jakemaroua

[jakemaroua]

⠀•⠀☁ ──𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 & 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌. ( bfjake&fmr ) 𓈒 ◌ 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁 fluff ◞ 2OO2⠀

sulky jake / clingy kisses ⋆ ˊ ✿

ᬊ𓍢 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 ˋ✉️ 𝝑𝝔

it was quiet. almost too quiet.

and jake being quiet? now that was suspicious.

---

it had been a slow sunday—the kind where sunlight filtered through the curtains in sleepy golden streams, where time felt like it moved in gentle stretches rather than minutes. you had been curled up with your book all morning, sipping warm tea, enjoying the peace of it all.

but then there was jake. sitting at the other end of the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed in a pout so dramatic it was honestly kind of funny.

he wasn’t talking.

he wasn’t smiling.

he wasn’t being his usual sunshine self.

and when you looked at him—just looked—he turned his face away with an over-the-top “hmph.”

yeah. something was definitely up.

---

“jakey,” you hummed, voice light as you put your book down, watching him from the corner of your eye. “what’s with the face?”

he didn’t respond. not verbally, anyway. he just pulled the blanket up higher like it was some sort of shield and kept his pout firmly in place.

you scooted closer. “baby?”

nothing.

now you were sitting right beside him, knee to knee, one hand reaching to tug the blanket away. “you’re not gonna talk to me?”

finally, a sound. a mumble, quiet and sulky:

“you didn’t give me any kisses today.”

you blinked.

“…what?”

“you heard me.” he was frowning now, still not looking at you. “you’ve been reading and ignoring me. and i just—i dunno. i missed you.”

your lips curled up in the softest smile. “jake, you were literally laying in my lap for hours.”

“yeah, but you didn’t kiss me,” he argued, still refusing to meet your eyes. “not even once. not even a forehead kiss. that’s like. borderline betrayal.”

“so you’re sulking,” you say with a playful lilt, finally moving close enough to cup his face in both hands, thumbs brushing his warm cheeks. “because i didn’t smother you in affection?”

he nods.

you giggle, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re such a dramatic little thing.”

“i’m your dramatic little thing,” he says instantly, finally breaking into a shy grin. “but still. you owe me like… a hundred kisses.”

“oh, do i?”

he nods again. “minimum.”

---

you end up tangled on the couch, your fingers playing with his hair as he presses soft kisses to your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. the sulking fades quickly—like it always does—and in its place is the jake you know: clingy, warm, and so, so easy to love.

“next time,” he whispers, half-asleep with his head tucked into your neck, “i’m charging interest.”

“you’re impossible,” you whisper back, but your hand stays in his hair, your lips pressed against his temple.

and yeah, maybe you forgot to kiss him that morning.

but you’d definitely make up for it now.

—