#smut writers

[lucifixion-pose]

Fellow fic—writers:

Maybe if we use em—dashes even more —gratuitously, unhesitatingly, and without restraint— we can poison the AI—bot—farms so thoroughly —and mercilessly— that their so—called """"writing"""" becomes nothing BUT em—dashes. Perhaps —and dare to dream with me here— we can reclaim what is our god—given right —to never end a sentence before we are fully ready.

[soulsforsales]

give me virgin shy sweet jason todd with zero experience pls smut writers i can’t write smut if my life depends on it and i need that😭😭

[mevriiiluxexxx]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : The One I Wont Forget by Jake Webber

⋆ ★ RED THREADS & STATIC

Summary: In a chaotic late-night encounter, Jake Webber finds himself pulled into Tara Yummy's cluttered apartment, only to become entranced by you. While Tara rambles on about her latest collaboration, Jake is captivated by your quiet intensity—a much deeper frequency hums between you two, the unmistakable pull of a soulmate connection.

What starts as playful banter quickly escalates into a tantalizing game of flirtation and teasing, as Tara inadvertently plays matchmaker, bringing out the competitive side in both you and Jake. With sharp wit and undeniable tension, you challenge each other to see who can keep their cool amidst the rising heat.

As the night unfolds, boundaries blur, and passions ignite, leading to a whirlwind of desire, laughter, and defiance. In the midst of stolen kisses and daring provocations, Jake is forced to drop his guarded, teasing persona to face the magnetic, raw reality of a bond that was written long before you met. In a city built on temporary fame, he realizes you aren't just a distraction—you’re the one he was always meant to find.

Genre: Soulmate | smut | SwP | RPF

Warnings (+18): Soft Dom! Jake x Quiet Fem! Reader, You Have Ginger Hair, Choking, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Foreplay, Unprotected Sex (wrap it, babe), Oral (Giving), Fingering, Vein Kink, Height Kink?, Soulmate AU Elements, Slow-Burn (ofc ;))

Word Count: 10k

MDNI !!!

 Jake Webber wasn’t sure what he expected when Tara Yummy dragged him into her cluttered apartment at 12 AM, but it definitely wasn’t you.

The blender whirred violently in the kitchen, drowning out whatever Tara was yelling about her latest collab. Jake leaned against the counter, half-listening, half-watching you curl deeper into the couch with your book, the neon sign from the pizza place across the street casting a pink glow over your freckles.

The blender finally died with a pathetic whine, and Tara's voice cut through the sudden silence like a switchblade. "Jake, hello? Are you even listening?" She waved a lime-green manicured hand in front of his face, but his gaze didn’t budge from the way your fingers absently twirled a strand of ginger hair around itself, the paperback balanced on your knees like some kind of sacred offering.

"Earth to Jake!" Tara snapped her fingers inches from his nose, the sharp citrus scent of her nail polish cutting through the stale apartment air. Jake blinked, finally tearing his eyes away from you—fuck, were you biting your lip just then?—and forced his attention back to Tara's rambling. "Yeah, yeah, the collab. Neon something. Got it."

The paperback cover snapped shut as Tara finally noticed where Jake’s attention had been drifting. Her grin was instantaneous, predatory. "Oh my god," she drawled, leaning against the counter with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "You’re staring."

Jake’s throat went dry as Tara’s grin widened, her manicured fingers drumming against the countertop. “I wasn’t—” he started, but Tara cut him off with a laugh sharp enough to slice through the tension.

Tara’s laugh echoed off the apartment walls like a gunshot, and you finally glanced up from your book, the pink neon light catching the gold flecks in your eyes. Jake swallowed hard, feeling like he’d been caught red-handed.

Tara’s grin turned wicked as she snatched the paperback from your hands, holding it hostage between her glittering nails. "Oh, she doesn’t bite," she sing-songed, twirling a strand of your hair between her fingers like she was presenting a prize. "Unless you ask nicely."

"I'm confused whats happening right now?" You murmured, blinking up at Tara as she dangled your book just out of reach. The neon glow from the window painted her smirk in garish shades of pink.

Jake's fingers twitched at his sides, the pulse in his throat betraying him. Tara's grin was a loaded gun, and he was standing directly in the line of fire. "She does read a lot," Tara continued, tapping the paperback cover against your knee. "But I bet she'd trade Dostoevsky for a decent conversation."

Jake cleared his throat, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the counter. “Dostoevsky’s overrated anyway,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear over Tara’s theatrical gasp.

The paperback smacked Jake square in the chest before he could react, the impact startling a laugh out of him—rough and surprised, like he hadn’t expected the sound himself. You’d thrown it. You, who’d been nothing but quiet corners and bitten-back smiles since he walked in, had just launched Crime and Punishment at his ribs like a fucking softball.

The book hit Jake’s chest with a dull *thump*, and for a second, the apartment went dead silent—even Tara stopped mid-snort. Then Jake exhaled sharply, a rough, surprised laugh punching out of him like he hadn’t expected it himself. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, clutching the paperback to his sternum like a wound. “Did you just—?”

You blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence except for the way your lips twitched at the corners. “You insulted Dostoevsky in my living room,” you said, voice quiet but edged with something that made Jake’s pulse jump. “That’s a capital offense.”

Jake clutched the book to his chest like a shield, his grin widening as he watched you try—and fail—to smother your own smile. Tara let out a delighted shriek, clapping her hands as she'd just witnessed the climax of a rom-com. "Oh my god, you threw it at him," she crowed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I knew you had a spine under all those cardigans."

You rolled your eyes, but Jake didn't miss the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve—nervous energy disguised as nonchalance. He dropped the book onto the coffee table with a deliberate *thunk*, stepping closer until the pink neon light painted his shadow across your knees. "Capital offense, huh?" he mused, voice low. "What's the punishment for that?"

Your breath hitched as Jake loomed over you, the neon light catching the sharp angles of his jaw—like he was carved from the same shadows that stretched across your lap. Tara let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her hands to her chest. “Oh, now we’re getting somewhere,” she stage-whispered, wiggling her eyebrows like a cartoon villain.

You shot her a glare, but Jake didn’t budge. His grin was all teeth, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Well?” he prompted, tilting his head. “What’s my sentence, judge?”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the couch cushion beneath you as Jake's shadow swallowed the space between your knees. The neon glow turned his smirk electric, sharp enough to cut. "Life imprisonment," you muttered, just to watch his eyebrows shoot up. "With hard labor."

Tara cackled from the kitchen, abandoning her smoothie concoction to lean against the fridge. "Oh, please let me film this—"

Jake’s laugh was a low, dangerous thing—the kind that curled around your ribs like smoke. “Hard labor?” He leaned down, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head, close enough that you could smell the sharp citrus of his cologne mixed with something darker, earthier. “You gonna put me to work, sweetheart?”

Tara’s phone camera clicked audibly from across the room. “Say cheese,” she sang, but neither of you looked away from each other. Jake’s thumb brushed your knee, the touch deliberate, testing. Your breath caught, and his grin widened. “Thought so.”

The moment stretched thin between you, taut as a wire—until Tara’s exaggerated cough shattered it like glass. “Okay, wow, I suddenly have so much editing to do,” she announced, fanning herself with her phone. “Like, immediately. In my room. With headphones.” She waggled her fingers at Jake, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Don’t break her,” she stage-whispered, then vanished down the hallway with a giggle that faded into the slam of her bedroom door.

Jake exhaled through his nose, thumb still tracing idle circles on your knee. “She’s such a fucking menace,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched—like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. You bit your lip, acutely aware of how his forearm flexed where it caged you in against the couch. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, veins stark under the neon light, and you couldn’t stop staring at the way they shifted when he adjusted his weight.

"You're staring," Jake murmured, voice rough around the edges. His thumb stilled on your knee, pressing just hard enough to make you aware of the warmth bleeding through the fabric of your jeans.

Your fingers twisted tighter around the couch cushion. "You're looming."

Jake’s laugh was a quiet rumble, the sound vibrating through the scant inches of air between you. “Looming?” He tilted his head, the pink neon catching the sharp edge of his smirk. “Nah, sweetheart. This is just *standing.*” His thumb resumed its slow circles on your knee, the pressure just shy of bruising. “You’re the one who sentenced me to *hard labor.*”

Your pulse thudded traitorously under your skin. “Maybe I’m reconsidering,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “You’d probably slack off.”

Jake’s smirk deepened, his thumb pressing harder into the soft flesh above your knee. “Oh, really?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You think I’d slack off?” His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and deliberate. “I’m *very* hands-on when it comes to my work.”

You shivered, his words curling low in your stomach. The neon light flickered outside, casting erratic shadows across his face—sharpening the hunger in his eyes. “Prove it,” you challenged, tilting your chin up. The words barely left your lips before Jake’s hand slid from your knee to the back of your thigh, hauling you forward on the couch with one sharp tug.

The sudden shift sent your book tumbling to the floor with a muffled *thump*, but you barely registered it—not when Jake’s fingers dug into the meat of your thigh, his grip possessive even through the fabric of your jeans. His other hand braced against the couch behind you, caging you in with the kind of effortless control that made your breath hitch.

“Prove it?” Jake repeated, voice a low rasp. His nose brushed yours, the scent of his cologne—something citrus and dark, like bergamot and smoke—filling your lungs. “You don’t ask for proof, sweetheart.” His thumb traced the seam of your jeans, slow and deliberate. “You take it.”

The air between you crackled like static, Jake’s fingers tightening just enough to make your breath catch. His gaze flicked down to your parted lips, then back up—slow, deliberate—as if daring you to move first. You didn’t.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jake murmured, his thumb dragging higher along your inner thigh, the denim rough against your skin. His voice was all gravel, the kind that scraped against your ribs. “Thought you were the judge here.”

The couch creaked under Jake’s weight as he leaned in closer, his knee pressing between yours, spreading your legs just enough to make your breath stutter. The neon glow outside flickered again, painting his cheekbones in garish pink, but his eyes stayed dark—locked onto yours like he was waiting for you to crack first.

Jake's thumb traced higher, the rough pad of his finger catching on the seam of your jeans—deliberate, teasing. You inhaled sharply, fingers digging into the couch cushions as his knee pressed harder between yours. "Still reconsidering?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, but you held your ground, tilting your chin up just enough to catch the challenge in his gaze.

"You talk a lot for someone on trial," you shot back, voice lower than you intended. The corner of Jake's mouth twitched, and for a second, you thought he might laugh—but then his hand slid around to grip the back of your thigh, hauling you flush against him with a suddenness that knocked the air from your lungs.

The couch groaned under the sudden shift of weight as Jake dragged you forward, his knee pressing insistently between yours until the denim strained against your skin. His fingers flexed against the back of your thigh—a silent demand—and you arched instinctively, biting back a gasp when his other hand slid up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, rough enough to send a jolt down your spine.

"Talkative now, aren't you?" Jake murmured, his voice a low rasp. His grip tightened, tilting your chin up until the neon light caught the gold flecks in your eyes. "Funny how that works."

The moment Jake’s thumb pressed against your bottom lip, the apartment’s ambient noise—the hum of the fridge, the distant buzz of traffic—faded into static. His fingers were calloused, rough against your skin in a way that made your breath stutter. You could taste the salt of his skin when your tongue darted out instinctively, just grazing the pad of his thumb. Jake’s pupils blew wide, his grip on your thigh tightening like a vice.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to make your pulse jump. “Fuck,” he muttered, rough and low, like the word had been punched out of him. His thumb dragged across your lower lip again, slower this time, watching the way your breath hitched when he pressed down. “You’re killing me.”

His thumb pressed harder against your lip, the pressure just shy of painful, and you couldn’t stop the quiet noise that escaped you—something between a gasp and a whimper. Jake’s nostrils flared, his grip shifting to cradle the back of your skull as he leaned in, his lips hovering a breath from yours. “That’s it,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your mouth. “Let me hear you.”

The couch groaned beneath you as Jake’s knee nudged your legs wider, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip, fingers digging in like he wanted to leave marks. You arched into the touch, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, the heat of his body searing through the thin material. Jake chuckled, low and dark, when you tugged him closer. “Impatient,” he noted, nipping at your bottom lip. “Guess I should’ve known.”

Your fingers twisted tighter in Jake’s shirt, the fabric straining under your grip as he leaned in closer—close enough that his next exhale warmed your lips. “Impatient?” you breathed, arching into him. “You’re the one with a hand up my thigh.”

Jake’s laugh was a rough scrape against your skin. “Observant,” he murmured, his thumb dragging down your chin to your throat, pressing just enough to make your pulse flutter under his touch. “But you’re still avoiding my question.” His fingers flexed against your hip, urging you forward until you could feel the heat of him through his jeans. “What’s my sentence, judge?”

Your breath hitched as Jake’s thumb pressed into the delicate skin of your throat, his pulse point throbbing against yours in a mirrored rhythm. The neon glow from outside flickered again—casting his sharp features in garish pink—but his eyes stayed dark, focused. “I already told you,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. “Life imprisonment.”

Jake’s grin was slow, predatory. “With hard labor,” he reminded you, his thumb dragging lower until his fingers curled loosely around your throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding. The weight of his palm against your windpipe sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. “You gonna enforce that, sweetheart?”

The weight of Jake’s hand on your throat sent a dizzying rush of heat through you, your pulse hammering against his palm like a trapped bird. His fingers flexed, just enough to make your breath catch, and you arched into the pressure instinctively—chasing the sharp bite of his grip. Jake’s nostrils flared, his gaze dropping to your parted lips. “Fuck,” he muttered, rough and low. “You like that?”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, dragging him closer until the heat of his body seared through the fabric. “You talk too much,” you breathed, tilting your chin up in challenge.

Jake’s laugh was a dark, breathless thing against your lips. “Yeah?” His fingers tightened fractionally around your throat, just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. “Then shut me up.”

You surged forward, crashing your mouth against his with a desperation that surprised even you. Jake groaned into the kiss, his grip on your thigh shifting to haul you onto his lap in one rough motion. The couch creaked dangerously beneath you as you straddled him, the denim of his jeans rough against your inner thighs. His hands bracketed your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a filthy, practiced ease.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as you ground down against him, the rough friction of denim making you both gasp into the kiss. His teeth scraped your bottom lip, tugging just enough to draw a whimper from your throat. “Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, his fingers flexing against your skin like he couldn’t decide whether to push or pull.

The neon light flickered again, casting jagged shadows across the wall as you rocked against him, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. Jake’s hands slid up your back, dragging your shirt with them until his palms found bare skin. His touch was electric, calloused fingers tracing your spine with a reverence that belied the hunger in his kiss. “You’re so fucking soft,” he muttered, biting at your jawline. “Everywhere.”

Jake's fingers traced the curve of your spine like he was memorizing the topography of your skin, his breath hot against your jaw. "Soft," he murmured again, the word rough with something like wonder, before his teeth scraped the sensitive spot below your ear. You gasped, arching into him, and he chuckled—dark, satisfied—as his hands slid around to your front, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. "But you're wearing too many fucking clothes."

Before you could react, Jake’s grip tightened on the fabric, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool apartment air hit your bare skin, raising goosebumps, but his hands were already there, mapping the newly exposed territory with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. His thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, teasing, before his palms cupped them fully, squeezing just enough to make your hips jerk against his.

The second Jake’s hands closed over your bare skin, the apartment’s neon-lit reality fractured into something sharper, hungrier. His palms were rough against your ribs, callouses catching on the soft swell of your breasts as his thumbs brushed over your nipples—once, twice—just enough to make you gasp. Jake’s smirk was a slow, wicked thing against your throat. “Sensitive,” he murmured, nipping at your pulse point. “Good to know.”

You arched into his touch, fingers tangling in his hair to tug him closer. Jake groaned, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as his teeth scraped your skin. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, hands sliding down to grip your waist. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

The moment Jake’s mouth closed over your nipple, the world narrowed to the sharp heat of his tongue and the rough drag of his teeth. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked hard enough to make your back arch off the couch. “Jake—,” you choked out, but he just hummed against your skin, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

“Yeah?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over the wetness he’d left behind. His thumb replaced his mouth, circling your other nipple with agonizing slowness. “Something wrong, judge?”

His thumb circled your nipple again—slow, deliberate—and you gasped, your hips rocking forward of their own volition. Jake’s smirk was molten as he watched you squirm, his other hand sliding down to grip the curve of your ass. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough. “Use me.”

The words sent a jolt through you, your nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth descended on yours again—hot, hungry, teeth clashing in a way that made your toes curl. Jake groaned when you bit his lower lip, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your mouth, his free hand dragging your hips down harder against his.

Jake's groan vibrated against your lips as you ground down against him, the friction of denim and the hard line of his cock sending sparks up your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but you didn't care—couldn't care, not when his mouth was hot and demanding against yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a filthy precision that made your head spin.

"Fuck," he muttered when you nipped at his lower lip, his grip shifting to haul you impossibly closer. The couch groaned beneath you, the sound drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. Jake’s palms skimmed up your sides, calloused thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before his mouth followed, lips trailing down your collarbone with a reverence that belied the roughness of his hands.

Jake’s lips left a trail of fire down your sternum, each press of his mouth deliberate, like he was marking territory. When his teeth scraped over your ribs, you gasped—sharp and involuntary—your fingers tightening in his hair. Jake chuckled against your skin, the sound dark and pleased. “Love that sound,” he murmured, tongue flicking over the spot just to hear it again. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he leaned back to admire his handiwork—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed the waistband of your jeans. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the neon glow painting his cheekbones in garish pink, the way his pupils swallowed the hazel of his eyes. “You’re—” you started, but Jake cut you off with a rough kiss, his fingers hooking into your belt loops to drag you flush against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against your thigh, and you whimpered into his mouth, your hips grinding down instinctively.

Jake's laugh was a dark, breathless thing against your lips as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're what?" he prompted, thumb brushing the curve of your hipbone through your jeans. His smirk was all teeth, all challenge. "Gonna leave me hanging, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tightening in his hair as his hands slid around to unhook your belt with practiced ease. The metallic *clink* of the buckle echoed in the quiet apartment, followed by the rough drag of denim as Jake worked the button free. "You're impossible," you muttered, arching into his touch as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans.

Jake’s fingers paused just beneath the waistband of your jeans, his thumb tracing slow circles on your hipbone while his gaze locked onto yours—dark, deliberate. “Impossible?” he echoed, voice rough with amusement. “You’re the one sentencing me to hard labor while wearing fucking jeans.” His fingers flexed against your skin, dragging the fabric down just enough to expose the lace edge of your panties. “Cruel, judge.”

You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched when his knuckles brushed lower, teasing the damp fabric between your legs. “You’re dramatic,” you breathed, arching into his touch despite yourself. Jake’s grin was wolfish as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Jake’s breath was hot against your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your earlobe. “Dramatic?” he murmured, the word rough with amusement. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, tugging just hard enough to make your breath catch. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen dramatic yet.”

The couch creaked as Jake shifted beneath you, his free hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in—slow, deliberate—until his lips brushed yours in a tease of a kiss. “You gonna let me take these off,” he murmured against your mouth, “or do I have to work for it?”

Your fingers tightened in Jake’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. “You’re supposed to work for it,” you breathed, lips brushing his with each word. “That’s the whole point of hard labor.”

Jake’s laugh was dark, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of your thighs as he stood abruptly, lifting you with him in one smooth motion. The sudden shift knocked the air from your lungs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you backward—until your spine met the cool plaster of the apartment wall. He pinned you there with his hips, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your core even through the layers of denim.

The plaster was cool against your bare back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off Jake’s body as he crowded you against the wall. His hands flexed around your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “Hard labor, huh?” he murmured, lips brushing yours in a teasing graze. “You’re really gonna make me work for it?”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his darkened gaze. “You said you were hands-on,” you breathed, shifting against him just to feel the way his breath hitched. “Prove it.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on your thighs as he leaned in closer—close enough that you could count the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. "Hands-on," he repeated, voice rough. His fingers traced the lace edge of your panties, the touch featherlight. "You sure you can handle that, sweetheart?"

The teasing lilt in his voice made your pulse jump. You arched into him, your nails scraping lightly down the back of his neck. "Try me," you challenged, lips brushing his with each word.

Jake’s fingers curled into the lace of your panties, the fabric damp beneath his touch. “Fuck,” he muttered, rough and low, before wrenching them down your thighs with a single, impatient tug. The cool apartment air hit your bare skin, but Jake’s body was already pressing closer, his knee nudging your legs apart as he pinned you harder against the wall.

Your breath hitched as his fingers traced your folds, teasing but not giving you what you wanted. “Jake—” you gasped, but he just chuckled, the sound dark and pleased.

Jake’s fingers traced slow, maddening circles just below where you needed him most, his breath hot against your throat. “Say it again,” he murmured, lips brushing your pulse point. “Say my name like that.”

You bit your lip, hips canting forward instinctively—only for Jake to pull back with a smirk. “Nuh-uh,” he chided, tapping your thigh once in warning. His fingers dragged higher, slick with your arousal, but still avoiding the spot that made your toes curl. “You wanted hard labor, didn’t you?” His thumb brushed your clit lightning-fast, just enough to make you gasp—before retreating again. “So work for it.”

Your breath stuttered as Jake’s fingers retreated again, leaving you achingly empty. The bastard was smirking—smirking—like he knew exactly how badly you needed him to stop teasing. "You're impossible," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as you arched against the wall.

Jake hummed, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as his free hand slid up to cradle your jaw. "And you're stalling," he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. His other hand—the one still tracing lazy circles between your thighs—paused. "Tell me what you want."

Your fingers tightened in Jake’s hair, pulling just enough to make him groan—low and rough, like gravel under tires. “You know exactly what I want,” you breathed, lips brushing his ear. “Stop playing.”

Jake’s chuckle was dark, his breath hot against your throat as his fingers finally—finally—dragged higher, circling your clit with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your hips jerk forward. “That?” he murmured, thumb flicking over the sensitive bud just to watch your breath hitch. “Or this?” His middle finger slid lower, teasing your entrance with maddening lightness.

Jake’s fingers pressed against you—not inside, just there, the pressure enough to make your thighs tremble. “Or,” he murmured, lips skimming your jaw, “do you want something else?” His thumb circled your clit again, the motion slow enough to be torture.

You exhaled sharply, fingers twisting in his hair. "Jake—”

Jake’s fingers stilled, his smirk deepening as he watched your chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. “Uh-uh,” he murmured, tapping your thigh again in that same infuriating rhythm. “Say it properly.” His thumb dragged lower, circling your entrance with deliberate slowness. “Or do I need to teach you how to ask?”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt wrinkling under your grip. “Fuck you,” you gasped, arching into his touch.

Jake’s laugh was a dark, breathless thing against your throat as he leaned in closer, his fingers still teasing, still not giving you what you wanted. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You don’t fuck me.” His thumb pressed down on your clit, hard enough to make your vision blur for a second. “I fuck you.”

You gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively—only for Jake to pin you harder against the wall with his free hand, his grip bruising. “Say it,” he demanded, voice rough. His thumb circled your clit again, the pressure just shy of unbearable. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitched as Jake’s thumb pressed harder against your clit, the rough pad of his finger dragging in slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks shooting up your spine. "I—" you started, but your voice cracked when he added a second finger, teasing your entrance without pushing in.

Jake’s smirk deepened, his free hand sliding up to grip your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Use your words, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “Or do I need to *remind* you how?”

Your throat worked around the words, but Jake’s fingers—god, his fingers—were relentless, circling your clit with a precision that unraveled your thoughts before they could form. “I want you to fuck me,” you gasped, the admission tearing from you like a confession.

Jake’s grin was slow, victorious. “There it is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth—chaste, almost sweet, if not for the way his fingers finally pushed inside you, thick and unyielding. You arched off the wall with a choked moan, your nails scoring down his back as he curled his fingers just so, dragging over that spot that made your vision go white. “Good girl,” he breathed, the praise rough against your lips. “Knew you could do it.”

Jake's fingers worked you open with a rhythm that had your thighs trembling, his thumb still circling your clit in counterpoint—just enough to keep you teetering on the edge without letting you fall. "Fuck," he muttered against your throat, teeth scraping your pulse point when your walls clenched around him. "You're so fucking tight."

"You—" Your breath hitched as he crooked his fingers, dragging against that sweet spot inside you with deliberate precision. "You're looming again."

Jake’s laugh was dark, his breath hot against your throat as his fingers pressed deeper, curling just enough to make your toes curl. “Looming?” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to grip your chin, tilting your face toward his. “Sweetheart, I’m working.” His thumb brushed your bottom lip, rough and demanding. “Hard labor, remember?”

You whimpered, your hips canting forward instinctively, chasing the pressure of his touch. Jake’s smirk was wicked as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tease of a kiss. “You’re gonna come for me,” he murmured, the words a rough command against your mouth. “Right here, against this wall, with my fingers inside you.” His thumb circled your clit faster, the pressure relentless. “And then—” His teeth scraped your bottom lip. “—I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

The moment Jake’s teeth scraped your lip, your back arched off the wall, a choked moan tearing from your throat as his fingers fucked you deeper—relentless, unforgiving. His thumb pressed down hard on your clit, the rough pad of his finger circling just right, and you gasped, vision blurring at the edges as heat coiled tight in your stomach. “Fuck—Jake—”

“That’s it,” Jake growled, his breath hot against your jaw. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you steady as his fingers curled inside you again, dragging over that spot that made your thighs shake. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go.”

Your fingers clawed at Jake’s shoulders, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer—broken, desperate. The pressure built, white-hot and unbearable, until your vision fractured into pinpricks of light. Jake’s groan vibrated against your throat when your walls clenched around his fingers, his grip tightening as he rode out your orgasm with slow, deliberate strokes. “Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to watch your face—the way your lips parted, the flutter of your lashes—before dragging his slick fingers from your core. His smirk was sinful as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a filthy, exaggerated groan. “Tastes even better than you argue.”

You swatted at his chest, still breathless. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake caught your wrist mid-swat, his fingers encircling it easily as he pinned your hand against the wall beside your head. His lips were still glistening from your taste, that infuriating smirk never fading. "Insufferable?" he repeated, voice thick with amusement. His thumb traced your racing pulse. "You just came on my fingers and *that's* your critique?"

The neon light caught the gold flecks in his eyes as he leaned in, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip possessively. You could feel the hard line of him through his jeans, pressing insistently against your thigh. "Thought you were supposed to be sentencing me," he murmured, teeth grazing your earlobe. "Not rewarding me."

Jake's grip on your wrist tightened as he ground his hips against yours, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against your bare skin. "Still think I'm insufferable?" he murmured, lips brushing your ear in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the wall. "Worse," you managed, your voice breathier than you intended. "You're smug."

Jake's laugh was a dark ripple against your throat as he dragged his nose along your jawline, breathing you in like he wanted to memorize your scent. "Smug?" His teeth scraped your pulse point, sharp enough to make you gasp. "Sweetheart, you haven't seen smug yet."

His free hand—still slick with you—trailed down your sternum, tracing idle circles just below your navel while his hips rocked forward, the deliberate friction of denim against bare skin drawing a whimper from your lips. The neon glow from outside flickered across his face, highlighting the predatory gleam in his eyes.

Jake’s fingers tightened around your wrist, pressing it harder against the wall as his other hand dragged lower, knuckles brushing the damp curls between your thighs. “Smug,” he repeated, voice rough with amusement. “That’s your professional opinion, judge?” His thumb brushed your clit—once, lightning-fast—just enough to make your hips jerk forward. “Or are you just pissed I’m winning?”

You gasped, nails scraping against the plaster as his touch retreated again, leaving you aching. “Winning?” you managed, voice uneven. “You’re cheating.”

Jake’s grin was razor-sharp in the neon half-light, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he leaned in close enough for his breath to ghost over your parted lips. “Cheating?” His thumb pressed into the delicate skin of your inner wrist, right over the frantic pulse there. “Sweetheart, you *gave* me the sentence.” His other hand slid up your thigh, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh just hard enough to make you gasp. “Don’t blame me if I’m good at it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effect was ruined when his fingers dipped lower, tracing your slick folds with a teasing lightness that made your knees buckle. “You’re arrogant,” you breathed, arching into his touch despite yourself.

He turned you around abruptly, pressing your chest against the wall as his hands traced your curves—slow, deliberate—like he was committing every inch of you to memory. The cool plaster chilled your overheated skin, but Jake’s body was a furnace behind you, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. "Arrogant?" His chuckle vibrated through you as his palms slid down your sides to grip your hips.

You gasped when his teeth scraped your shoulder, the sharp sting melting into heat as his tongue soothed the spot. Jake’s hands slid around your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your stomach as he pulled you flush against him. The hard length of him pressed insistently against your lower back, and you shivered when his lips trailed up the column of your throat. “Still think I’m cheating?” he murmured, the words rough against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access. Jake’s laugh was a dark, breathless thing that sent vibrations through your ribs. His fingers flexed against your hips, dragging you backward until you felt the edge of the couch press against your thighs.

The couch hit the backs of your knees, and Jake’s hands tightened on your hips as he guided you down—slow, deliberate—until you were kneeling on the cushions, your forearms braced against the backrest. His fingers traced the dimples at the base of your spine, calloused and warm, before sliding up to tangle in your hair. "Still think you’re in charge here?" he murmured, tugging just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

You craned your neck to glare at him over your shoulder, but the effect was ruined when his free hand slid between your thighs, fingers dragging through your slick with a rough, appreciative noise. "You’re voting," you managed, arching into his touch.

Jake’s fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back further until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Voting?” His breath was hot, laced with dark amusement as his other hand slid higher, fingers circling your clit with torturous precision. “Sweetheart, this stopped being a democracy the second you threw that book at me.”

You gasped when his teeth sank into your shoulder, the sharp sting melting into liquid heat as his tongue soothed the mark. His fingers didn’t let up—relentless, maddening—drawing tight circles that had your thighs trembling. “Jake—”

Jake's fingers stilled against you—just for a heartbeat—long enough to make you whimper. "Jake, what?" he murmured, lips skimming the shell of your ear. His free hand slid down your spine, tracing each vertebra like he was counting them. "Use your words, sweetheart."

You twisted against him, but his grip in your hair tightened, holding you in place. His thumb brushed your clit again—slow, deliberate—and your hips jerked forward of their own volition. "Fuck," you gasped, nails digging into the couch cushions.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost a laugh as his fingers tightened in your hair. "Fuck," he echoed, voice rough. His thumb circled your clit again—slow, deliberate—just to watch your hips jerk forward. "That's all you've got?"

You clenched your teeth, arching into his touch despite yourself. The neon glow from outside flickered across his face when he leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. "C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, fingers trailing lower to tease your entrance. "You were so good at giving orders earlier." His teeth scraped your earlobe, sharp enough to make you gasp. "Where'd all that conviction go?"

Your fingers tightened around the couch cushions as Jake’s breath ghosted over the nape of your neck, his teeth scraping your earlobe in a way that sent shivers down your spine. The neon glow from outside painted his smirk in garish pink, the sharp angles of his face thrown into stark relief. "Conviction?" you breathed, twisting to meet his gaze over your shoulder. Your voice was steadier than you expected. "Turn around."

Jake's grip in your hair loosened—just slightly—his brows lifting in surprise. "What?"

Jake’s fingers loosened in your hair just enough for you to twist fully around, your knees sinking deeper into the couch cushions as you turned to face him. The neon sign outside flickered again, casting his stunned expression in alternating streaks of pink and blue. You didn’t give him time to recover. With a sharp tug, you pulled him down by the waistband of his jeans, your fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. The metallic *snick* of the buckle was drowned out by Jake’s sharp inhale.

"You—" he started, but his voice cracked when your fingers brushed against the hard line of him through his boxers. His hips jerked forward instinctively, and you smirked, dragging the fabric down just enough to free him.

Jake’s breath hitched audibly when your fingers wrapped around him, his cock hot and heavy and huge in your palm. The neon light from outside caught the faint sheen of precum already beading at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it just to watch his jaw clench. "Fuck," he muttered, hips jerking forward instinctively as you tightened your grip.

"Conviction," you repeated, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, the gold flecks in his eyes barely visible in the dim light. "You were so invested in me using my words earlier." Your thumb circled the head of his cock, slow and deliberate, and Jake groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair again—not pulling, just holding, like he was trying to anchor himself. "What's your verdict, counselor?"

Jake’s breath stuttered when your thumb swiped over the head of his cock again, his grip in your hair tightening like he was fighting the urge to shove forward into your hand. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. His free hand slid down to grip your wrist, not stopping you, just feeling the way your fingers moved around him. “You’re—shit—” His hips jerked forward when you twisted your wrist just so, his breath hot against your temple.

The neon light outside flickered, casting his expression in sharp relief—jaw clenched, lips parted, the tendons in his neck standing out as he tried to hold back. You smirked, slowing your strokes just to watch his eyelids flutter. “Conviction,” you murmured again, leaning in to brush your lips against his earlobe. “Or are you speechless now?”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound ragged at the edges. "Speechless?" His fingers tightened around your wrist, stilling your movements with deliberate control. The neon glow painted the sweat at his temples in vivid streaks, his breath uneven as he leaned in closer. "Sweetheart, you just ruined me." His thumb brushed your bottom lip, rough and possessive. "Now you're gonna fix it."

His grip on your hair tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your scalp prickle—as he guided your mouth toward him. The first touch of your lips against his cock drew a low groan from him, his fingers trembling against your skin. "Damn," he muttered, hips jerking forward instinctively before he caught himself. "Slow—shit—slow down."

Jake’s grip in your hair tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch—as he guided your mouth closer. The first brush of your lips against him drew a ragged groan from his throat, his fingers flexing against your scalp. “Fuck,” he muttered, hips jerking forward instinctively before he caught himself. “Slow—fuck—slow down, baby,” he repeated.

You smirked up at him, deliberately dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock in a slow, teasing stroke. Jake’s curse was sharp, his free hand flying to grip the back of the couch for balance. “Tease,” he growled, but his voice cracked on the word.

Jake’s fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling—just holding, like he wasn’t sure whether to push you closer or drag you away. His breath came in rough bursts, his hips twitching forward involuntarily when your tongue swirled around the head of his cock. “Fuck,” he gritted out, his free hand white-knuckling the couch cushions. “You’re—shit—”

You hummed against him, the vibration drawing a broken groan from his throat as you took him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. The taste of him—salt and musk and something distinctly Jake—flooded your senses, and you moaned, the sound muffled but unmistakable.

Jake’s fingers spasmed in your hair, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself—just enough to press deeper into your throat. The groan that tore from him was raw, unfiltered. “Fuck—fuck—” His grip loosened instantly, dragging you back by the roots until his cock slid free with a slick pop. “Too much,” he muttered, chest heaving. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip, catching the wetness there. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You licked your lips, tasting him. “That’s the point,” you breathed, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, the gold flecks nearly swallowed by black.

You pulledhimn back in, not stopping till he hit the back of your throat. Jake cursed above you, grip tightening in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks. "Jesus fuck—" His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and you gagged slightly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Jake immediately pulled back, his free hand cradling your jaw. "Shit, I—" His thumb brushed away a tear track, his breathing ragged. "You okay?" The concern in his voice was undercut by the way his cock twitched against your cheek.

You blinked up at him through damp lashes, the sting in your throat already fading as you caught your breath. "I'm fine," as you continued to press your lips against his length. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing against your scalp.

Jake’s breath hitched when you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, the involuntary jerk of his hips pressing him deeper into your mouth. His fingers trembled in your hair—not pulling, just *holding*—like he was fighting for control. "Fuck," he gritted out, voice fraying at the edges. "You—shit—you’re gonna make me lose it."

You hummed around him, the vibration dragging a ragged groan from his chest. His grip tightened, tugging you back just enough to see the slick shine of your lips around him. The neon light caught the desperation in his expression—jaw clenched, pupils blown, sweat beading at his temples. "You’re killing me, oh my god," he muttered, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.

Jake’s fingers trembled against your scalp as he pulled you back again, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that made his breath hitch. “Enough,” he muttered, voice rough—but when you licked your lips, his grip tightened, dragging you forward until your forehead pressed against his thigh. His exhale shuddered through you. “Fuck, you’re relentless.”

You smirked against the fabric of his jeans, your breath hot against his skin. “You started it,” you murmured, nipping at the inside of his thigh just to hear him groan.

Jake’s fingers tightened in your hair, dragging you back until you were kneeling upright on the couch, your lips still parted and swollen. The neon glow from outside painted his expression in sharp, flickering strokes—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something desperate. "Relentless?" His thumb brushed your bottom lip again, rougher this time. "Sweetheart, you're gonna be the death of me."

"I like the sound of that."

Jake's breath hitched when your fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward with deliberate slowness. The fabric caught at his elbows, momentarily trapping his arms as you leaned in to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen with your tongue. His stomach tensed beneath your mouth, a shudder running through him when your teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above his waistband.

Jake had a lot of tattoos on his body. You traced the ink with your tongue—the intricate geometric patterns along his ribs, the delicate script curving around his hipbone—each one tasting of salt and desperation. His fingers tangled in your hair, not guiding, just holding, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. "Fuck," he muttered when your teeth scraped the sensitive skin just above his waistband, his hips jerking forward reflexively. "I wanna fuck you so badly," he breathed out as his grip tightened on your hair.

Jake’s voice was rough, frayed at the edges as he dragged you up by your hair, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. “You’re killing me,” he repeated, teeth scraping your earlobe as he maneuvered you backward until your knees hit the edge of the couch again. The neon light caught the sheen of sweat along his collarbone, the way his tattoos flexed with every ragged breath. “Turn back around.”

You arched a brow, deliberately slow. “Make me.”

Jake’s laugh was dark, low—the kind that vibrated through your ribs like a warning. But without hesitation, his hands gripped your hips and spun you around so fast the room blurred at the edges. Before you could even catch your breath, he had you pinned facedown against the couch cushions, his knee pressing between your thighs to spread them wider.

"You’re testing me," he growled against the nape of your neck, teeth scraping skin as his hands slid down your back, rough palms skimming the curve of your waist. His thumbs dug into the dimples at the base of your spine, pressing hard enough to make you arch into him instinctively.

Jake’s breath was hot against your shoulder blade, his chest pressed flush against your back as his hands slid down to grip your hips with bruising possessiveness. "Testing me," he repeated, the words rough against your skin. His fingers dug in harder, pressing into the soft flesh until you gasped—then, without warning, he yanked you backward, your spine arching against him as he lined himself up.

The first thrust punched the air from your lungs—hard, unrelenting, no preamble. Jake’s groan vibrated through your ribs, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he bottomed out in one brutal stroke. “Fuck,” he hissed, his grip on your hips tightening to the point of pain. “Told you—fuck—told you I’d ruin you.”

You gasped, fingers clawing at the couch cushions as your body struggled to adjust to the sudden stretch. Jake didn’t give you time. He pulled back almost entirely before slamming home again, the sharp slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. “Still smug?” he panted, his voice ragged in your ear. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you back onto him with every thrust.

The grip of Jake's fingers bruised into your hips, each thrust punctuated by the sharp sound of skin meeting skin. Your nails tore at the couch cushions, the friction burning sweetly between your thighs as he fucked you with relentless precision. "Still—fuck—still smug?" you managed between gasps, arching back against him just to feel him stutter mid-thrust.

Jake growled, teeth scraping your shoulder as he dragged you impossibly closer. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back. "Cheeky," he rasped against your ear, his breath scalding. The neon glow outside flickered across his face—jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple—before he snapped his hips forward hard enough to make you cry out. "You like this."

The accusation hung between you—hot, undeniable—as Jake’s next thrust drove the air from your lungs. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping your spine arched tight against him while his free hand slid around your throat, not squeezing, just *holding*, his thumb pressed to your pulse. “Say it,” he demanded, voice raw. His hips rolled forward in a slow, brutal grind that had your toes curling. “Tell me you like it.”

You choked on a gasp, your fingers twisting in the couch fabric. “Jake—”

His thumb pressed harder against your pulse, the pressure just shy of painful. "Say it," Jake repeated, voice rough with want. His hips rolled forward again, deliberate and slow, dragging a ragged moan from your throat. "Or I stop."

Your breath hitched—liar—but the threat coiled low in your stomach anyway. "You wouldn't," you gasped, arching back against him.

Jake's laughter was dark, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers flexed around your throat—not choking, just claiming. "Try me," he murmured, hips stilling abruptly. The sudden absence of friction drew a whimper from your lips before you could stop it. His thumb traced your jugular, slow and teasing. "One word, sweetheart. One."

You twisted against him, but his grip only tightened, the ridge of his cock pressing impossibly deeper as he held himself perfectly still. The neon light outside flickered, casting his smirk in garish pink. "Fuck you," you gasped, nails digging into the cushions.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your pulse jump beneath his fingers. "Wrong answer," he murmured, voice dripping with dark amusement. His hips pulled back—agonizingly slow—until only the tip of him remained inside you, the sudden emptiness drawing a broken noise from your lips. "Try again."

You clenched around nothing, your thighs trembling with the effort not to beg. The neon glow painted the sweat-slick planes of his chest in vivid streaks, his tattoos shifting with every controlled breath. "Okay Okay—" you gasped, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the couch back. "Fine. I like it."

Jake's chuckle vibrated against your spine, his teeth scraping your shoulder as he rewarded you with a slow, torturous thrust. "Like what?" His palm flattened against your stomach, pressing you harder into the couch as he rolled his hips in a filthy circle. "Gotta specify, sweetheart."

"You—" The word dissolved into a moan as Jake's teeth scraped your shoulder blade, his cock dragging against your walls with deliberate, maddening precision. The neon sign outside flickered again, casting his shadow across the wall—huge, looming, the outline of his grip on your hips stark against the plaster. "You fucking me," you gasped, fingers twisting in the cushions. "I like you fucking me."

Jake's breath hitched, his laugh rough against your sweat-slicked skin. "Good girl." His palm slid up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as he pressed you deeper into the couch. The praise sent heat pooling low in your stomach, but before you could chase it, his hips snapped forward—hard enough to make you cry out. "Now take it."

The sound of Jake’s belt buckle clinking against your hipbones was sharp in the charged silence between ragged breaths. His teeth scraped the nape of your neck, a rough growl vibrating against your skin as he pulled back—only to slam into you again with a force that shoved the couch skidding an inch across the hardwood. You gasped, fingers scrambling for purchase on the cushions as the friction burned deliciously between your thighs.

You felt your orgasm building like a live wire under your skin—every nerve sparking, every muscle tensing—as Jake’s hips pistoned into you with relentless precision. The neon light outside flickered arrhythmically, painting the room in stuttering streaks of pink and blue that matched the frantic rhythm of your pulse. His teeth grazed your shoulder, sharp enough to sting but not enough to break skin, and the dual sensation of pain and pleasure coiled tighter in your gut. "Close," you gasped, the word barely audible over the wet slap of skin and Jake’s ragged breathing.

His fingers dug into your hips, hauling you back onto him with bruising force. "I know," he gritted out, voice fraying at the edges. His palm slid up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades like he was trying to imprint himself there. "Fuck, I can feel it." His thumb pressed into the hollow of your throat, choking you breathless as he angled his hips just so—

You came with a soundless gasp, your vision whiting out as your body clamped around him. Jake groaned, deep and guttural, his rhythm stuttering as he rode out the clench of your thighs. "That's it," he rasped, teeth scraping your pulse point. His fingers flexed against your hips, dragging you impossibly closer as he fucked you through it—each thrust shorter, harder, until his breath hitched audibly against your sweat-slicked skin. "Fuck—"

Jake's hips stuttered against yours with a ragged groan, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises as he came—hot, thick stripes painting your lower back in uneven bursts. His breath was a wrecked thing against your shoulder blade, his teeth catching your skin in a sharp bite as he rode out the last tremors. The neon glow outside flickered across his sweat-slicked torso, catching the way his tattoos rippled with each unsteady exhale.

"You're filthy," he muttered, voice rough as his thumb swiped through the mess on your skin, dragging it in slow circles just to watch you shiver. His chuckle vibrated against your spine when you twisted away from the sticky sensation. "Don't tell me you're shy now."

Jake’s breath was still uneven against your shoulder, his fingers tracing idle patterns through the mess on your lower back as if committing the texture to memory. You shifted slightly, wincing at the sharp sting where his teeth had marked your skin, but his grip tightened instantly—not restraining, just keeping. “Stay,” he murmured, lips brushing the nape of your neck in a way that felt suspiciously like an apology.

The neon sign outside flickered again, casting the room in erratic pulses of pink and blue, and you huffed a laugh despite yourself. “You’re sticky,” you complained, twisting halfheartedly to dislodge his hand.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his laughter warm against the damp skin of your shoulder as his fingers lingered on your hipbone—sticky with sweat and the remnants of him. “Sticky,” he repeated, the word curling with amusement. His thumb traced the sharp jut of your hip, pressing just hard enough to make you squirm. “You made me sticky, sweetheart. That’s on you.”

You twisted to glare at him over your shoulder, but the effect was ruined by the way your muscles trembled when he dragged his palm up your spine. The neon light outside caught the gold flecks in his eyes, the way his smirk softened at the edges as he leaned in to brush his lips against your temple. “Should’ve thought of that before you—” His teeth grazed your earlobe, sharp enough to make you shiver. “—challenged me.”

Jake’s lips lingered at your temple, his breath uneven against your skin as the neon glow outside flickered like a dying heartbeat. His thumb traced idle circles on your hipbone—sticky, possessive, claiming—and you shivered despite the heat still clinging to your limbs. “Should’ve thought,” he repeated, voice gravel-rough, “before you dared me.”

You twisted fully to face him, your knees pressing into the couch cushions as you braced against his chest. His tattoos glistened under the garish light, the ink shifting with every ragged breath. “I didn’t dare you,” you muttered, swiping at the sweat-slick hair stuck to your forehead. “I just pointed out you were cheating.”

The neon sign outside flickered one last time—a dying gasp of pink and blue—before plunging the room into darkness. Only the faint glow of streetlights through the blinds painted Jake’s silhouette above you, his fingers suddenly intertwining with yours against the couch cushions. His thumb brushed your knuckles, calloused and warm, and you felt more than heard the low rumble of his voice when he said, "Guess we're stuck with each other now, soulmates."

You snorted, twisting your wrist in his grip just to feel him tighten it reflexively. "Soulmates?" The word tasted ridiculous in your mouth—too sweet, too final—but Jake’s fingers only tightened around yours, his thumb pressing into your pulse point like he was checking for a lie.

The streetlight outside cast jagged shadows across his face, highlighting the way his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said, voice low. His free hand traced the curve of your hip, sticky with sweat and other things, his touch incongruously gentle. "You threw a book at my head. That’s basically a binding contract in some cultures."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound muffled by the narrow space between your chests. "A book on your head? You were reciting terrible ghost-hunting puns. It was self-defense, Jake."

"It was destiny," he countered, shifting his weight so he was hovering directly over you, his long frame caging you into the soft velvet of the couch. The height difference was even more apparent now; even lying down, he seemed to swallow up the room, his shoulders blocking out the meager light from the blinds.

His hand migrated from your hip to your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip, which was still slightly swollen from his earlier attention.

You reached up, your fingers tracing the prominent veins on the back of his hand before curling around his wrist. The pulse there was steady and strong, a physical tether in the dark. "Tara is never going to let us hear the end of this," you murmured, though you were already leaning up, seeking the heat of his mouth again. "This is going to be talked about until we turn old."

Jake’s smirk finally returned, sharp and wicked in the shadows. He leaned down, his nose brushing yours, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to remind you exactly who he was.

"Old?" Jake's breath ghosted across your lips, his thumb pressing into the hinge of your jaw. "Sweetheart, we're gonna be legendary." His teeth scraped your bottom lip, the sting making you gasp—just before a slam of a door pierced through the house, flooding the room with harsh overhead light.

Tara's voice cut through the silence like a gunshot. "Jesus fucking Christ, are y'all done?"

[elf-trash]

one somewhat unfortunate side effect of writing as much smut as i have is that reading it is now more of an academic experience than an erotic one. i'm taking notes and mentally redlining strange euphemisms and saying things like "oh, great sentence, nicely done" out loud to myself more than i'm gooning

[lilacxquartz]

make you feel good;

mr. crawling x gn!reader

plot: after mr crawling showed you his affection, you decided to return the favour! — themes: (giving) oral, smut, no dialogue, mr. crawling being very flustered, headpats during — w.c: 600+ — a/n: this didn’t show up in the tags when i last posted, so we’re trying again 🫠 • masterlist

Mr. Crawling made you feel good all of the time, whether it was mentally or physically because of just how much he paid attention to you and your needs—so as you lay in bed with him—you had one single thought on your mind:

What if you made him feel just as good as he made you feel?

Mr. Crawling laid against you otherwise for the time being; with his body curled up right beside you on the bed you both slept on with an arm draped around you to hold you close. As you stirred however, he immediately seemed to wake up, as if always on alert to stick to your side in a way that could have bordered obsession.

And although he wasn’t particularly demanding, what with his main focus being you, it was quite clear that he was at least a little bit frustrated, so why wouldn’t you return the favour of all that he’s helped you through?

You slowly curled upright into a seated position, waking him up from his half-slumber in the process. His kind expression looked down at you through his bloodied eyes, leaving you wondering if he could see you at all, but given just how warm his presence seemed to be… then perhaps? Not giving it too much thought, however, you pushed those concerns aside and repositioned yourself to the ground—with your legs knelt over the floor—ready to spread his own apart and—

From the moment you uncovered his obvious arousal, your eyes locked onto his ever so slightly twitching length that trembled with anticipation. He didn’t turn you away as if excited, but did otherwise fidget, hinting at slight nervousness. You tried your best to soothe his worries otherwise, extending a hand to brush along his arm, finishing with a kind, comforting squeeze over his hand before moving down to the apex of his inner thighs.

Curiously, you took hold of his cock into your hand, your fingers wrapping around his girth like a coiled spring, immediately moving to guide yourself along in up-and-down motions. Mr. Crawling responded positively by chewing on his bottom lip as he stifled back a whimper, his hands clawing at the sheets from where he sat.

He then leaned back slightly, his elbows locking into a strained stance to balance himself with his chin tilting up in bliss. His moans quickly became more frequent, coming out in low guttural, gasping breaths the longer that you took care of him, with the rest of his body beginning to feel almost scalding hot—radiating onto you—making your face burn up, too.

Slowly, you took him in, although gently so that you could return the favour. As a result, he stilled, moving his one hand in an instant to rest atop your head. His fingers affectionately patted and massaged your scalp in the process as you worked your magic, sending him over the edge more quickly than you could ever imagine.

Mr. Crawling wasn’t going to last at this rate, that much was clear, which was especially evident by just how quickly he seemed unravel from the tingling sensation of your tongue running along his shaft—meeting with his sensitive tip—only to return to the intoxicating feeling of your mouth sucking on him again.

Feeling himself get close, Mr. Crawling then let slip a high-pitched gasp, watching you move with an awestruck expression written on his features before stilling into a barely controlled stutter—his entire body going tense just before thawing into complete and utter ecstasy. He gasped again as he painted the inside of your lips white with one final stiff movement, seeming to crack a smile once again. Finally, he seemed less rigid overall, perhaps even elated, especially and very likely because it was you who did this for him.

After a moment, you withdrew your lips from him and crawled back up to where he was, finding that he immediately scooped you up, squeezing you tight in his arms.

Both equally spent and exhausted, you felt your eyelids droop shut.

Feeling perfectly content that you were both even now at last.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

To any other smut writers out there; do you ever find yourself writing a smut that got your heart raising and beating so fast, that you need to take a brake, drink some water, change your underwear, only repeat that process after writing a few more pages?

Because good lord, I think I've struck gold.

[koxette]

Very important conversation that started with the idea of Ilya and Sveta domming someone together.