All Mine, All Night | s.jh
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
- pairings ꒰ jake sim (enhypen) 𖤐 chubby short fem!reader
꒰ for as long as jake can remember, he’s been obsessed with his best friend—her body, her laugh, her everything. after months of pining and filthy daydreams, a frat party dares them past the point of no return.
- g ; smut 𓈒 college au 𓈒 best friends to lovers 𓈒 party 𓈒 mutual pining
warnings ꒰ smut 𓈒 explicit sexual content (18+) 𓈒 oral (f receiving) 𓈒 rough sex 𓈒 dirty talk (very explicit) 𓈒 body worship 𓈒 size kink 𓈒 jealousy/protectiveness 𓈒 unprotected sex 𓈒 cumplay/creampie 𓈒 breeding kink language 𓈒 public tension 𓈒 possessive!jake 𓈒 heavy pining 𓈒 light manhandling 𓈒 light marking/bruising 𓈒 mild dubcon vibes (very tipsy/party atmosphere, all consensual) 𓈒 best friend dynamic 𓈒
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
Jake tells himself every day:
‘Don’t be weird. Don’t stare at her ass when she bends over. Don’t imagine her bouncing on your dick while you’re supposed to be studying for econ.’
It’s a stupid Tuesday, sunlight spilling in stripes across the worn floor of their shitty off-campus apartment. Heeseung and Jay are already fighting over the shower. Jake’s sprawled across the battered futon, barely awake, when you come in—hair wild, cheeks pink, your body poured into a pair of tight leggings and an oversized hoodie that rides up every time you move.
He tries not to look. He fails spectacularly.
You kick off your sneakers and pad into the kitchen, humming some stupid TikTok song, grabbing a Pop-Tart from the box. Your hips sway—Jake’s mouth goes dry. You stretch up to grab a mug, shirt lifting, and he can see the soft bulge of your lower stomach, your bare skin where the waistband bites in. He swallows, throat tight. His cock twitches, traitorous.
“Morning, loser,” you say, smirking at him over your shoulder, not noticing the way he stares. Or maybe you do. Sometimes you look right at him, chin tipped up, eyes glittering with mischief—he never knows if you’re just being a brat or if you know exactly what you do to him.
“Morning,” he croaks, trying not to look directly at your ass as you lean over the counter. But his eyes are glued—he can’t help it, not when the fabric stretches over every curve, not when he can almost imagine himself behind you, grinding up against the back of your thighs.
He gets up and stands behind you, pretending to look for cereal. He can smell you—something sweet, like the lotion you use, warm skin and vanilla. He aches to press his face into your neck, to slide his arms around your belly and drag you back into him, to feel the soft plushness of you pressed to his front.
Instead, he grabs a spoon and tries to focus on breakfast, but all he can think about is the way your thighs press together, the way your hips would feel under his hands, how your ass would look bouncing if he fucked you from behind.
He feels filthy, just thinking it. But he can’t stop.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
Later, you sprawl across his bed in your dorm, one leg hanging off, tank top riding up. You laugh at his playlist, call him a dork for liking sad indie boys, toss a pillow at his face. He catches it and tosses it back, just to see your tits jiggle under your shirt when you flop back.
You snuggle up to him, head on his shoulder, soft belly pressing to his side, your arm sliding over his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to stay calm, tries to play it cool, but his cock is swelling in his jeans, his breath coming quick and shallow. You don’t notice. Or you pretend not to. Either way, it kills him.
Heeseung bursts in, sees you both tangled up and grins. “Again? Should I just leave you two alone or…?”
You giggle, hiding your face in Jake’s chest, and he feels your hot breath through the thin cotton of his shirt. His heart thuds. He has to shift his hips, try to hide the bulge, biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t make a noise.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
But night is when it’s the worst.
It always starts the same: Heeseung snoring, Jay muttering to himself, the moon high outside their thin curtains. Jake lies awake, phone clutched in sweaty hands, scrolling through your socials. You, biting into a huge burger, sauce on your chin. You in that stupid short skirt at the Halloween party, thighs on display, tits pushed up by your bra. You, in his sweatshirt, flashing a peace sign and pouting, mouth all glossy and wet.
His hand slips under the covers, finds his aching cock, already leaking for you. He tries to be quiet, but his breath shudders out of him, head spinning as he closes his eyes and lets the fantasies eat him alive.
He imagines you climbing onto his lap, those thick thighs straddling him, warm skin and softness everywhere. He sees you grinding down, teasing him with your hips, your eyes dark and hungry.
“You like that, Jakey? I can feel how hard you are…”
He strokes himself slow, imagining your hand on him instead—your palm, soft and small, wrapping around his length. He pictures you gasping, eyes wide as you realize just how badly he wants you, how desperate he is.
He wants you to see him like this. Wants you to know you’re the reason he can’t sleep. That every time you cuddle up and tug his shirt down, every time you stretch and your tits spill out of your bra, every time you eat ice cream with a tiny moan at every bite, you’re driving him insane.
He strokes faster, thumb circling the tip, hips rutting up into his fist. He imagines you sucking him off, drool running down your chin, tits out, nipples hard. He’d fist your hair, guide your mouth, tell you how fucking gorgeous you look choking on him. He wonders if you’d be greedy, messy—if you’d let him cum all over your tongue and swallow, looking up at him with ruined lips.
He whimpers, bites his pillow, desperate not to wake the guys.
Sometimes, he imagines you naked, sprawled on his bed, thighs spread, fingers buried in your own cunt, moaning his name as you cum for him. Other nights, you’re on top of him, riding him slow, soft belly bouncing with every thrust, tits swaying, hair wild. He wants to squeeze your hips, watch your face as you fall apart, hear you beg for more.
His orgasm builds sharp and hot, his entire body tensing as he fucks up into his own hand, your name breaking out of him, barely more than a whimper. He cums hard, mess spilling over his stomach, cock twitching as he bites down on his own knuckles.
After, he lies there, sticky and spent, heart pounding, guilt gnawing at him. He wipes himself off, staring at the ceiling, wishing you knew how much he wanted you. Wishing he could be better—less of a perv, more of a friend. But tomorrow, he knows, he’ll do it all over again. He can’t stop. He’s obsessed.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
You call him one night, voice low, soft with sleep. “Jake? Can I come over? Jihyo brought a guy home and they’re… loud.”
He says yes before you finish the sentence. You show up five minutes later in tiny shorts and a big shirt, hair in a messy bun, eyes shining. You crawl into his bed like it’s yours, cold feet pressing to his shins, arm flung over his stomach.
He’s hyperaware of every inch of you. Your warm breath in his ear, your soft tits pressed to his side, your thick thigh thrown over his hip. He’s hard already, tries to shift away, but you mumble, “Don’t move. You’re comfy.”
He freezes, cock throbbing under the covers. He prays you can’t feel it, but you wriggle closer, nuzzling into his chest, your hand sliding under his shirt to rest on his bare stomach. He shivers.
You sigh, melting into him. “You’re warm. You always smell good.”
His brain stutters. He wants to roll you onto your back, slide down and bury his face in your pussy, make you sob his name. He wants to flip you over, spread your thighs, lick and suck until you’re shaking. He wants to fuck you so slow and deep you can’t even remember your own name.
He’s so hard it’s painful.
You drift off, breathing slow and even, drooling a little on his collarbone. Jake stares at the ceiling, cock pulsing, every nerve lit up. He imagines sliding your shorts down, cupping your ass, licking up your inner thigh until you wake up whimpering.
But he doesn’t move. He can’t. He’s your friend. He can’t fuck this up.
When you finally slip out of his room, he rushes to the bathroom, locks the door, yanks his boxers down and fucks his fist rough and desperate. He thinks about your soft body, your taste, your voice, the way you’d sound moaning for him.
He cums hard, biting back your name, forehead pressed to the cold tile, legs shaking.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
Jake lives for the little things: the way you giggle when you’re tipsy, how you crawl into his lap at parties, your sleepy voice at 3 a.m., your head on his shoulder during movie nights, the way your whole body shakes when you laugh.
He loves the way you eat—shameless, greedy, licking your fingers, crumbs on your chest. He watches the way you lick ice cream off a spoon, tongue swirling, lips sticky. He fantasizes about you licking his cock the same way, greedy and messy, moaning around the head.
Sometimes, you tease him—innocent, but deadly. Sitting in his lap, bouncing as you reach for the remote, not noticing the way his hands grip your hips, trying to keep you steady. Or maybe you do notice. He can never tell.
You steal his hoodies, stretch out his shirts, call him your “big teddy bear.” He wants to tell you he’d let you do anything—wants you to wrap your thighs around his head, wants you to ride his face, wants to hear you scream for him. He wants to make you feel so good you never look at anyone else.
But he doesn’t say it. He jerks off every night instead, hating himself for how much he loves you.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
It’s another movie night. Jay’s passed out on the floor, Heeseung’s snoring on the couch. You’re half asleep, curled up in Jake’s lap, wearing nothing but a tank top and little shorts. Your thigh is pressed to his crotch, your hand resting on his chest.
He’s rock hard, so hard it hurts, but you’re asleep, so he just sits there, sweating, biting his lip, trying not to rut up against you. He lets his hand rest on your waist, thumb tracing circles on your soft skin. He can’t help it. He imagines you waking up, looking at him all sleepy and needy, rolling your hips down and grinding on his cock.
He wants to wake you, wants to flip you over and fuck you right here, right now, with the others asleep just a few feet away. He wants you to scream for him, cry for him, beg for him.
Instead, he strokes your side, slow and gentle, memorizing the way your body feels, the way your belly is so soft under his palm, the way your ass fits perfectly in his lap.
When you finally wake up, you stretch, shirt riding up, tits bouncing. “Mmm, sorry, Jake. Did I crush your legs?”
He laughs, voice shaky. “Nah. You’re perfect.”
You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he’s dizzy with it.
That night, he jerks off twice, fist flying, thinking about you half-naked and needy, grinding down on his cock, tits bouncing, mouth open in a perfect “O.” He imagines cumming all over your belly, painting your skin, hearing you gasp and moan for him.
He wants you so bad he could die.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
Jake can’t get your body out of his head. He spends the whole next day in a daze, every touch of your hand or flash of your skin replaying in endless, filthy loops. He sees you in everything: the girl bending over in the dining hall, the curves of someone walking by in a skirt, even just the innocent flash of skin when a breeze lifts someone’s shirt. But nobody does it for him like you. Nobody’s ever made him this insane, not even close.
He wants you so fucking bad it makes him restless. He tries to jerk off in the shower after class, but it only makes it worse—he can’t even get himself off without whispering your name, without picturing you grinding down on his cock, tits spilling out, that bratty little smile on your lips. He tries to bite back a moan but it slips out anyway, a strangled, needy sound that echoes off the tile. He cums so fast he’s ashamed of himself, forehead pressed to the cool shower wall, his whole body trembling with it.
He’s desperate for any excuse to see you again—so when his frat texts about the party, he’s already thinking about you. It’s a dumb tradition: start-of-semester blowout, cheap beer, sticky floors, music so loud it shakes the walls, and a hundred strangers making out in corners. Jake never cared about these before, but tonight he wants you there more than anything. He wants to show you off. He wants to keep you close—wants to see what you’ll wear, wants to see how many people stare.
He texts you as soon as he’s back in his room, legs still a little shaky from his second shower jerk-off of the day:
- yo you coming to the party at ours tomorrow? it’s gonna be huge, everyone’s coming, u gotta be there lol
He’s so casual it’s embarrassing. He wants to text something dirtier—wants to ask if you’ll wear that tiny skirt, wants to beg you to sit in his lap all night. Instead, he throws his phone onto his bed, runs a hand over his face, tries to ignore the ache in his cock.
You reply almost instantly:
- [ y/n ] - obviouslyyy i’m coming! i gotta show everyone how hot i am lmao. i’ll dress sexy just for u, jake ;)
Jake reads it three times, jaw clenching. His cock gives a humiliating twitch, thick and heavy in his boxers, already leaking just from the thought. “Fuck,” he mutters, pressing his fist to his mouth. He shouldn’t be this gone just from a text. But the image won’t leave him—your voice in his ear, your tits out, shorts riding up, grinding against him in front of everyone. He pictures your ass in tight fabric, bouncing as you walk up his steps, your thighs squeezing together as you sit on his lap, sweat and perfume and warm, perfect skin everywhere.
He can’t stop himself. He sinks down onto his bed, slides his hand under his waistband, lets his mind spiral. He imagines you walking into the party, all eyes on you, but you only have eyes for him. He’s so hard it hurts—his cock throbs in his hand, thick veins bulging, so needy for you it almost aches. He pictures your chest in a crop top, the swell of your tits threatening to spill out, the way your shorts would cling to every curve. He wonders if you’ll wear a bra at all. He wants to know what color your panties are, if you’ll let him see them, if you’ll press your wet heat right up against his thigh until he’s dizzy from wanting you.
He strokes himself slow, teasing, imagining you teasing him on purpose—sliding into his room before the party starts, whispering in his ear, “Think I look good enough to fuck in this?” He’d lose his mind. He wants to grab you, pin you to his door, rut against your thick thighs until he’s making a mess all over you, wants to smear your lip gloss with his mouth, wants to leave bruises on your hips so everyone knows you’re his.
His fist works faster. He pictures your pussy, wet and needy, grinding on his lap, your voice all breathy in his ear, “Can you feel how wet I am for you, Jakey?” He imagines you dragging his hand between your legs, making him feel it, your arousal soaking through the thin fabric, the heat of your cunt burning his palm. He’d die for a taste—wants to eat you out until your thighs are trembling, wants to hear you sob his name while you ride his tongue, wants to swallow every last drop you give him.
He cums so hard it hurts, whole body arching off the bed, muffling his groan in his pillow so Jay doesn’t hear. His cum splatters hot over his stomach and chest, sticky and thick, cock still twitching in his grip. He’s shaking, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He needs you. He’s so gone for you it’s pathetic.
He can’t sleep that night. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you grinding on some guy at the party, sees you pressed against a wall, someone else’s hands on your hips. It makes him furious, makes him jealous, makes his cock ache all over again. He wants you all to himself, wants everyone to know you’re his. He knows it’s possessive, but he can’t help it.
When he finally drifts off, he dreams about you—your mouth, your tits, your pussy, your laugh, everything about you warm and soft and sticky against him, all for him.
The next day, he can’t focus on anything. He showers twice, jerks off again after lunch, nearly cums in his hand just from the memory of your texts. He’s so strung out by the time he’s getting ready for the party, he barely knows what to do with himself. He throws on his best jeans, the ones you once called “fuckboy pants” because they make his ass look good, and a tight black tee that clings to his chest and arms. He wants to look good for you, wants to see if you’ll notice. He keeps checking the clock, palms sweating, heart racing, picturing you in every sexy outfit he’s ever seen on Instagram.
Heeseung is in the kitchen making drinks, Jay is blasting music, and the apartment fills up fast—guys from the soccer team, girls from his bio class, strangers he’s never seen before. The bass thuds through the walls, the whole place hot and pulsing with bodies, sweat, perfume, and booze. Jake barely notices any of it. He’s watching the door, heart in his throat, palms slick, waiting for you.
You walk in like you own the place—hair down and wild, lips glossed, eyes sparkling with mischief. You’re wearing tiny black shorts, the kind that leave almost nothing to the imagination, tight across your ass and thighs, barely covering anything. Your crop top is white and clings to every curve, the fabric riding high so the whole swell of your soft stomach shows, your tits pushed up and barely contained. The neckline is low, deep enough Jake has to drag his eyes up, swallowing hard just to breathe.
Your thighs are bare and glistening, the soft skin of your inner thighs rubbing together with every step, and for a second Jake just stares, dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open, blood rushing straight to his cock. He’s hard instantly, so hard it’s fucking humiliating, his jeans tight and uncomfortable, pre-cum leaking out just from the sight of you.
You spot him across the room, a slow, dirty grin spreading over your lips. You wave, bouncing on your toes, and Jake has to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. His mind goes blank—he can’t remember his own name, can’t remember why he cared about anything except getting you alone, getting you out of those clothes, sinking to his knees right in front of everyone and worshiping your body until you’re crying his name.
All he can think is how fucking good you look, how badly he wants to grab you and drag you into his room, slam the door, and just ruin you. He wants to bury his face in your tits, squeeze your ass, grind against your soft, thick body until he’s losing control. He wants to drop to his knees, kiss every inch of your bare skin, leave hickeys across your chest, make you beg for his cock. He wants to fuck you right there against the wall, in front of everyone, just to show you’re his.
His cock throbs, hot and angry, pressing against his zipper. He wants you so bad it’s almost painful, sweat prickling on the back of his neck, breath coming in shallow gasps. He can’t take his eyes off your tits, off your thighs, off the way you saunter through the crowd like you know you’re the hottest thing in the building. For a split second, he’s terrified everyone else sees it too, that someone else will get to you first, that you’ll leave with someone who isn’t him.
But then you’re walking right toward him, eyes locked on his, smile teasing and dangerous. You bite your lip, run your fingers over your crop top, and he swears he almost busts in his jeans right then and there, the pressure almost too much.
You stop in front of him, close enough he can smell your perfume, the sweet warmth of your skin, the sugary tang of your lip gloss.
“Hey, Jake,” you say, your voice low and sultry, like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He just stares, heart pounding, cock aching, every muscle tense and ready to snap.
He wants to drag you into his lap, wants to bite your thighs, wants to slide his hand under your shorts and feel how wet you are for him. He wants to fuck you so bad it hurts.
You grin, stepping even closer, until your chest is almost pressed to his, the heat of your body burning through his shirt. You look up at him, lashes fluttering, and he feels dizzy—feels like he might just lose control, right here, right now, in front of everyone.
You twirl a strand of your hair, voice sweet and innocent, “Miss me?”
Jake almost chokes, staring at your tits, at the swell of your belly above your shorts, at the soft curve of your thighs.
He can barely breathe. He’s so hard he could cry. He can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but pray he doesn’t cum in his pants just from looking at you.
The party is chaos around him—music, bodies, heat, the smell of booze and sweat—but all Jake can see is you. All he wants is you. Every filthy fantasy, every late-night jerk-off session, every desperate, needy ache in his body—right now, you’re all of it, every dirty dream come to life.
You look up at him, biting your lip, eyes sparkling, and Jake thinks, God, I’m so fucked.
He’s never wanted anything so bad in his life.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
The party’s already in full swing by the time you and Jake break through the crowd to the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder, your body pressed close to his. The air is thick with the smell of booze, sweat, and something sugary-sweet that sticks to Jake’s tongue. Bass thumps from the living room speakers, shaking the floorboards, and every room is packed: bodies grinding, laughing, shouting over each other. The world blurs around you, but Jake only sees you.
You reach for a red Solo cup, elbow brushing his ribs, your tits pressed right to his side in that crop top. Jake has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning—he wants to grab you, pull you into his lap, mark you up so everyone knows who you belong to. The urge to claim you—fuck, it’s almost animal.
You hand him a drink, your fingers brushing his. “You gonna get wild tonight, Jake?”
He tries to smirk. “Only if you do.”
You roll your eyes but your smile is wicked, a private joke just for him. Jake watches you throw your head back, downing your drink in three gulps, the line of your throat slick with condensation. His cock jumps, stupidly eager.
You wander off, but you’re never far—every time he looks up, you’re there: dancing on a couch, talking to Jihyo, giggling in a circle of girls who can’t stop glancing at Jake. Heeseung and Jay catch him staring more than once, both of them smirking like they know something he doesn’t. The whole room feels hot and wild and sticky, and Jake wants nothing more than to drag you upstairs, lock the door, and finally let himself have you.
Heeseung grabs his arm, already tipsy, eyes sparkling with trouble. “Yo, let’s play a game! Everyone in the living room!”
Jake’s already nervous. He can feel it building—something big, something dangerous. You fall onto the couch next to him, knees brushing, your bare thigh pressed to his jeans. He tries not to stare, but the way your shorts ride up when you sit, the way your belly spills soft and gorgeous over the waistband—he’s never wanted anyone so badly in his life.
The room fills up quick: Jihyo, Jay, a couple of frat boys, half the dance team, a random dude Jake vaguely recognizes from calc. The game starts with stupid dares—shotgun a beer, dance on the table, text your ex something stupid—but Heeseung is prowling, eyes darting between you and Jake.
Jake tries to play it cool. He wants you. He always wants you. But right now, with all these people, with your body heat pressed to his, with your scent in his nose and your laugh in his ears—he feels dangerous, reckless. He wants to see just how far he can push before you break.
Heeseung’s turn. He gives a lazy smile, glancing from you to Jake, then back to you. “Alright, princess,” he purrs, “Truth or dare?”
You arch a brow, lips curling into a smirk. “Dare, obviously. Truth is for cowards.”
The room whoops. Jake’s pulse pounds in his ears. Heeseung grins, eyes sharp, voice dropping low so it cuts through the noise. “Alright then. I dare you to climb into Jake’s lap and give him the nastiest kiss you can. Show everyone what you’ve got.”
Someone whistles. Jay bursts out laughing. Jake goes stiff—heart hammering, cock swelling, every nerve alive with electricity. He’s lightheaded with want, shame, terror, and a raw, hungry need.
You don’t hesitate. Not even a second.
You stand, cup abandoned, and then you’re moving—swinging a leg over his lap, settling on his thighs. Jake feels it everywhere—the weight of you, the heat of your bare skin, your shorts riding up so high he can see the crease where your thigh meets your hip, the soft bounce of your tits right at eye level. His hands go instinctively to your hips, squeezing, thumbs digging into the plush flesh above your waistband. He can’t stop himself; he’s dizzy, cock throbbing, his whole body reacting before his brain can catch up.
You lean in, fingers sliding up his chest, nails scratching lightly over his shirt. You whisper, “Better buckle up, golden boy,” right against his lips, breath warm and sweet, and then you kiss him.
It’s filthy from the first second.
You grind down, your hips shifting in his lap, thick thighs squeezing him. Jake loses himself in it. Your mouth is soft but demanding, lips parting, tongue licking into his with zero hesitation. He tastes beer, strawberry lip gloss, something dark and needy. He groans into your mouth, tilting his head, tongue fucking into you, hands tightening on your waist, dragging you closer.
You rut against him, your pussy pressing right to his bulge, and Jake’s cock twitches violently—he’s so hard he aches, so hard he’s sure you can feel every inch of him under you. His grip on your hips gets greedy, possessive, dragging you down harder, grinding you against the thick line of his cock until he has to bite back a moan.
Your hands slip up, threading through his hair, tugging, tilting his head so you can kiss him deeper, tongue filthy in his mouth. You suck on his lower lip, teeth grazing, and Jake gasps, hips jerking up into you. He can’t help it. He’s lost. He needs more, needs to taste every part of you, needs to get his mouth on your neck, your tits, your pussy, right now.
Your crop top slips higher with every twist, the soft skin of your belly brushing his hands. He wants to yank it up, bury his face in your chest, leave a trail of bites and bruises until you’re marked as his. Your tits bounce with every grind, nipples hard and poking through the thin fabric, so close he could just lean down and mouth at them right there in front of everyone.
The room is whooping, but it’s all background noise—Jake is lost in you, in the taste and feel and sound of you. His hands wander, sliding down your back, over your ass, thumbs digging into the soft, perfect curve of your cheeks through your tiny shorts. He squeezes, unable to stop himself, kneading handfuls of flesh as he drags you over his cock, making sure you feel every inch of how fucking hard he is.
You gasp into his mouth, hips stuttering. Jake’s heart stutters too, his cock throbbing, pre-cum leaking into his boxers. He’s so close to busting just from this, just from the way you ride him, the way your tongue dominates his mouth, the way you let him touch you like this with a room full of people watching.
You break away for a second, both of you panting. Your lips are red and slick, your eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. Jake looks wrecked—hair mussed, lips swollen, hands still clutching your waist so tight his knuckles are white. His cock pulses, trapped under you, begging for friction, for your touch, for your pussy.
But you don’t give him a break. You smirk, tongue flicking out to taste your lips, then dive back in—kiss him harder, dirtier, grinding down on him like you know exactly what you’re doing, like you want everyone to see how needy you both are. Jake moans this time, low and guttural, hips jerking up into you. He can’t hide it—he’s totally gone, ruined, every filthy thought he’s ever had coming true right here, right now.
He slides his hands up your sides, fingers brushing under your top, just skimming the underside of your tits. You shiver, pressing into him, but then you tug back a bit—just enough that he knows you’re still in control. He chases your mouth, desperate, but you laugh, soft and hot against his lips, and break the kiss.
The whole room erupts. There are whistles, cheers, someone shouting, “Get a room!” but all Jake hears is the blood rushing in his ears, the thundering of his own heartbeat, the echo of your breath in his mouth.
Heeseung is grinning like the devil, eyes shining with satisfaction. “Damn, Jake, didn’t know you had it in you! Need a cold shower, man?” The crowd laughs, but Jake can’t manage a comeback—he’s too fucked-out, too stunned, hands still on your hips, eyes wide, chest heaving.
You slide off his lap with one last lingering grind, your thigh brushing over the bulge in his jeans. You meet his eyes, smirk cocky, then settle next to him again, legs draped over his lap like it’s your throne. Jake’s hands hover, unsure, but you just grab his wrist and plant it right on your bare thigh, as if daring him to stop touching you.
Heeseung’s still cackling. “Should we keep playing, or do we need to let Jake take a break?” Jay nudges Jake, teasing, but Jake can barely hear them—he’s stuck in a loop, replaying the way your tongue felt in his mouth, the way your pussy dragged over his cock, the way you let him grab you, squeeze you, touch you like nobody else ever has.
His cock aches, rock hard and leaking, trapped in his jeans. He can smell you on his lips, taste you, feel the ghost of your grind everywhere. He’s dizzy with it, desperate for more, half-crazy with how much he needs you.
He glances over, just in time to catch you licking your lips, your eyes still blown wide with lust. Your legs are still thrown over his lap, your skin warm under his hand, your tits rising and falling with every shallow breath.
Jake knows he’s wrecked. He knows everyone can see it. But all he cares about is you—how good you taste, how soft you feel, how badly he wants to drag you away from this room and fuck you until you can’t walk.
Heeseung’s voice fades into the background as Jake leans in, his fingers dig into your thigh, thumb brushing slow, filthy circles over your bare skin.
You just smile, slow and dirty, and press your legs tighter to his lap. Jake feels your heat through the denim, the pulse of your need, and he knows—tonight, he’ll either lose his mind, or he’ll finally get everything he’s ever dreamed of.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
The game wraps but the world doesn’t slow down. The party feels different now: every time you move, Jake is there, just a step behind, his hand hovering at your lower back, his thigh brushing yours as you wind your way through the crowd. His eyes are glued to you. You can feel the heat of his stare when you laugh with Jihyo, when you grab chips from the snack table, when you throw your head back to drink straight from a can—Jake’s hungry gaze always finds you, burning right through your clothes.
People come up to talk, to say hi, to pull you into shots and drunken selfies, but it’s always Jake’s touch you feel, his scent you crave—something clean and masculine and sharp, sweat and laundry detergent and a little cologne, the scent of a boy who just barely managed to clean his room for the party. Every time you shift your weight, your shorts ride higher. You can feel the pressure of his hand on your thigh, the way he lets his palm slide, the lazy possessiveness of his touch that makes you burn.
You find yourselves moving through the house, wandering from the living room to the kitchen to the patio and back again. Jake barely lets anyone else get a word in—if you laugh too loud at a stranger’s joke, he’s there with a witty comeback, stealing your attention back. If someone tries to pull you into a group photo, Jake squeezes in behind you, chin nearly on your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist, holding you close. He’s everywhere. You’re not complaining.
The music shifts, something low and thumping and dark. You’re shoulder to shoulder with Jake at the kitchen counter, yelling over the noise, catching each other’s smiles, barely listening to what anyone else says. Your thigh presses against his; his hand slips up to your waist. He stares at your mouth, eyes flickering down to your chest every few seconds. He looks wrecked. Desperate. Like he’s dying to kiss you again. You’d let him. You’d let him do anything.
People keep coming and going, drinks refilling, a few bodies swaying to the music, but Jake is oblivious—he doesn’t see anyone but you. You brush your hair back and he nearly moans, watching the way your crop top slides, the curve of your breast threatening to spill free. Your shorts have ridden so far up your thighs, it’s barely a secret how turned on you are. Every brush of Jake’s knuckles leaves a trail of fire. He’s getting bolder—fingers sliding higher, thumb tracing slow circles over your bare skin.
You’re breathless. He looks like he’s about to say something filthy, something that’d have you wetting through your panties right here, but instead he grins, soft and shy for just a second, and asks, “You want another drink?”
You lean in, body brushing his, mouth so close he could taste your lips if he just moved a centimeter. “Yeah,” you say, “get me something strong.”
Jake grins. His hands slide down your thighs, giving you a quick squeeze. “Be right back, gorgeous. Don’t go anywhere.”
You promise you won’t. He flashes you that golden smile—the one that melts you, the one you’ll remember tomorrow morning—and disappears into the crowd, cutting through a sea of bodies like it’s nothing. You can’t take your eyes off him as he goes, the stretch of his jeans over his ass, the way his shoulders flex. Your heart pounds in your chest, the echo of his mouth still lingering on yours, your body aching for more.
But then you’re alone. The music’s too loud, bodies everywhere, the kitchen table sticky with spilled drinks and half-eaten pizza. You feel exposed, all that warmth and confidence from being with Jake evaporating just a little. You take a breath, fix your hair, try to remember that you’re supposed to be the hot one tonight, the one who doesn’t care about anyone’s opinion except Jake’s.
That’s when some guy slides in close.
He’s tall—way taller than Jake. Maybe a senior, maybe just some rando who wandered in off the street. He’s got the swagger, the arrogance of a guy who thinks he’s hot shit. His eyes roam over you, lingering too long on your tits, your stomach, your thighs. He leans in, his voice syrupy, loud over the music.
“Hey. Haven’t seen you around before. You new here, or just hiding from me?”
You give him a polite smile, shifting back a little. “Just here with friends.”
He laughs, loud and fake, leans in closer. You catch a whiff of whiskey on his breath, a little too much cologne, the smell of someone who’s trying too hard. “Friends, huh? You look too good to be hiding in the crowd. What’s your name?”
You give him a non-answer, try to turn away, scanning the room for Jake. But the guy won’t take a hint. His hand lands on your arm, heavy and hot, his fingers curling around your bicep. “Come on, don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
You bristle, step back, but he follows. His fingers tighten, thumb stroking your skin. “You wanna come outside with me? I got something fun for us. Or we can just find a room, you know?”
You’re not scared, not really—but you’re uncomfortable, skin crawling. You try to pull your arm free but he’s persistent, too close, invading your space. “I’m good, actually. Waiting for someone.”
He grins, not letting go. “You don’t need to wait for anyone. Trust me, you’ll have a better time with me. I’ll show you what a real man can do—”
He doesn’t get to finish. A body shoves in between you, breaking the grip, and suddenly Jake is there—glassy-eyed, jaw set, holding two drinks in one hand and pure, seething fury in the other. He sets the cups down with a thunk, barely looking at you, his eyes locked on the guy.
Jake’s voice is dark, dangerous. “Hey. She said she’s good. Back off.”
The guy laughs, not moving. “What are you, her brother?”
Jake steps closer, chest to chest, the music forgotten, everyone else fading into static. “No, I’m her boyfriend. And I said: back the fuck off.”
The guy scoffs, but Jake doesn’t flinch. His hand lands on your waist, pulling you in close, body warm and solid and trembling with anger. He glares the guy down, every muscle tense, jaw clenched so tight you think he might snap.
“Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hand,” Jake says, voice low and raw, every syllable a threat.
The guy looks at you, then at Jake, and decides it’s not worth it. He holds up his hands, all mock innocence, and backs away, vanishing into the crowd.
Jake doesn’t let go of you. Not even for a second.
You’re pressed to his side, his hand digging into your waist, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. For a second, the room spins—everything blurs, music and laughter and lights fading to the background. You realize Jake is shaking, breath ragged, his eyes wild with something desperate and hot.
He pulls you even closer, mouth at your ear, voice trembling. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
You shake your head, but you’re breathless—shaken in a different way, turned on and lit up by the way Jake just claimed you in front of everyone. His hand slides down your side, over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush to him. You can feel his cock, hard and heavy, pressing against your hip. He’s shaking, breath fast, pupils blown wide.
“I couldn’t stand seeing him touch you,” Jake mutters, voice barely a whisper. “I almost fucking lost it.”
You don’t know what to say. You’re dizzy with it—Jake’s possessiveness, the feel of his body, the way his fingers dig into your flesh like he’ll never let go.
The music swells, but all you can hear is Jake’s breath, his heart pounding against yours, his mouth so close you can taste him.
He doesn’t ask this time. He grabs your hand, tangles your fingers in his, and drags you through the party—past the bodies, the laughter, the spilled drinks and shrieks of joy, down the hallway, straight to his room. His grip is unbreakable. You follow, your whole body on fire, not caring who sees, not caring about anything but Jake and the wild, desperate look in his eyes.
He slams the door behind you. The world drops away.
And you realize: you’ve never wanted anyone the way you want him right now.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
The door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the party’s chaos—the pounding music, the laughter, the bodies—all replaced by something heavier, hotter, something that thrums under your skin. Jake’s hands are already on you, not soft or hesitant but hungry, greedy, dragging you closer with a force you didn’t know he had. He’s looking at you like he might eat you alive.
Your back hits the door with a soft thud, Jake crowding in, his chest flush to yours, every muscle taut, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His hands grip your waist so tight it almost hurts, thumbs pressing into the softness above your hips, his entire body trembling like he’s fighting not to just lose it right there.
“God, fuck,” Jake hisses, voice wrecked, eyes dark and wild as he scans your face, your lips, your chest. “You have no idea what you do to me. All night—fuck, all year—I’ve wanted this, wanted you, wanted to ruin you.” His hand slips lower, gripping the curve of your ass, fingers digging into your bare thigh, hiking your leg up over his hip so he can grind his cock right against you, thick and throbbing under his jeans.
You gasp, breath catching, your body arching into him, desperate for friction, for touch, for more. Jake’s mouth finds your neck, lips hot and open, sucking bruises just under your jaw, working down until he’s biting at your collarbone, tasting salt and perfume and skin. His other hand fumbles at your crop top, pushing it up, exposing your tits. He groans, eyes rolling back, mouthing at your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, then tugging it down so he can latch on properly.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he moans, wet mouth hot and desperate, tongue swirling, sucking so hard your back arches off the door. “Want to taste you everywhere. Want to eat this pussy so fucking bad, been dreaming about it for months—please, let me, let me fucking taste you, please—”
You don’t even get the words out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes locked on yours, hands shoving your shorts down your thighs so fast it’s almost violent. He drags your panties down too, groaning when he sees how wet you are, slick shining in the dim light, your pussy already dripping and swollen.
“Holy shit,” Jake breathes, staring like he’s hypnotized. “You’re so wet. All this for me? You want it this bad, baby? You want me to ruin you?”
You can’t speak, can barely even nod, your breath stuttering as Jake hooks your leg over his shoulder, spreading you wide. He buries his face in your pussy with zero finesse, tongue plunging deep, nose grinding against your clit as he licks up everything you give him. It’s messy, obscene, starving—he moans into you, tongue fucking in and out, lips sealed tight around your clit as he sucks hard, sloppy and greedy, making filthy noises like he’s trying to drink you dry.
“Fuck, fuck—taste so good—so sweet, so fucking perfect—” he mutters, voice muffled by your cunt. His hands spread your thighs wider, holding you open, fingers digging into your flesh. “Been thinking about this every night, jacking off like a loser, wishing it was your pussy on my tongue, fuck—give me more, want to hear you, want to feel you shake—”
You’re already shaking, hips jerking, your whole body tense as he tongues you ruthlessly, sloppy and loud, spit and slick dripping down his chin. He sucks your clit, flicks it with his tongue, then dives back in, licking up every drop, never stopping, never giving you a second to breathe. Your hands clutch his hair, tugging him closer, grinding down on his face, desperate and frantic.
Jake’s groaning, rutting against your leg, his own cock rock hard and leaking in his jeans. “Gonna make you cum on my face, wanna taste it, wanna feel you fall apart—come on, baby, come for me, let everyone hear how good I make you feel—fuck, you’re so tight, so sweet—”
You’re almost sobbing, moans spilling out, thighs trembling as he devours you, tongue fucking into your cunt, nose rubbing frantic circles against your clit. You can feel it building, hot and sharp, every nerve lit up, every muscle locked tight.
“Jake, Jake—fuck—” You can’t even get the words out, just whimper and gasp as the orgasm hits, blinding and shattering, your body jerking as you cum all over his tongue, wet and messy and loud. Jake moans like he’s in pain, slurping up every drop, not stopping even as you try to push him away, licking you through the aftershocks until you’re a shaking mess.
He stands, lips and chin shiny with your slick, eyes blown wide and starving. “Holy shit, you taste so fucking good—can’t believe you let me do that, fuck, you’re so hot, so fucking perfect—” He kisses you hard, tongue shoving into your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. It’s filthy, nasty, so hot it almost hurts.
His hands fumble at his belt, popping the button, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one desperate move. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, leaking pre-cum, so hard it slaps against his stomach. He grabs it, strokes once, twice, then lines up with your dripping entrance, not even bothering to ask. He presses in, rough and hungry, filling you in one long, brutal thrust.
You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out, the stretch almost overwhelming. Jake groans, head thrown back, hands gripping your thighs so tight you think you’ll bruise. “Fuck, you’re so tight, can barely get in—fuck, you’re squeezing me so hard, baby, shit—so wet, so fucking wet for me, fuck—”
He doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He grabs your hips, yanks you forward, and starts fucking you hard—deep, fast, filthy, the sound of your bodies slapping echoing in the small room. Your back is pressed to the door, one leg hooked over his hip, his cock pistoning in and out, every thrust rough and perfect, hitting you so deep you can barely breathe.
Jake’s dirty talk is relentless, his voice hoarse and wild in your ear. “You feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am? Fuck, your pussy’s made for me, made to be fucked like this—so tight, so wet, can’t believe how good you feel, fuck—been dreaming about this, jerking off like a fucking loser, just wishing I could be inside you—” He spits on his hand, rubs your clit fast and rough, making you wail, your head dropping back against the door as your legs shake.
“Yeah, that’s it, let me hear you—let everyone know who’s fucking you this good—this pussy’s mine, you got that? All mine. Gonna fuck you so hard you can’t even talk, just moan for me like a good girl, that’s right—fuck, look at you, look how desperate you are, can’t get enough, need me so bad—”
You can’t speak, can barely even think, just sob and whimper and moan, every muscle locked tight as Jake fucks you harder, faster, his hips snapping into yours with punishing force. The slap of his cock inside you, the slick wet sounds, the way his hand never leaves your clit, dragging you higher and higher, every word making you clench tighter around him.
“God, you feel so fucking good—so perfect, so fucking tight—wish I could stay inside you forever, wish I could fill you up, make you cum again and again—fuck, baby, you gonna cum for me? Gonna soak my cock, let everyone know how much you love it?”
You can only nod, mouth open, eyes rolling back as he fucks you into oblivion, your whole body burning, stretched wide around him, every thrust rough and raw and perfect. You feel another orgasm building, hotter than the last, your legs trembling, nails scraping down his back as you cling to him.
“Come on, pretty girl, show me—let me feel you cum, let me feel you squeeze me, fuck, you’re so good, so fucking good for me, I’ll never let anyone else have you, you’re all mine, all fucking mine—”
You cum hard, body shuddering, cunt clenching down on his cock, a loud, messy, needy cry spilling out of you as everything goes white. Jake groans, hips jerking, but he doesn’t cum—not yet—just fucks you through it, never slowing down, never stopping the filthy stream of praise and possession in your ear.
You’re shaking, ruined, boneless in his arms, but Jake just grins, eyes wild, mouth pressed to your neck as he pounds into you, sweat dripping, muscles flexing, every inch of him hungry and desperate.
“I’m not done with you,” he growls, fucking you harder, slamming you against the door, cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. “Gonna keep going until you can’t even remember your own name, until all you can do is moan my name, beg for my cock—yeah, that’s it, baby, take it, take all of me, fuck—”
You moan, broken and desperate, your body on fire, every thrust sending you spiraling higher, already teetering on the edge again.
Jake doesn’t stop. Not even close.
He barely gives you a second to breathe. You’re still pulsing around him, body limp and shaking, when he grabs you by the waist, lifts you off the door—still buried deep inside—and staggers backward, his cock grinding against your walls with every step. His arms are tight around you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, your back arching as he moves you through the room.
“Not done with you yet,” Jake pants, voice rough, barely human, the words scraping hot against your neck as he bites down hard enough to leave a mark. “Gonna fuck you properly, baby. Want you spread out for me—want to see your face when I make you cum again.”
He drops you onto the mattress, your back hitting the sheets, and never once does he let his cock slip out of your cunt. The weight of him presses you down, his hands shoving your thighs open wide, his body folding you in half so your knees nearly brush your shoulders. He’s so deep you feel split open, every inch of him pulsing hot inside you.
Jake’s sweat-slick chest brushes your tits, his abs flexing, eyes wild as he looks down at where your bodies meet—at the slick, obscene mess of your pussy stretched tight around his cock, at the way you grip him like you’re never letting go.
“Look at that,” he groans, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging his cock out just enough to see your slick drip down his shaft, then slamming back in so hard your whole body jerks. “Fuck, you take me so well. Look at this greedy fucking pussy—can’t get enough, can you? You love it, you fucking love it.”
You can’t answer, can barely breathe, your mouth open on a silent gasp, eyes wide as Jake pounds into you. His hips snap against yours, every thrust deep and rough, the bedframe slamming the wall in time with his rhythm, your tits bouncing wildly under his chest. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh, holding you in place so you can’t run from how good it feels, from how hard he fucks you.
His dirty talk is constant, filthy—voice wrecked, every word a growl. “Gonna fuck you stupid, baby. Gonna fuck you till you can’t walk, till you’re dripping all over my sheets. You feel that? Feel how deep I am? All the way in, right where I belong—this pussy’s mine, it was made for me, only for me—fuck, you’re so tight, so wet, making such a mess—”
He leans in, teeth nipping your jaw, his breath hot on your cheek. “You want it? Want me to fill you up? Want to feel me cum so deep inside you you’re leaking for days? Gonna fuck you full, baby. Gonna give you every last drop—”
His pace gets frantic, hips jerking, every thrust bruising and perfect. His cock drags against your walls, thick and throbbing, the head slamming against your cervix with every stroke. Your legs tremble, the pleasure almost too much, your body clenching around him like you’re trying to milk him dry.
Jake’s face is a mess—sweat running down his temples, hair falling into his eyes, mouth open, breath coming in ragged moans. His hands slide up, gripping your waist, pulling you down onto his cock with every thrust, forcing you to take all of him, over and over, until you’re babbling nonsense, drooling, nothing in your head but the feel of him inside you.
He’s groaning, babbling right along with you. “So good—so fucking good—gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum, can’t hold it, can’t—shit—”
His thrusts turn frantic, sloppy, desperate. He buries his face in your neck, teeth scraping your skin, and with a guttural, broken cry, he slams in one last time—so deep you swear you can feel his cock pulse inside your stomach—and cums.
He fills you up, thick and hot, his whole body jerking as spurt after spurt of cum floods your cunt. You feel it gushing, leaking out around his cock, making a sticky, messy pool under your ass as he keeps grinding, milking himself dry. He’s still muttering, still filthy, every word strained and needy: “Take it—take all of it—fuck, you’re so full, can feel you squeezing me, fuck—gonna keep it in, yeah? Gonna walk out leaking my cum all night, let everyone know who you belong to—”
He shudders, hips twitching, breath shaking as the last of his orgasm wrings out of him. He doesn’t move, just keeps you pinned to the bed, cock still buried deep, his cum leaking out around the base, dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets.
You’re both gasping, spent and ruined and wrecked, but Jake still won’t let go. His mouth finds yours, softer now but still hungry, and you taste sweat and need and pure, raw satisfaction.
“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, a wild smile on his lips. “You’re mine.”
And there’s not a single part of you left to argue.
ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི
