lot less casual than either of you usually pretended.
“I like it when you’re here,” you heard yourself admit. Your voice came out small and honest. “I like… this.” Your fingers lifted, almost on their own, to brush a smudge from his jaw. “I don’t really want you to go home yet.”
Jake’s expression softened so quickly it made your chest ache.
“Yeah?” he asked.
You nodded.
“Yeah.”
He blew out a tiny breath, like he’d been holding it, his mouth curved into a slow, reverent smile that you didn’t see on him often.
“Okay,” he said. His hands slid a little higher on your thighs, thumbs tracing the hem of your shorts. “Then I’m staying.”
He leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him, giving you every chance to change your mind. You didn’t. Your fingers curled in the soft cotton at his shoulder instead, tugging him closer.
His lips met yours warm and sure, no hesitation in the way he kissed you. Not tentative, not testing. Just deep from the start, he already knew the way you tasted and had been craving it for longer than he’d dare admit out loud.
Heat flared, sharp and bright. Your free hand flew up to his jaw, thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble as you angled your mouth to chase more. Jake made a low sound in his chest, something pleased and a little wrecked and stepped in until his hips were pressed flush to the counter, caging you in.
His fingers tightened on your thighs, urging your knees wider around him. You went willingly, hooking your ankles at the backs of his legs to drag him closer still. The hard line of his body slotted perfectly against yours, the faint grind of his hips sending a spark of sensation straight through you.
The kiss turned hungry fast.
He licked into your mouth like he owned it, tongue sliding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs in the best way. You met him there, matching the pressure, chasing the little catches in his breath every time you sucked lightly on his lower lip.
One of his hands left your thigh to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you in place as if he was afraid you might vanish. The other stayed where it was, thumb drawing idle circles into your skin that contradicted the insistence of his mouth.
You broke away on a gasp, forehead falling against his as you tried to remember how breathing worked.
Jake laughed quietly, the sound warm against your lips.
“Yeah,” he murmured, chest rising and falling against yours. “Definitely not going home yet.”
You huffed out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh.
“Good,” you whispered, tugging him back towards you
Jake’s mouth crashed back onto yours and any pretend line between flirting and more dissolved like sugar on your tongue.
The kiss went into wildfire in a heartbeat. One second you were just… enjoying him, the next you were making a small, greedy sound into his mouth as his hands slid under the hem of your tank, palms branding your waist.
His fingers were hot against your skin, thumbs stroking the soft dip at either side, calluses dragging over nerves that had no business being that awake. You shivered, the contrast between the overheated air and the heat of him sending a thrill through you.
“Jake,” you breathed against his lips, not really a protest.
“Uh‑huh,” he hummed, lips ghosting along your jaw as his hands travelled higher, pushing your top up a few inches. “Knew this was a dangerous callout...”
You huffed a breathy laugh, fingers finding the hem of his T‑shirt in retaliation. The cotton was soft and warm from his body, stretched tight over his stomach.
“Take this off,” you muttered.
He pulled back just enough to smirk at you. “Bossy.”
You rolled your eyes and tugged his shirt up yourself. He helped, arms lifting, and you stripped it over his head in one swift movement. His hair went wild, sticking up in tousled spikes around his skewed glasses.
You laughed outright at the sight.
He blinked at you, breathless and half‑naked. “What?”
“Your face,” you snorted, reaching up. “Come here.”
You plucked his glasses off before he could protest, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter beside you near the tool belt.
“Hey,” he complained, blinking at you. “Debuff.”
“Consider it levelling the playing field,” you shot back. “Also, if your glasses go flying I’m not paying for the replacement.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again, conceding the point with a grin.
“Okay, fair. Still hot, though,” he added, hands skating back under your top. “Up.”
You lifted your arms and he peeled the tank off you in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table. Cool air kissed your bare skin, pebbled your nipples through your bra then Jake’s gaze dropped and any hint of cocky banter melted for a beat.
“Jesus,” he muttered, voice gone rough.
Heat crawled up your chest, but before you could overthink it he leaned in and pressed an open‑mouthed kiss to the top of one breast, tongue flicking the edge of lace. His fingers slid around your back, finding the clasp with infuriating ease. A second later the band snapped loose, straps falling down your shoulders as he eased the bra away and tossed it blindly toward a chair.
“Yeah, that’s about the reaction I was aiming for,” he rasped, palms returning to cup bare skin this time before his hands slid down to the waistband of your sleep shorts. “These come off now.”
“Now who's bossy?” you managed.
He chuckled, the sound buzzing against your skin.
“Wanna argue?” he said, fingers hooking into the elastic.
He tugged the shorts down over your hips, dragging your underwear with them. You lifted off the counter just enough to help, the laminate biting into your palms as you braced. The fabric bunched around your thighs, then slid to your knees and fell, puddling somewhere near his boots.
The air hit you, cool and shocking, a shiver running up your spine. Jake stepped in, slotting himself between your bare thighs, and the sensation of his jeans against your skin; rough, warm, him.
His hand cupped your ass, big palm covering one cheek easily as he hauled you closer to the edge of the counter. His other arm braced near your head, caging you in without ever feeling like a trap.
“Better,” he murmured, eyes dark as they flicked down, taking you in.
“Stop looking and do something,” you said, a little breathless now.
“Oh, I am absolutely doing something,” he promised nodding.
He leaned in, kissing you again,this time there was no slow build. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and sure, stealing the air from your lungs as his hips rolled forward.
You felt him then…Hard, demanding, trapped behind his fly, grinding up against the slick seam of you. The pressure made your thighs tighten instinctively around his hips, a low whine catching in your throat.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.
You laughed, the sound breaking on another gasp as he rocked up again, the blunt press of him catching right where you were throbbing.
“Jake,” you choked out. “If you don’t get your pants off, I am going to hit you with a kitchen utensil.”
“God, marry me,” he muttered, fumbling one‑handed with his belt.
You swatted his shoulder. “Focus.”
He huffed a laugh and stepped back half a pace, just enough to pop the button and drag the zip down. His jeans slid lower on his hips, revealing the waistband of his briefs and a whole lot of toned stomach you absolutely did not need to be staring at right now.
You stared anyway.
“I can feel you staring,” he pointed out, shoving denim and cotton down far enough to free himself.
“You took off your shirt first,” you argued. “That’s on you.”
“Zero regrets,” he said, and then your brain stopped short because he was lining himself up, hand wrapped around the thick length of him, knuckles brushing your inner thigh.
He paused, eyes flicking up to yours again.
“Still good?”
You nodded, pulse thundering. “Yeah. Come on, Jensen.”
His mouth curved.
“You got it, cowgirl.”
He dragged the head of his cock through your slick, teasing you with a slow slide that had you biting back a curse. Then, in one steady, careful push, he started to sink into you.
The stretch burned in the best way, a drawn‑out sting that melted quickly into hot, aching fullness. You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into warm muscle as your breath sawed in and out.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, voice gone wrecked. “Every damn time.”
“Don’t… talk like that when you’re only halfway in,” you gasped. “..it’s..fuck distracting...”
He laughed, the sound fraying at the edges while your own breathing got hard.
“Pretty sure that’s in the tenant agreement,” he panted. “Clause twenty‑three: Jensen gets to be obnoxious during routine inspections.”
“Jake,” you warned, voice breaking on the word. "Shut up.."
“Right, right, less talking.”
He gripped your hips and pulled you forward as he pushed in the rest of the way, seating himself fully. The sudden, deep fullness punched a sharp noise from you, head falling back against the cupboard.
“Jesus,” you breathed.
“Close,” he managed, forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder. “Gimme a sec.”
You felt him fight for control; the tiny tremors in his thighs, the way his fingers flexed hard enough on your hips you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. The thought made heat pool low in your belly.
“You good?” you asked, voice softer now, your own hand petting at him.
He exhaled slowly, steadying.
“Yeah,” he nodded a little too hard “Just… you know. Adjusting to the ‘hottest person I’ve ever slept with squeezing me like a vice’ portion of the job.”
You snorted, even as pride bloomed bright under your skin. “Shut up and move, Jensen.”
“Right...”
His first thrust was slow, experimental. He pulled back a couple of inches, then pushed in again, watching your face. The friction made your breath catch, a broken sound slipping out.
“Good?” he asked.
“Do that again,” you gripped onto hard, the feeling a little wild now.
His grin turned downright sinful.
“Copy that.”
He set a rhythm then, rolling his hips up into you in steady, driving strokes. The edge of the counter dug into your skin, anchoring you as he fucked you up off it, every thrust punching another soft sound from your chest.
One hand cupped your ass, kneading as he pulled you down to meet him. The other braced on the cupboard near your head, muscles shifting under your palms where you clung to his shoulders.
“You have no idea…” he groaned, “what you look like right now.”
“What, sweaty in my kitchen?” you panted.
“Uh, partial credit,” his breathless laugh breaking on a curse as you clenched around him. “Mostly it’s the whole ‘falling apart on my cock’ angle. Very inspiring. Ten out of ten, would rebook the callout.”
“You’re impossible,” you gasped the feel of him moving inside you dizzying.
“And yet,” he panted, thrusts starting to punch a little harder now, “you keep letting me in the door.”
You tightened your legs around his waist in answer, ankles hooking behind him, dragging him as close as he could get until his hips were flush. The new angle made him slam in deeper, thick and hot, the head of his cock grinding over a spot inside that sent a sharp, electric jolt straight up your spine and ripped a guttural sound out of him, you both feeling your wall clutching wet heat around him.
“Fuck-Jake,” you cried.
“Yeah?” he rasped. “That it? Right there?”
“Yes,” you managed. “God, yes, don’t-don’t stop-”
“Wasn’t planning to,” he muttered, then abruptly shifted, pressing in deep and holding. “But if we keep going like this, I am one hundred percent going to embarrass myself on your kitchen floor and I really wanted to at least pretend I’m a gentleman today.”
You clung to him, breathing hard, that tight, hot coil in your belly demanding more.
“Then what?” you demanded. “You can’t just stop now.”
He’d just wound you up tight, every nerve sparking, and the idea of him pulling out and stepping away felt like being yanked back from a ledge you were more than ready to jump off. Your fingers dug into his shoulders on instinct, half ready to argue, half desperate enough to beg.
He kissed you again, quick and fierce, before easing you back an inch.
“Bedroom,” he offered, not quiet a question. “Less hard surfaces. Better bounce. And I really want to see you on top.”
It took a second for your pleasure‑fogged brain to translate that, he wasn’t bailing, he was upgrading.
Heat flashed through you at that, vivid and instant, curling tight low in your belly.
“Oh,” you heard yourself say.
“Yeah. Oh,” he echoed, grin flashing.
He didn’t pull out, not entirely. He slid an arm under your thighs and another around your back, hauling you off the counter with ridiculous ease, keeping you snug around him. You yelped, arms flying around his neck.
“Jake!”
“Shh,” he said, laughing as he started toward your room, careful of his footing. “You’re fine. I’ve got you. Consider this… safe manual handling practice.”
“You are not allowed to make OHS jokes while balls deep,” you spluttered, clinging tighter as the movement jostled him inside you.
“Watch me,” he shot back. “Door?”
“I left it open...,” you gasped. “And if you bang me into the frame-”
“Pretty sure I already am,” he said, hips giving an involuntary little jerk that had you choking on a whine.
“Asshole,” you half‑laughed, half‑moaned.
Jake smirked taking in your face “You know I don’t normally offer that as an option unless you’ve been into the tequila.”
He stumbled the last couple of steps to your bed and dropped, taking you with him.
You landed on top in a tangle of limbs and blankets, his back hitting the mattress with enough force to knock a grunt out of him and drive him deeper into you.
Your vision flashed white for a second.
“Holy shit,” you gasped, bracing your hands on his chest as the aftershocks rippled through you, muscles clamping down around him in a hard, involuntary squeeze.
Beneath you, Jake swore, the word punching out of him on a rough, broken breath. His fingers dug into your hips like he was hanging on for dear life, thighs going taut under you. For a heartbeat he couldn’t do anything but feel, the hot, wet vice of you gripping him deeper, the way your whole body shuddered around his cock sending a dizzy rush straight up his spine until his brain just… fuzzed out.
“Right?” he wheezed. “Gold! Stuck the dismount.”
“You’re such an idiot,” you said, but it came out sounding a lot like adoration.
“Yeah,” he agreed, eyes dropping to where you were still joined. “But I’m your idiot, for the moment.”
Your cheeks flamed. You shifted experimentally, rolling your hips.
The angle changed, his cock dragging along a new stretch of slick, sensitive heat inside you as your clit ground against the soft give of his lower belly and the coarse trail of hair there. A hot, electric buzz lit you up from the inside out, pleasure shivering up your spine as you rocked on him again, slower this time just to feel it; how thick and solid he felt, how every tiny grind sent another spark through you.
Jake’s head tipped back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat, fingers biting into your thighs like he was holding on for dear life.
“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned.
“That is literally the plan,” you pointed out, a slow smile spreading across your face as you found your balance over his hips.
You planted your knees either side of him, toes digging into the sheets for leverage. His hands flew to your thighs automatically, fingers splaying wide like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you still or urge you on.
His hands slid up, settling on your hips.
“Giddy up pretty girl... your turn to ride..”
You did.
You started slow, rolling your hips in lazy circles, getting used to the new angle, testing how far you could sink down before the stretch turned from sweet to too much. From here, you could control everything; the depth, the pace, the way his cock speared up into you and then slid back, dragging along every slick, sensitive inch of your walls.
“Look at you,” he rasped.
“Shut up,” you panted, though your pulse kicked at the praise.
“Can’t,” he said. “Brain’s offline. All systems rerouted to ‘holy shit, she’s perfect’.””
Jake watched like a man possessed, eyes dark and blown, mouth parted in an awed half‑smile that kept collapsing into a curse whenever you rolled just right, his chest heaving under your palms as if the sight of you using him like that knocked the breath out of him.
Each rise and fall made you feel the full length of him, the steady push and pull, the wet drag that left his lower belly damp where your clit caught on the faint line of hair there. Every time you drove down just right, the head of his cock nudged that spot inside that made your thighs tremble, a low, helpless sound catching in your throat as your body chased the exact pattern that lit you up.
He groaned, fingers tightening on your hips like he was anchoring himself to keep from just thrusting up and flipping you both over.
“Okay, that’s-yep-that’s gonna do it,” he babbled, voice climbing a little. “Jesus, I love your bed. And your thighs. And your whole general existence.”
As if to prove the point, he shifted his footing, planting both boots more firmly on the mattress so he could drive his hips up to meet you. You felt one denim‑clad thigh slide in closer behind you, the change in angle spearing him even deeper, making your breath hitch in a sharp, shocked gasp.
“Boots,” you panted suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“Boots. Off my bed, Jensen.”
He glanced down, like he’d genuinely forgotten he was still wearing them.
“Are you seriously-” he started, then cut himself off with a strangled noise as you rolled your hips just right. “Okay, tactical retreat.”
He somehow managed to toe his boots off without dislodging you, one thunking to the floor, then the other. The slight shift in balance sent a new flare of sensation through you.
“Happy now?” he demanded, breathless.
“Ecstatic,” you said sweetly, grinding down harder.
He swore, head thumping back against the pillow.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned. “You know that, right?”
“Occupational hazard,” you shot back, pace picking up as the heat in your belly coiled tighter, your walls fluttering greedily around him every time you sank down. Your head tipped back as a louder, needier sound spilled out of you with each repeat of the motion, the noises you made growing more wrecked the more you chased that drag of him.
He felt it, of course he did. He always did. His grip changed, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he started to thrust up to meet you, syncing with your rhythm instead of fighting it.
“C’mon,” he coaxed. “There you go. That’s it. Fucking use me.”
You chased the drag of him, the way he filled you perfectly, the slick, wet slide of your bodies meeting. Every roll of your hips sent sparks shooting up your spine, the pressure at the base of your stomach building and building.
When your breath started to stutter, he slid one hand from your hip, down between your bodies.
“Jake-”
“Relax,” he murmured. “Just me.”
His thumb found your clit with embarrassing ease, circling with exactly the right pressure. Not too light, not too sharp; just right, tuned to you in a way that only came from practice.
You bucked, a choked sound tearing out of you.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “There she is. C’mon, baby. Come on me. You know you want to.”
“Stop-talking,” you managed, even as your body betrayed you, grinding down harder on his cock, chasing the friction of his thumb.
“Can’t,” he said, voice cracking a little. “It’s part of my charm. You love it. You-shit-”
Your rhythm faltered as the wave crested, muscles clenching tight.
“Jake,” you gasped. “I’m-oh-”
He groaned, thumb moving faster.
“Fuck Yeah, you are,” he panted. “Come on pretty girl, do you thing."
The coil snapped.
You came the sound ragged and high as your whole body locked, then shook. Pleasure crashed through you in hot, rolling waves, your thighs trembling around his hips, every nerve going twisting hot as you clamped down on him. Your walls spasmed in tight, greedy pulses around his cock, holding Jensen deep it felt like your body was trying to drag him even further in.
Jake swore loudly, the word ripped out of him, hands gripping you almost desperately as he kept his thumb working you through it, helping to milk every last tremor. He watched your face like he couldn’t look away, jaw slack, eyes blown wide as he felt every flutter and squeeze around him.
“Fuck, that’s it-Fuck-”
You collapsed forward, catching yourself on your arms just in time, forehead nearly bumping his. Your breath came in sharp, shocked pulls, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and heat.
Under you, his thrusts went messy, rhythm falling apart as your aftershocks squeezed him in uneven, clutching waves, dragging broken sounds out of his throat.
“Okay, yeah, I’m-yep, I’m right there with you,” he babbled, words tumbling over each other. “You gotta-fuck, don’t-don’t clench like that, I’m gonna-”
You clenched on purpose, exhausted smirk pulling on your face.
He choked on a shout.
“Jesus,” he groaned, hips driving up in a few hard, helpless thrusts. “Okay, you win-”
He buried himself deep, cock twitching as he came with a low, broken moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. You felt him pulse inside you, warmth flooding, his whole body shuddering under yours.
For a few long seconds, the world narrowed to the sound of your breathing, the pound of your heart, and the slow roll of aftershocks easing into something softer.
You slumped down fully, chest to chest, sweat cooling in the too‑warm air of the bedroom. Jake’s hands slid up your back, palms broad and soothing, fingers drawing aimless shapes between your shoulder blades.
“You good?” he murmured hoarsely, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against your temple.
You nodded against his neck, still catching your breath. “Yeah. You?”
“Currently questioning every life choice that keep me from being naked with you,” he admitted.
You huffed a sleepy laugh.
“You’re such a sap.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he mumbled. “Got a reputation to uphold.”
You stayed like that for a minute, heavy and lazy but perfectly content. Eventually, your thighs started to complain and the lingering sensitivity made you shift.
“Okay,” you groaned. “We should probably…”
“Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “Before we fuse.”
He eased his hands to your hips, helping you lift off him gently. You winced at the oversensitive drag and he murmured a soft apology, kissing your shoulder until the sharp edge faded.
You flopped onto your back beside him with a sigh. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to look at you, hair a disaster, smile smug and soft all at once.
“What,” you demanded.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just appreciating the view again.”
You threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily, laughing.
“Rude,” he scolded. “I gotta go check your traps and then you gotta get ready for work.”
You groaned. “Don’t remind me, leave the traps, they're fine...”
He leaned over and kissed you once more, quick but sweet, before rolling off the bed. His briefs and jeans were yanked up with considerably less finesse than they’d been taken off and he hopped on one foot to get his socks back up, nearly falling over.
You laughed into your arm.
“Graceful,” you observed.
“Shut up,” He shook his head at you cheerfully. “I’m still lightheaded. After of being railed by a goddess.”
“That is not what happened,” you objected weakly before your got up and started for the shower.
~#~#~#~#~
By the time you stepped out of the shower, the house had cooled down enough that your skin pebbled in the draft, but your legs had mostly stopped shaking.
Jake had pulled his shirt back on and was in full pretend‑professional mode again, toolbox open on the table. He was swapping out a couple of batteries from the pile he’d collected, muttering numbers under his breath like he was logging it all in some invisible report.
You padded past him to the fridge, now dressed for your shift at the bar, Anarchy Sons branding stretched across your T-shirt and jeans, skin humming in all the places he’d put his hands. Your hair was damp around the edges from the fastest shower known to man, and you could feel the faint, pleasant ache settling into your muscles.
You grabbed a bottle of water, took a long drink, then glanced at the clock.
“Shit,” you muttered. “I need to leave in twenty.”
Jake looked up, pushing his glasses back up his nose with the back of his wrist. They were a little smudged, like he’d forgotten about them while he’d been busy wrecking you.
“You can make it,” he said. “You’re like… freakishly efficient when there’s beer money on the line.”
You flipped him off half‑heartedly and headed for your room, scooping your work boots up from beside the chair as you passed. By the time you tugged them on, tying your hair up into a quick, messy knot and grabbing your Anarchy Sons hoodie to match the shirt, the worst of the post-orgasm floatiness had given way to something steadier.
You checked your reflection in the tiny mirror by the dresser. Flushed cheeks, kiss‑swollen mouth.
Like anyone at the bar didn’t already know exactly what you and Jake got up to when the timing lined up.
He was by the front door when you came out, boots on again. The only real evidence of what you’d just done; besides the way your legs still felt a little wobbly, was thelazy satisfaction in his eyes when he looked at you.
“Hey there, productive member of society,” Jake put down his took box “Ready to go serve the masses?”
“Ready to go fake a smile, playing therapist and pour beer for farmers who think ‘love’ is a dirty word,” you replied, reaching for your jacket but Jake took it off his peg before you could, holding it open for you like some kind of gentleman.
You arched a brow. “Look at you, playing escort.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he teased even as he waited for you to slip your arms in. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
You snorted, but the way he settled the jacket over your shoulders, fingers lingering for a second at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing that sensitive spot just under your hairline, made something soft twist in your chest.
“Want a lift?” he asked, voice a touch more serious as he bent to pick up his tool box “I was gonna head back through town anyway. Can drop you out front.”
You hesitated.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. Half the time you ended up timing things that way, him finishing up a job nearby, you needing to be at work. It made sense. Practical.
It also felt like a line, sometimes. A tiny, stupid domestic line you weren’t supposed to think about too hard in a setup like this.
“You don’t have to,” you shook your head fiddling with your sleeve.
“I know ” Jake shrugged “Do you want a lift? Stop dodging. You’re gonna be on your feet for six hours. Let me at least save you the trek there.”
The way he said it, no pressure, just simple, practical care. It knocked down the last of your resistance.
“Yeah,” you conceded knotting your hoodie around your waist “Okay. A lift would be good.”
He flashed you a quick, pleased grin.
“Good,” He nodded, that smile coming back “I was gonna follow you out there anyway and lurk in the car park like a creep until you got inside. This way I can claim the gas." That was Jake always the joke..
“Romantic,” you deadpanned as you opened the door.
“Truly,” he agreed. “My love language is fuel economy and making sure you don’t have to walk home alone after midnight.”
You rolled your eyes, but the words landed somewhere low and warm. "I didn't say you'd be driving me home."
“Hey,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “I could be...”
You tilted your head. “You planning on being up that late?”
He shrugged. “I am now.”
“Jake…”
“I know, I know,” he said, holding up his free hand. “You don’t need it. You’ll be fine. But sometimes it’s nice to have someone waiting when you clock out. I can nurse a beer and annoy Jax for an hour if it means you don’t have wait for one of girl. I wont even talk to you if you don't want.”
The image of him leaning on the bar, trading insults with your boss while you slung drinks, was… not an unpleasant one.
“Maybe,” you said, unable to keep the little smile off your face. “We’ll see how busy it gets. If we’re slammed, you’ll get bored.”
He scoffed. “Unlikely. Watching you work is my second‑favourite hobby.”
You opened your mouth, closed it, then decided you did not want to know what ranked first.
“Come on,” you said instead, giving his arm a light shove. “If I’m late, Jax will make me restock the cool room as punishment.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Jake said confidently.
“You absolutely will not,” you shot back.
He just grinned and stepped out onto the front porch of the bunkhouse, whole you locked up the door.
The late afternoon chill curling around ears. He fell into step beside you as you crossed the yard to his truck, toolbox swinging easily in his hand.
At the passenger door, he didn’t move to open it for you, didn’t make a fuss. He just waited while you climbed in, then rounded the bonnet to slide behind the wheel, putting his toolbox into space behind the seats.
He started the engine, glanced over at you, smiling.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded you.
You snapped it into place, flipping him off again for good measure. He laughed, the sound bright and easy, and pulled out onto the road.
For a few minutes, the drive was quiet in that comfortable way you’d learned to treasure; no pressure to fill the silence, just the low rumble of the engine and the soft rattle of his tools in the back.
“Hey,” he said as the town limits sign flashed past. “Quick thing.”
You glanced over. “Yeah?”
“If any asshole at the bar gives you grief tonight,” His tone might have been casual, eyes on the road, but you got the feeling it wasn’t not fully “you tell Jax I said I’ll rewire his sound system to play nothing but polka if he doesn’t back you up.”
You snorted. “You’re gonna weaponise polka for me?”
“For you?” His hand left the wheel and patted your leg for a second before going back. “Absolutely.”
The warmth that bloomed in your chest at that had nothing to do with the truck’s heater.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said softly.
He shrugged one shoulder. “You like me that way.”
You didn’t argue.
Outside, the bar’s neon sign came into view, flickering faintly in the gathering dusk. Jake pulled up out front, easing the truck into a spot near the door.
He put it in park but didn’t kill the engine, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.
“Alright,” He turned, sounding a little deflated “Go be a menace in there.”
You unbuckled, hand already on the door handle, then paused.
“Hey, Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks,” you flet your cheeks get a little pink “For… you know. The professional services.”
His mouth twitched. “Which part? The smoke alarms, or the part where I made you forget your own name for a solid thirty seconds?”
You flushed properly now “All of the above, you asshole.”
He huffed a pleased laugh. “Anytime, Cowgirl.”
You leaned across the bench seat on impulse, fingers curling in the front of his shirt as you tugged him in for one more kiss.
It wasn’t like the ones in your kitchen. Not hungry, not frantic. Just a press of lips, warm and sure and… sweet. His hand came up automatically to cradle the side of your neck, thumb stroking once under your jaw like he’d done it a thousand times.
When you pulled back, his eyes were softer than you wanted to think about, those blue pools that made you think of the sea.
“Go on,” he cleared his throat. “Before I change my mind and kidnap you from your shift.”
You smiled, a little breathless.
“See you later?” you asked.
He nodded once. “Yeah. You will.”
You slipped out of the truck and into the cool evening, the familiar murmur of bar noise spilling out as you opened the door. Behind you, Jake waited until you’d stepped inside before pulling away, the low rumble of his engine fading into the hum of small‑town Friday night.
You squared your shoulders, adjusted your shirt and headed behind the bar.
Pairing: Husband! Jake Jensen x Wife! Reader (Newlyweds)
Summary: Even terrible sunburns can’t ruin your honeymoon when you’re with the right person
Word count: 1,067
Content/warnings: fluff, sunburns, hurt/comfort, mentions of/allusions to smut, nonsexual nudity, loving horny newlyweds, playful laughing and chasing, no character descriptions, use of a pet name (love dove, dove, Dovey)
A/N: What can I say? I’m soooo down bad for hubby Jake🥺
Comments and reblogs are so appreciated. I love when you guys screech about Jakey with me!! Don’t be shy!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
“Hold still, dove. I swear-“ Jake barely mustered out somewhere between a grit and a giggle. For the third time, your back arched as you dodged his touch, the prospect of aloe on your sunburnt skin too daunting for this moment.
“Jacob, it’s cold!” you squeaked with nervous laughter from far across your honeymoon suite. This dance had been going on for several minutes now with Jake chasing you around the oversized bed. Both of you still wore your towels as a remnant of your shower after a long day at the beach, the sea breeze flowing through the open sliding glass door adding to the chill as it hit the water droplets on your skin.
Jake sighed, a fond smile on his face, as he stalked towards you. His hair was matted down, the damp nature of it accentuating the dark roots that peeked through at the bottom of his bleached ends. He did it fresh for your wedding day, but it was already growing out. Right at the length that you loved it.
He’d been wearing it soft for most of your honeymoon, without gel. There was hardly a point to style it when it was going to get wet or tousled in bed all the time. And in the mere seconds where these distracting thoughts of just how good he looked post-shower filled your head, he was upon you, nose almost touching yours.
Jake’s eyes were so warm, so urgent like they always were when they looked straight into your soul. His lips were still upturned as he decided how to proceed with your protests.
“Love dove. You have to let me do this, baby. Otherwise it’s gonna sting and I don’t want that for the rest of this trip.”
You nodded, brows furrowed while you looked up at him as your fingertips itched to reach out and grab the spot where his towel was tucked in, slung low around his waist.
“I know, but it’s freezing! And I hate the gummy feeling afterwards! Makes me stick to my clothes,” you pouted as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Okay. How about you put it on me first. So we can both see that it’s not too bad. I’m much worse off than you, anyway.”
It was true. Jake looked like a lobster already and you knew the true color of the damage was nowhere close to setting in yet. From just laying the back of your hand against your own skin and then Jake’s shoulder, you felt how much hotter he was. It was going to be painful the next day if you didn’t act soon.
You winced at him. “Yeah. Sorry about that…”
He just continued smiling and shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’d take a thousand sunburns if it meant I could get just one kiss from you.”
It was far more than just kissing that he’d gotten from you that morning. While the two of you were preparing for your day in the water, Jake had just barely finished rubbing in the sun lotion on your back when his hands began to wander under the seams of your bathing suit and to your ass, kneading before he spun you around and pulled you on to him.
In all of the…distraction, the two of you completely forgot to put sunscreen on Jake by the time you finished, with you pulling the bottom of your swimsuit back into place from where it had been stretched to the side and Jake readjusting and tightening his trunks around his waist.
The smallest bit of you regretted that you could have been so forgetful, but who could blame you with the way Jake devours you like you’re the best thing in the world? He dives in, yet he’s savoring every moment. He’s eager in his approach, but gentle, always treating you like you’re precious to him. Because you are.
You laughed and shook your head at his classic cheesiness as Jake’s face lit up from eliciting that reaction from you. He held out his hand and you placed yours in it as he smeared the aloe gel from his other hand into your palm and turned around for you to get his back.
“No. No more sunburn, Jake. I don’t like seeing you like this. And I’ll give you as many kisses as you want to keep it from happening again.”
Jake‘s shoulders bounced with laughter before he jumped and hissed at the sensation of your hand and the cool gel running across his sensitive back. You retracted your touch at the thought of hurting him.
“No, no. It’s okay. I can take it. Just be delicate, alright? It’s not too bad once you get used to it.”
You nodded and continued until Jake turned around for you to get his front. If you weren’t so concerned about his well-being at the present moment, the way his chest and abs glistened as you delicately ran you fingertips across them would’ve made you climb on top of him right then.
You couldn’t fight the way your breath hitched, though, as you were running your palms down Jake’s arms, where even the tops of his hands were burnt. As you got to his left hand, paying close attention to every long, thick finger, you stopped short on the second to last one. Right between his first and second knuckles on his fourth finger was a white stripe, saved from the burn by his wedding ring.
You looked up at Jake through your eyelashes, pupils sparkling with so much love and acknowledgment at what that meant. He grinned as wide as you’d ever seen before.
“It’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”
Your smile mirrored his as you put a gentle hand on his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. When you pulled away, somehow your face was even brighter. More reverent and filled with deep emotion.
“Yeah. Yeah it is.”
The two of you were already so deeply connected, but this was another physical reminder of the eternity together that was still ahead.
For now, though, what mattered was the present: getting you both into comfy, oversized t-shirts that were soft and loose on your skin so you could hold each other and recover for the rest of the night, after Jake finally rubbed you down with aloe. And getting room service, of course.
Bonus A/N: PLEASE wear sunscreen. Even if you wanna be tan. Your future self will thank you. I’m fully supportive of you finding a Jakey to slather it on if that will make you adhere to my wishes.
The instant I saw this, I thought of Jake Jensen having forgot about an anniversary date. He lost track of time--easily done in a dark room--and once he checks his text messages, he sees a picture you sent of the lingerie you're wearing under your dress for dinner. The reservation is in half an hour, and he's got to get down one of the slowest elevators on the planet, past a row of glitchy turn-styles, into his rickety (but beloved) Jeep, and through traffic.
Run, boi, run!
He's going to get there. He's going to look so good, his shirt will even be tucked in...probably...maybe.
That's not the point though. The point is there's lace and tiny ribbons, some strappy bits he's imagining weaving in his fingers and pulling on, and why--WHY has no one fixed this f***ing elevator?!?!
pairing: trucker!jake jensen x former sex worker!female reader
summary: jake makes your first christmas together special by surprising you with some christmas decorations and asking for your help decorating his tree, which brings the two of you closer in new ways.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, painful childhood memories, some angst/crying, fluff, jake jensen is a christmas menace
word count: 1.7k
a/n: based on this ask from @veltana: Are trucker Ari's and trucker Jake's readers gonna decorate the rigs for the holidays? i wasn't going to write a lot, but, uh, well i did so i hope y'all enjoy some christmas fluff/smut/angst with trucker Jake!! i really enjoyed digging into his and reader's backstories!
dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist
Ok so here’s the thing: trucker Jake Jensen LOVES Christmas. (Honestly, you’d be hard-pressed to convince me this isn’t true to canon Jake Jensen—he just seems like the kind of guy who’d love Christmas!)
I imagine Jake didn’t have the best childhood. Maybe he had some really magical Christmases when he was very little, but then his parents became absent or they died when he was still pretty young, or a mixture of the two. His parents not being around is why he’s so close to his sister and niece, and why family is important to him.
But I digress. The point is, I think Jake had a lot of lackluster Christmases, and he realized that if he wanted Christmas cheer in his life, he was going to have to be the one to make it. And boy does he.
Now, I should also mention that I think Jake’s reader had a similar childhood experience. You grew up with cold, sparse Christmases—maybe your parent/parents would get a tree but it was fake and pre-lit and they’d only decorate it with generic decorations.
All the homemade ornaments you brought home from school might’ve been hung up on the tree that year, but your parents would toss them when putting everything away and you’d have to dig them out of the trash. Eventually, you stopped giving them to your parents and kept them in a shoebox under your bed. You’ve kept the box, but never hung them up.
Unlike Jake, you stuck with what was comfortable because it was what you’d always known, so you weren’t very big on decorating for Christmas. Most years, you wouldn’t even get a tree.
You’d always figure you’d get one when you got a day off from Diesel Dolls, but then you’d spend your days off relaxing and not wanting to go through the process of getting a tree, lugging it back to your apartment alone, and then decorating it.
All this is to say, you’re not the type to even think about asking Jake if you can decorate the inside of his rig for the holidays. But that’s ok, because he’s way ahead of you.
Early in November—so early, you’re not even thinking about Christmas yet—Jake gets a motel room for the night. This isn’t out of the ordinary, he likes to get a room when the both of you are craving a shower and some sex in a real bed.
That night, Jake fucks you to sleep. Literally. He makes you come so much, you pass out and are snoring softly before he can even grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up.
Jake watches you sleep for a little while (it’s cute, not creepy, I swear), but when he tries to doze off himself, he can’t. He’s heard the stories about your austere childhood Christmases and he’s determined to bring you some Christmas magic.
So while you sleep, he pulls out the boxes and boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations he keeps in the storage of his rig. He spends all night stringing lights and hanging garlands and other decorations until the front seats and the bunk in the back are so stuffed, there’s barely room to sit, let alone move around.
It’s all worth it for the expression on your face when you see what he’s done, though. The way your eyes light up with surprise and delight and even a touch of wonder. It’s more Christmas than you’ve ever seen before crammed into the small space of his rig and you… love it.
You love it more than you ever thought possible and you’re speechless as you climb up into the rig and flop into the driver’s seat, your eyes greedily looking around at all the decorations while your mouth hangs open in surprise.
There’s even a little plastic Christmas tree fixed to the dashboard, tiny little lights twinkling. It’s all so perfect, so wonderful, that you don’t know what to say.
“Do you… like it?” Jake asks tentatively, his hands on either side of the open door, one foot on the step up into the rig, while he watches you taking it all in. He thought he’d read you right, that you’d enjoy some Christmas cheer, but he’s beginning to worry he’d been wrong.
Unable to find the words for how you feel, you turn back to Jake with tears in your eyes and you practically tackle him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you kiss him hard. He stumbles back a step into the parking lot of the motel, his arms bracing you against his chest while he kisses you back.
Jake turns to walk you backward into the motel room, but you make a sound of protest. Kissing his stupidly handsome face—including the goatee you love so much—and knocking his glasses a little askew, you drag him back into the rig, impatiently waiting while he closes and locks the door behind you. Then you haul him into the bunk in the back until he covers your body with his own.
Quickly, the two of you tear your clothes off, and when Jake slides inside you, filling you up perfectly the way that only he can, you feel like your heart grows two sizes. You’re so happy, tears slip from your eyes and slide down your temples into your hair while Jake coos at you and kisses the tears from your skin.
“Don’t cry, kitten, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs in your ear, his hips working you open with his cock until you’re moaning more than you’re crying. You can’t even find the words to tell him they’re happy tears, you just cling to him and hold him tight in your arms.
Jake fucks you slow and sweet in his rig while you’re surrounded by a ridiculous amount of Christmas decorations—so much that when Jake hikes your thigh up around his hip, you accidentally kick some loose. But Jake doesn’t care enough to stop, filling you over and over again in a steady rhythm that drives you wild, pleasure coiling in your core.
He makes you come while a fallen garland tangles around your entwined legs, the snowflakes he’s hung from the ceiling swaying with the force of his thrusting. And then he tumbles over the edge after you, filling you up with his come and holding you close as you catch your breath together.
You laugh at the mess the two of you have made of his decorations and he chuckles right along with you, telling you he’ll fix them before you get back on the road. You snuggle into him and thank him for the early Christmas present.
But you have no idea what else Jake has in store for you because, like I said, he LOVES Christmas.
I imagine Jake has a house somewhere deep in the Rocky Mountains, high enough that there’s guaranteed to be snow at Christmas. It’s so remote, in fact, that there wouldn’t be any service or cable if not for the robust satellite setup he has.
Your first Christmas together, he takes you to his house and pulls the same trick he did with the truck rig, where he decorates the house to the max while you’re asleep. (It isn’t uncommon for Jake to go a couple days without sleeping. He used to be in the military and it fucked with his ability to maintain a normal routine, which is why he enjoys the freedom that comes with being a trucker.)
The only thing Jake leaves undecorated is the tree. It’s a fresh pine he had shipped to his house, and set up in the massive living room, the tall tree taking up an entire corner by itself.
Jake makes you some coffee while you look at the decorations he’s put up and then you sit on the couch sipping it while he strings the lights on the tree. He’s focused and methodical while he works, and you can’t help but get a little turned on by the cute, determined expression on his face and the way his biceps bulge and flex.
But when he’s done, the heat that had been simmering in your core is extinguished because Jake pulls out a shoebox that looks far too familiar, and it brings up far too many painful memories.
Jake sits down beside you, his head hanging a little like a guilty puppy while he tells you he pilfered it from your apartment the last time he was there. He catches your eye and you see the earnestness in his gaze when he asks you to tell him about all the ornaments.
When you hesitate—because you’re not sure whether to be mad at Jake for going through your things or to love him even more for remembering that you’d kep the ornaments—he pulls you into his lap and kisses your forehead.
“I want to know all of you, kitten,” he says gently, tipping your face toward his so he can look into your eyes. “Even the bad parts—especially the bad parts. I want to hear about all your bad Christmas memories so I can replace them with good ones.”
By the time he’s done talking, your eyes are misty with tears and you nod, leaning in for a kiss before you take a deep, steadying breath. It helps that Jake’s arms are big and strong, his chest firm as you lean into him. Then, you open the box.
Jake listens patiently while you pull out each ornament and tell him what you remember about it, the Christmas memories you associate with it. It’s a long, difficult process, but when you’re done, you feel inexplicably lighter.
When you look to Jake, to see his reaction, you find him with red-rimmed eyes, like he cried while you told him about your childhood Christmases. But before you can ask him about it, he captures your lips in the softest, sweetest kiss you’ve ever felt. Once he pulls away, he helps you up from the couch and, together, you hang the ornaments on the tree.
Then you spend the rest of the morning hanging up all of Jake’s tree ornaments—of which there are many—and he tells you stories about his sister and his niece. By the time you’re done, you feel filled up with Christmas cheer and you drag Jake back down onto the couch.
There, under the lights of the Christmas tree and all the decorations overflowing his mountain home, you kiss your trucker prince charming and show him how happy you are to be spending the holiday with him.
Thought about doing homework with College Daddy!Jake Jensen while trying to focus on my own today because I always think about him while doing it…
Warning(s): Cock warming, denial, Daddy!Jake Jensen, ddlg, m!dom, f!sub, unprotected p-in-v, Jake is older, allusions to dacryphilia, power imbalance, brat taming. MDNI.
-> “Daddy, please!” A whine croaked out of your parched throat as your back tried to arch but was restricted its need due to Jake’s heavy arm that lay coiled around your waist.
-> “Be a good girl, honey” the vibration of the senior’s vocal cords drilled into your skin from how his face was slotted into the junction of your neck and shoulder, the hair on his chin tickling your tender flesh.
-> “B- But I can’t focus when you’re… you– hng!” You let out another throaty grumble when his cock twitched deep inside your velvet cavern.
-> “Or, maybe…” He was literally distracted by the characters on his screen as he typed away commands on the programming software with a nonchalance that made you want to cry. “You’re just a lazy little brat” there was something about the casual dismissiveness with which he treated your worked up form; how relaxed he seemed while you had to bite down on your textbook to hold back your tears.
-> You poutily winced before uneasily attempting to shift from where you sat atop his muscular thighs.
-> But his hold on you was too firm.
-> “Daddy!” You tried to chide but all that came out was a pathetic little plea.
-> “Behave yourself, baby” your pussy blinked around his mighty girth that your poor hole had been forced to swallow to the brim when Jake had sat your procrastinating ass down by grabbing your loitering form with one easy stretch of his arm.
-> You whined and pouted to get your way.
-> Jake only tutted as he patted one of your thighs before turning your head that was trying to weaken his resolve with your pouty lips to face your own screen that had way more sparkle and colour compared to his.
-> “Tell you what, if you be a good girl…” A choked cry escaped you when he suddenly grabbed both your hips and gave you a thrust by effortlessly lifting you until only his tip was inside before stomping you down and giving you a jerk of his hips at the same time. The satin of your cavern squished against the rigid dents of his cock in the most delicious way, making you whine out again. “Daddy will consider your case, yeah?” And his manly fingers resumed their speedy typing like they had never ceased their movements in the first place.
