The house had gone quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that felt empty, but the kind that felt earned. The kind that came after a bath and a story and three separate requests for water and one final, plaintive "just one more hug" from a small voice that you'd both pretended to be immune to even as you melted in tandem.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of water, when Jake walked in. He'd done the final check, cracked the door just enough for the nightlight to glow, tucked the stuffed dinosaur back under a small arm, pressed a kiss to a forehead that was already half in dreamland.

He looked wrecked in the best way. His hair was mussed from where small hands had grabbed at it during the goodnight struggle. His shirt was wrinkled, untucked, the top two buttons undone. There was a smudge of something on his collar. Toothpaste, probably, from the chaotic brushing session that had somehow involved a lecture on why triceratops don't eat socks.

He didn't say anything at first. He crossed the kitchen in five slow strides, bracketed you against the counter with his hands on either side of your hips, and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You laughed softly, setting your glass down. "That bad?"

"Good," he mumbled against the fabric of your shirt. "So good. I'm so tired."

You ran your fingers through his hair, working through the tiny tangles. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a hum, and his hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

"We should clean up the kitchen," you said, without conviction.

"In a minute."

"There are Cheerios on the floor."

"I'll build a shrine."

You snorted. He lifted his head, and there it was, that look. The one that made the last four hours of toddler chaos dissolve into background noise. His eyes were dark, soft, searching your face like he hadn't seen you in days instead of just the twenty minutes he'd spent on bedtime duty.

"You're beautiful," he said, simply. Like a fact. Like the weather.

"You're delusional."

"Probably." He leaned in, and his lips found the corner of your mouth. Not quite a kiss. A promise of one. "Still true."

His mouth traced a slow path to your jaw, then down your neck, and your head fell back against the cabinet behind you. His hands slid from your waist to your lower back, pressing you into him, and suddenly the kitchen felt very small and very warm.

"We really should—" you started.

"Shh." He found that spot just below your ear, the one he'd discovered years ago and never forgot. "The Cheerios will wait."

You grabbed fistfuls of his wrinkled shirt and pulled him closer, and this time when his lips found yours, it wasn't a promise. It was a landing.

The kiss started slow, the kind of slow that came from knowing someone completely. From knowing that there was nowhere to rush to, that the night was long and the house was yours and the only audience was the half-moon through the window and the fish in the tank by the wall. His mouth moved against yours with a familiarity that wasn't lazy but sure.

Your back hit the counter edge and he shifted, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, the other splayed warm across your hip. He tasted like the peppermint tea he'd had during story time, and underneath that, like something that was just him.

He pulled back just far enough to breathe, his forehead against yours. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I love you."

"You're very sweet when you're exhausted."

"I'm very sweet all the time." He kissed the tip of your nose. "I'm a catch."

"You're something."

He grinned, and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, and your fingers found their way into his hair properly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. The sound vibrated through you, settled somewhere low in your stomach, and you pulled him closer because closer was the only thing that made sense.

One of his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, finding bare skin at your hip, and you gasped at the contact, warm, slightly rough from the dishes he'd done earlier. He smiled into the kiss, smug and satisfied, and you would have called him out on it if you weren't so busy trying to memorize the way his tongue moved against yours.

The fridge hummed. The fish swam lazy circles. Somewhere upstairs, your child dreamed of dinosaurs and bedtime snacks.

Jake walked you backward, just a step, just enough to turn you so your back was against the wall instead of the counter. His body pressed against yours, solid and warm and familiar, and his mouth never stopped moving, jaw to throat to collarbone, mapping territory he'd charted a thousand times and still somehow found new.

"Jake," you breathed, and it came out like a question even though you didn't know what you were asking.

He looked up at you, his lips still against your skin, his eyes dark and bright at once. "Yeah?"

You didn't have words. You just pulled him back up, kissed him hard, and he laughed into your mouth, a soft, private sound that made your chest ache with how much you loved him.

The kettle sat cold on the stove. The Cheerios remained on the floor. The night stretched ahead, quiet and dark and entirely yours.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper against your lips, "Bed?"

soft!dom jake who lays you down on the bed like you’re glass, his fingers lacing with yours.

soft!dom jake who prioritizes your pleasure over his. even though his dick throbs just watching you squirm underneath him, he’s patient as ever.

soft!dom jake who gently runs his fingers through your already soaked folds, eliciting soft whimpers from you.

soft!dom jake who pushes you right to the edge with his thumb on your clit, watching you writhe in pleasure.

soft!dom jake who makes you wait, just so he can watch you fall apart on his cock.

soft!dom jake who kisses literally every inch of your body—the insides of your thighs, your hips, your stomach, etc. each mark of his is open mouthed, hot and wet.

soft!dom jake who slowly pushes into your entrance, making sure you feel every twitch and pulse of his dick.

soft!dom jake who regularly checks up on you, making sure you’re not in any pain or uncomfortable, “I need words sweet girl, is this okay?”

soft!dom jake who talks you through it, and makes sure you know just how much he loves you. “You’re doing so well for me princess, keep making those pretty sounds.”

soft!dom jake who doesn’t tease you or deny your orgasm, but wants to build it up as much as possible so you can fully feel the release.

soft!dom jake who pounds into you firmly but carefully, letting his shaft drag along your gummy walls.

soft!dom jake who also talks you through your orgasm, “That’s it baby girl, let go for me. Let it all out.”

soft!dom jake who doesn’t stop thrusting into until you’ve fully finished riding through your release.

soft!dom jake who pulls you onto his sweat-slicked chest after you’ve both orgasmed, running his fingers through your messy hair.

soft!dom jake who never stops telling you how beautiful you are and how much of a good girl you are for him.

The blue shell icon flashed on your screen a second before the explosion of pixelated blue flames consumed your kart, sending you spinning off the rainbow road into the starry void. Jake whooped triumphantly.

“No! Ugh, you asshole!” you groaned, slumping back against the plush fabric of the coach as your Bowser respawned in last place. “You saved that thing the whole race just for me?”

“Strategic targeting, baby,” Jake crowed, his thumbs working furiously on his controller. He was leaning so far forward his elbows were on his knees, his whole body tense with competitive glee. “Gotta take out the biggest threat.”

“The biggest threat is my fist right now,” you threatened, desperately trying to catch up. But it was useless. He crossed the finish line in first, throwing his hands up in victory before tossing his controller onto the coffee table littered with empty soda cans and chip bags.

“Pay up, pay up,” he sang, wiggling his fingers at you. The bet was that the loser would pay and order takeout.

“Fine, fine,” you grumbled, grabbing your phone. “But I’m getting extra spicy wings just to watch you suffer.”

“I can handle it,” he said, but the twitch in his smile said otherwise. You both knew his tolerance for heat was tragically low.

You scrolled through the app, the only sounds the hum of the fridge and the faint city noise from the open window. You and Jake’d been living together for two years now, ever since college ended and real life began. It worked because Jake was, quite simply, your person. He was the human equivalent of your favorite hoodie: familiar, comforting, and always there for you.

“So,” he said after a minute, stretching his arms over his head. The movement pulled his thin t-shirt tight across his chest. You didn’t stare. Much. “Random question. I haven’t seen Mark skulking around in, like, a month. Did he finally get abducted by aliens? Please say yes.”

You snorted, not looking up from your phone. “Nah, unfortunately not. Just ended things.”

“Wait, for real?” Jake’s voice was a little too bright, a little too interested. You glanced over. He was trying to look casual, picking at a thread on the couch, but his posture was rigid.

“For real. It was just—like, a thing. You know.” You shrugged, finally placing the order for wings and fries. “It ran its course.”

“Thank god,” Jake breathed out, the words a rush of genuine relief. He flopped back against the cushions, running a hand through his messy hair. “Do you have any idea how many nights you guys kept me up? I had to wear fucking noise-canceling headphones. And, like, turn my fan on high.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across your face. You put your phone down and turned to face him fully, tucking one leg under you. “Oh, poor baby. All traumatized by the sounds of your best friend getting laid. Why didn’t you ever bring anyone home, huh? Get your revenge. Level the playing field.”

At that, Jake’s easygoing expression froze, then melted into something shifty. He looked away, focusing intently on a crack in the plaster of the wall. “I don’t know. Just… didn’t.”

“Come on, Jakey,” you pressed, leaning forward. “You’ve been on dates. Plenty of them. That girl from the marketing firm was all over you for weeks. You never brought her back here?”

“No,” he mumbled.

“The barista with the sleeve tattoos?”

“Nope.”

“The girl from your gym? The one with the fat a—”

“No,” he said, more frustrated this time. He finally met your eyes, and the vulnerability there made you blanch a little. His cheeks were flushed a deep, warm pink. “I… didn’t bring any of them back because—” He dragged both hands down his face, groaning into his palms. “I’ve never… done that. Okay?”

You blinked. “Done what? Brought someone home?”

He peeked at you through his fingers, his eyes wide and mortified. “No. I mean, yes, but—that. You know.” He cleared his throat. “Had sex”

Oh.

It wasn’t that shocking, not really, but for Jake—loud, confident, hot Jake, who moved through the world with an easy charm—it was definitely unexpected for you. He’d always talked a big game, and you’d just assumed…

“You’re a virgin,” you said.

He dropped his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Congrats, you’re the first person to know. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m not,” you said softly, and you meant it.“I just… I never would’ve guessed. You always seemed so…”

“So what? Like I knew what I was doing?” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “I’m good at the talking part. You know, the flirting. But then when it gets to the… the main event… I get in my head. I panic. I make an excuse and bail.” He hung his head. “It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” you said, and you meant that too. You shifted closer on the couch, the old leather sighing beneath you. “It’s just—you’re careful, right? That’s not a bad thing.”

“Feels pretty damn bad,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants. “Especially when I’m lying in my room listening to…”

A dangerous, curious heat began to simmer inside of you. “Listening to what, exactly?”

He shot you a look. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not. I’m just asking.” You kept your voice level, calm. “What did you hear?”

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. His gaze was fixed on the coffee table, but his attention was entirely on you. You could feel it, a tangible pull in the space between your bodies. “Everything. The headboard. The—the sounds you made. His… ugh.” He rubbed his face again, the flush spreading down his neck. “It was fucking torture.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because!” he burst out, finally looking at you, his eyes dark and frustrated. “Because I’d be lying there, and I’d be thinking—is she—you know. Is she enjoying it? Or is he just—just fucking her and that’s it? And I wanted to know. I needed to know. But I couldn’t ask, could I?”

Your heart was beating a little faster now, at his confession. You tucked your other leg under you, facing him completely now, knees almost touching his.

“You could’ve asked,” you corrected quietly.

“Yeah, right. ‘Hey, Y/N, was the sex any good? Did you come?’ Real smooth.”

“I would’ve told you,” you said, and it was the truth. There were very few barriers between you two. This had just never been one of the doors you’d opened. Until now, of course. “And for the record, no. Not really.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Mark. He wasn’t, um. It wasn’t great. He was fine, I guess. But it was just… physical. A release. He wasn’t interested in what I liked. He just wanted to get his and leave.”

Jake stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. The frustration in his eyes was morphing into something else rapidly. “So,” he licked his lips. “What… uh, what do you like?”

The question was barely a whisper, and the heat in your belly coiled tighter, spreading lower. You let out a slow breath.

“It depends on the mood,” you started, your own voice dropping to match his intimate tone of voice. “Sometimes I like it fast and hard. When you just need it, y’know? When you’re so wound up that all you can think about is being filled, being fucked until you can’t see straight.”

A sharp inhale from Jake. You saw his hands fist in the fabric of his sweatpants over his thighs.

“But most of the time,” you continued, holding his gaze, “I like it slow. Really slow. I like when a guy takes his time. When he kisses every inch of me first.” You saw his lips part, his breathing growing visibly quicker. “I like when he teases. When he touches me everywhere but where I really want it, until I’m begging for it. I like a guy who pays attention. Who listens to the way my breathing hitches, who watches how my body reacts, and follows that.”

“Follows that—how?” Jake’s voice was rough, strained.

“If I arch my back when he touches my hip, he stays there. He explores that. If I gasp when he bites my neck, he does it again, harder. If I spread my legs wider, he takes it as an invitation to taste me.”

Jake made a choked sound. His eyes were wide, glassy with a kind of rapturous shock. You could see the effect your words were having on him, the hard line of his erection now unmistakable against the soft grey fabric of his sweats. He didn’t try to hide it. He was past that.

“Taste… you?” he rasped.

“Yeah, Jake. Eat me out. Go down on me. That’s—that’s usually what does it for me. More than anything else.” You leaned forward an inch, your voice changing to a conspiratorial murmur. “A guy who knows how to use his tongue. Who isn’t in a rush. Who licks and sucks and fucks me with his tongue until I’m shaking, until I come so hard I see stars, and my thighs are shaking around his head.”

“Oh—wow, fuck,” he breathed. He was rigid, every muscle in his body taut. A fine tremor ran through his hands. “You—you’d let someone do that?”

“I’d beg someone to do that,” you corrected, a slow smile playing on your lips. “If they were good at it. If they were patient. If they enjoyed it. There’s nothing hotter than a guy who gets off on getting you off. Who gets hard just from hearing you moan, from feeling you come all over his face.”

His cock jumped at that, a visible twitch that he gasped at. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if trying to regain control. When he opened them, the look in them was pure, unadulterated hunger. “Tell me more,” he whispered. “What—what about after?”

“After I come like that?” you mused, feeling a slick heat building between your own thighs. This was the most turned on you’d been in months, just from talking. From watching him fall apart from words alone. “I’m usually really sensitive. So a good guy would be gentle. He’d kiss his way back up my body, let me taste myself on his lips. And then… when I’m ready again, when I’m pulling him closer… that’s when he fucks me.”

“How?” The word was punched out of him.

“However I want. On my back, so I can watch his face. On my hands and knees, so he can go deeper. Sometimes with my legs over his shoulders, so he can hit that spot inside me that makes me scream.” The whispered words felt filthy in the dim light of the living room. “And he’d talk to me. He’d tell me how good I feel, how tight I am, how he’s wanted this for so long. He’d call me beautiful. He’d tell me to come for him again. And I would. I always do when it’s like that.”

Jake was panting softly. A sheen of sweat glistened at his temples. He looked utterly wrecked, completely consumed by the images you were painting for him.

“Have you—has anyone ever… done all that for you?” he asked, his voice cracking.

You shook your head slowly, your cheeks coloring. “No. Not all of it,” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not the way I just described it, at least. That’s just the fantasy.”

His fantasy, now, too. You could see it in his dilated pupils, in the way he licked his lips, in the white-knuckled grip he had on his own knees.

The doorbell rang, the harsh electronic buzz slicing through the haze in the air.

You both jolted. Jake flinched, blinking rapidly.

“That’s—oh, shit, that’s the wings,” you said, your own voice unsteady.

“Right.” He didn’t move.

“I should… get that.”

“Yeah.”

You stood up, your legs feeling a little weak, then walked to the door, hyper-aware of his eyes on your back, tracking your every movement. You paid the delivery guy, took the bags, closed the door, your mind far. When you turned around, Jake was still on the couch, but he’d leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head bowed. The prominent bulge in his sweatpants was impossible to ignore.

You carried the bags to the coffee table and set them down. You didn’t sit back down. Instead, you stood in front of him, looking down at his bowed head.

“Jake.”

He looked up. His expression was cloudy. “Yeah?”

“Do you… want to try something?”

He didn’t ask what. He just nodded, a quick, jerky motion.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Just—just follow my lead. And tell me to stop anytime. Promise?”

“I promise,” he said instantly, his gaze locked on yours.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh. Okay. So… we should maybe—not do this on the couch? It’s, uh, kind of sticky.”

Jake blinked, the intense focus in his eyes fracturing into a look of sheer, comical panic. “Right. Yeah. Sticky. Bad. Where…?”

“My room?” you offered, the statement tilting up into a question. It felt embarrassingly juvenile, like asking the boy you liked to slow dance at your middle school homecoming dance.

He nodded, a frantic bob of his head. “Yeah. Yeah, your room. Good plan.” He stood up, movements uncoordinated, then adjusted himself subtly, a wince crossing his features as the fabric of his sweats brushed against his obvious hardness. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.

You led the way, the short hallway to your bedroom feeling like a marathon. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat of what are you doing what are you doing what are you doing. But beneath the nervous chorus was a throbbing, insistent heat, pooling in your core.

You pushed your door open. Your room was neat, the bed made, soft lamplight casting a warm glow. It felt suddenly, intensely personal.

Jake hovered in the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching the frame. He looked massive and completely out of place, like a huge lost puppy who’d wandered into a china shop. “So,” he said, his voice too loud.

“So,” you echoed, turning to face him.

Another beat of awkward silence.

“This is weird, right?” he blurted out, running a hand through his hair. “It’s weird. We’re best friends. I just told you I’ve never done this, and now we’re in your bedroom. This is, like, a prime opportunity for fucking everything up forever.”

His honesty was disarming, but somehow, it made you feel a little better. You took a step toward him. “It’s only weird if we make it weird, Jake. And we can stop. Any time. Remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” he breathed. His eyes searched yours. “I don’t want to stop. I’m just… scared I’m gonna be bad at it, I guess. And then you’ll—I don’t know. Laugh. Or pity me.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his clenched fist. He flinched, then his hand opened, allowing you to weave your fingers through his. His skin was hot, his palm slightly damp. “I’m not going to laugh. And the only way you could be ‘bad’ is if you didn’t listen. And you’re a really good listener, Jakey.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction at the nickname. He looked down at your joined hands, then back up at you. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered.

“Kiss me first.”

It was a simple instruction, but his breath hitched as if you’d asked for something monumental. He nodded slowly, then brought his other hand up, his touch surprisingly tentative as he cupped your jaw. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, a gesture so tender it made your chest ache.

Then he leaned in.

The first kiss was chaste, closed-mouthed, a gentle press of his soft lips against yours. It was sweet. Careful. It lasted only a second before he pulled back, eyes wide, checking in.

“Okay?” he rasped.

“More than okay,” you murmured. “Again.”

This time, you met him halfway. The second kiss was less hesitant. His lips parted slightly, and you took the invitation, sweeping your tongue along the seam of his mouth. He gasped, a soft, surprised sound, and then he was kissing you back, his inexperience giving way to instinctual enthusiasm. His lips were eager, a little clumsy, but it felt passionate—something you hadn’t felt with Mark in months.

One of his hands slid from your jaw into your hair, his fingers tangling gently at the roots. The other settled on your waist, his grip firming, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. You could feel the line of his erection pressing hard against you, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, arching into him. The sound seemed to electrify him; his kisses grew deeper, more confident. He was a quick learner, you had to admit, mimicking the rhythm you set, then adding his own—little nips at your bottom lip, soft sucks on your tongue.

When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, his eyes glazed. “Holy shit,” he panted. “That’s… fuck, Y/N, holy shit.”

You grinned, your own body trembling with adrenaline. “Not so bad, right?”

“Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, a dazed laugh escaping him. “I feel like my brain just short-circuited. What next?”

You took a step back, toward the bed, pulling him with you by the hand. “Clothes are kind of in the way.”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.” He looked down at himself, then at you. “Can I…?”

“Please.”

His hands, which had been so confident a moment before, fumbled at the hem of his t-shirt. He pulled it over his head in one swift, nervous motion and tossed it aside. Your breath caught.

You’d seen Jake shirtless before—at the beach, after workouts—but this was different. This was in your bedroom, with intent. The lamplight played over the smooth planes of his chest, the defined cut of his abs, the faint trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his sweatpants. He was beautiful. All lean muscle and golden skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice thick.

You reached for the hem of your own shirt, but he stopped you, his hand covering yours. “Wait. Let me.”

You nodded, dropping your hands to your sides. He stepped closer, his gaze intense as he hooked his fingers under the fabric. He lifted it slowly, revealing your skin inch by inch. The cool air brushed your stomach, your ribs, and finally, as the shirt cleared your head, your breasts, restrained in a cotton bra.

He just stared for a moment, his mouth slightly open. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word full of reverence. “You’re so fucking pretty.” His hands came up, hovering over your tits. “Can I?”

“Yes, Jake. Touch me.”

His palms settled over your covered breasts, and he squeezed gently, experimentally, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric. A sharp gasp escaped you, and your nipples hardened instantly into tight peaks. The look of awe on his face was priceless.

“They’re so soft,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. He leaned down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of one breast above the cup of your bra. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin. “You smell so good.”

You reached behind you, unhooking your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell from your shoulders, and the garment joined his shirt on the floor.

Jake’s breath left him in a whoosh. His eyes drank you in, wide and dark. “Wow,” he whispered. He didn’t move for a long moment, just looked. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, his head dipped. He took one nipple into his mouth.

The sensation was maddening. His mouth was hot, wet, perfectly eager. He sucked, gently at first, then with more pressure when you moaned and your fingers fisted in his hair. He laved the stiff peak with his tongue, flicking and circling, before moving to give the other tit the same devoted attention. He was noisy, letting out little grunts and hums of pleasure against your skin, as if he were the one receiving the pleasure.

“Jake,” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fu—fuck, that feels so good.”

He pulled off with a wet pop, his lips glistening. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough. “What else feels good? Tell me, please. I want to make you feel good.”

“My jeans,” you managed. “Get them off.”

He dropped to his knees so fast it made you jump. His hands went to the button of your jeans, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked it open, then dragged the zipper down. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and panties and, looking up at you for permission, pulled them down your legs in one motion. You stepped out of them, kicking them aside, now completely naked before him.

He stayed on his knees, his gaze traveling up your body from your feet, over your calves, your thighs, finally settling between your legs. His expression was one of rapt fascination.

“You’re so wet,” he observed, his voice hushed and awed at your glistening arousal. “Is that… for me?”

“All for you,” you confirmed, your voice shaky.

A shudder ran through him. He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on your hips, steadying you. He nuzzled the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “You said… you liked this. You said a guy should take his time here.”

“I did,” you whispered, your legs trembling.

“Tell me how,” he begged, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “I don’t wanna fuck it up. Tell me what to do.”

You carded your fingers through his hair. “Use your tongue. Flat, at first. Just… lick. Up and down. Get used to the feel of me. Taste me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a groan that vibrated through your entire body, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue through your soaked folds.

The feeling was indescribable—hot, wet, and so eager. He was clumsy, covering too much area, but the enthusiasm was everything. He did it again, and again, a slow, licking exploration.

“Oh, god,” you moaned, your hips jerking slightly.

He pulled back, panting. “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, Jake. It was perfect. Now… focus on my clit. That little bump at the top. Circle it with the tip of your tongue. Gently.”

He found it, his breath huffing against you. He circled it, just as you’d said, his movements growing more confident as he felt you tremble and heard your sharp intake of breath. “You like that,” he murmured, the words a hot puff against your flesh. “You’re getting even wetter. Fuck, you taste so good.”

He dove back in, licking and sucking, listening to every hitch in your breath, every murmured encouragement. He’d start to get too eager, his movements growing rushed, and you’d gently guide him. “Slower, baby. Just like that. Yeah. Right there, you’re doing so good for me.”

“Baby,” he repeated against you, the word muffled and reverent. “God, you feel so fucking good. I could do this forever. My jaw is gonna fall off and I won’t even care.”

You laughed, the sound turning into a moan as he sucked your clit into his mouth, applying perfect, steady pressure. “Don’t stop. Mm—hah—making me feel so good, Jake, don’t stop.”

He hummed in response, the vibration shooting white-hot sparks up your spine. His hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on you. He was lost in it, completely pussy-drunk as you’d thought he would be, his world narrowed to the taste of you and the sounds you were making. He was talking, a filthy stream of consciousness you could barely make out.

“So sweet—god, I’m never gonna forget this—you’re so fucking perfect—clenching on my tongue, are you gonna come? Please come for me, please, I—mm—wanna feel it—”

Your body arched off the bed, every muscle tightening as the pressure built deep in your core. Waves of heat surged through you, your pussy throbbing against Jake's mouth, slick and swollen from his relentless attention. Your fingers dug into his hair, pulling him closer, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the edge of release loomed.

“Jake, I’m gonna—I’m gonna come!”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue lashing your clit with relentless precision. His nose bumped firmly against the sensitive nub, grinding in time with each flick and swirl, sending jolts of electricity straight to your spine. The added pressure shattered your control.

Your orgasm crashed into you, your pussy clenching hard around nothing as you cried out, hips bucking wildly against his face. Juices flooded his mouth, coating his lips and chin while your thighs quivered, locking around his head in a vise grip. Pleasure ripped through you, pulsing in hot, endless spasms that left you shaking and breathless.

When the last tremor subsided, Jake gently eased you back, laying you on the bed before you could collapse. He crawled up your body, his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes wild and proud. “Did you… was that…?”

“That was incredible,” you breathed, reaching up to touch his wet chin. “You’re a natural.”

A brilliant, boyish grin split his face. Then he kissed you, deep and hungry, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You could feel him, hard and heavy against your thigh, straining against his sweatpants. “These need to go,” you said, tugging at the waistband.

He scrambled off the bed, practically tearing the sweatpants and his boxers off, then he stood before you, finally completely naked. He was thick, long, and perfectly erect, the tip already leaking with pre-cum, and he was breathing like he’d run a marathon, his entire body flushed pink with desire.

“I don’t—I don’t have a condom,” he said, panic creeping back into his eyes.

You leaned over, pulling open your nightstand drawer. You pulled out a strip of condoms. “I do.”

The relief on his face was palpable. “Thank fuck.” He took one from you, his hands shaking violently as he tried to tear the foil.

“Here,” you said softly, taking it from him. You tore it open and rolled the latex down his length, your touch firm and sure. He hissed, his eyes rolling back. “Fuck, your hands—”

You laid back, pulling him down with you. He settled between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your still-sensitive entrance. He looked into your eyes, his expression suddenly serious and vulnerable. “Are you sure about this? I—” he frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you or mess it up.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, cupping his face in your hands and drawing him closer until his forehead rested against yours. “Just breathe with me, Jake. Feel how wet I am for you? Yeah? It’s all ‘cause of you. C’mon, slide in slow, nice and easy—let your cock stretch me out.”

His dick twitched hard against your folds at your words, the thick shaft pulsing with anticipation, a bead of precum leaking from the tip and smearing along your slick skin.

He nodded, chewing his lip. Then, with a look of sheer determination, he pushed forward.

The stretch was exquisite. He was big, and you were still tight from your orgasm, but so wet for him. He sank into you inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours, his breath coming in ragged pants. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt, he let out a broken groan that sounded like it was torn from the center of his soul.

“Oh my god,” he choked out, whining. “You’re… it’s so—tight. And hot. I can’t even—mmf—I can’t even think.”

“Move, Jake,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Just move. However you need to.”

He pulled back almost all the way, then pushed back in, a slow, tentative stroke. Then another. And another. His rhythm was unsteady, searching, but every thrust hit you in just the right way.

“You feel so fucking good,” he babbled, his voice a wreck. “Better than anything I ever imagined. Fuck, I’m really gonna lose my mind.” He picked up the pace, and the bed began to creak softly in time with his thrusts. “Tell me—tell me what you like. When I’m inside you.”

“Harder,” you gasped, clawing at his back. “Angle up a little—hn—yeah! Right there, Jake, right there—”

He obeyed instantly, adjusting his hips, driving into that sweet spot with every deep, penetrating thrust. A guttural groan ripped from his throat. “There? That’s the spot? Fuck, you’re gripping me… you’re gonna make me come—hah—so fast already…”

“Not yet,” you pleaded, though you were hurtling toward your own orgasm. “Keep going. Just like that.”

He was sweating, muscles straining in his neck and arms, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold back. He was talking non-stop, a beautiful, filthy mess.

“Wanted this for so long—dreamed about how you’d feel, Y/N, you’re so perfect, taking me so deep—love your tits, I love your mouth, I love your fucking perfect pussy—”

You gasped, your nails digging into his back as you rocked your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Fuck—keep going, don’t stop talking. Tell me how it feels.”

His eyes locked onto yours, wide and desperate, a whimper escaping his lips as he pounded harder. “Feels so, so good, Y/N—your pussy’s so tight around me—fuck, I’m close, need to come so bad—”

“You’re doing so well,” you moaned, your voice husky with the building pressure. “Fuck me harder, show me.”

He nodded frantically, his thrusts erratic now, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. “Can’t hold it—’s too much, the way you squeeze my cock—please, Y/N—”

Your second orgasm tore through you, even more intense than the first. It started as a white-hot coil in your core, tightening unbearably with every slam of his hips against yours. Your walls fluttered wildly around his thick shaft, squeezing him in pulses that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. A sharp cry ripped from your throat as the pleasure exploded outward, making your thighs quake and your vision blur at the edges. Your pussy convulsed, gushing wetness that soaked his balls, every nerve ending firing in blissful overload. The sight and feel of you coming undone pushed him over the edge, his pleas turning into broken sobs. “Y/N—hngh, I’m gonna come—can I? Please—”

“Yeah—fuck—come for me,” you urged, your voice breathless.

He slammed into you one last time, shuddering violently as he emptied himself into the condom. His body went rigid, cock throbbing deep inside you with each spurt of hot cum, his hips jerking uncontrollably. Then he collapsed into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath panting against your skin.

You held him, your own body humming with satisfaction, your hands stroking the sweaty planes of his back. Both of you were completely spent, boneless. Eventually, he pushed himself up on shaky arms, looking down at you with dazed, blissed-out eyes. “That was…”

“Yeah,” you finished for him, smiling softly.

He carefully pulled out, disposing of the condom before collapsing back beside you on the bed, on his back. He stared at the ceiling. “I think my soul left my body.”

You laughed, turning onto your side to face him. You traced a finger over the ridges of his abdomen. “How do you feel?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Incredible. Exhausted. A little sore. Mostly, um.” he smiled wide. “Really happy.” Then he frowned slightly. “But was it—okay for you? I know I didn’t last that long.”

“Jake, you made me come twice. Once with your mouth. It was more than okay.” You leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “You were perfect, baby.”

He beamed, that proud grin returning. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close so your head rested on his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady under your ear. “Good. ‘Cause I wanna do it again. Like, after a nap. Maybe after some wings too. But definitely again.”

You snorted. “The wings are cold by now.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep. His fingers traced idle patterns on your bare arm. “You’re so warm. And you smell like me now. Mm. It’s so nice.”

His words were starting to slur. The adrenaline crash was pulling him under fast. You’d predicted this too, though, him turning into a sleepy, clingy koala.

“Go to sleep, Jakey,” you whispered.

“M’not tired,” he protested weakly, but his eyelids were already fluttering closed. His arm tightened around you. “Just don’t go, okay? Stay right here.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

for my cupcake i smirk + tag list : @ewstain @ickbite @s4eungie @heetaki

You were completely and utterly freaked-out. 

You were the kind of girl men had wet dreams of. Sexy, slim legs, cold eyes—the kind that could pierce right through you. Also not to mention your sex drive of a literal god. 

But you had your eyes set on one person. The Sim Jaeyun of Enhypen.

Most evenings, you’d find yourself twisted in your damp bedsheets, gasping Jake’s name as you scissored your fingers deep inside your cunt. 

He had you on your knees. You were down bad—desperate. It was honestly pathetic. You wondered what he’d think if he knew he had fans who ruined themselves to the thought of him. 

Oh– there’s a new angle of his fancam? You had already seen it. New merch? You already owned it. You needed him, and nothing was going to stop you from getting what you wanted.

So here you are, sitting in the crowd, at Enhypen’s 2026 fanmeet for their new album release. Your ears rang from how loud it was—fangirls screaming and yelling to get the boys attention, cameras flashing all over, and the faded bass from their track Big Girls Don’t Cry.

You’re not sure exactly how it happened—the announcement on Weverse had caught your attention one day and you decided to take a shot at the raffle. 

Your stomach erupted with butterflies and did a full 360 when you saw your name on the final list. Fuck. You were going to finally meet Jake. You loved all of Enhypen, but there was something about that Aussie charm that shot jolts of electricity right to your core.

An MC finally appeared on stage and announced the starting of the event. They explained that the boys would do a quick introduction, followed by some games, and then the actual fan sign process would start.

Girls around you giggle and whisper to one another, asking each other if their makeup looks nice. Some even look pale as a ghost—sick to the stomach with nervousness. I mean, who could blame them? They were about to meet the Enhypen. 

But you—you were confident. Ready. 

Ready to make yourself known to Jake Sim, the man who has you cumming all over your fingers each night. 

“Please remember, 2 minutes with each member—once your time is up please move on to the next chair. No touching the members, no giving them gifts, no reaching over the table…”

Blah blah blah.

The staff was always insanely strict at these events, but again, nothing was gonna stop you from getting what you wanted.

After waiting for around 30 minutes, you stepped onto the stage. It was your turn. 

First, you spoke to Heeseung.

He was hot as hell, you couldn’t lie. That perfect side profile, prominent nose and Adam's apple—it could make anyone melt on the spot.

Next was Jay, who was such a gentleman. Always so sweet. You talked about your shared love for F1 racing, and found it adorable how much he nerded out. One thing you noticed right away—his eyes darting back and forth to your exposed cleavage. You were straight up eye candy to these boys.

Finally… you reached Jake. Fuck, he looked so good today. His new brown curls framed his face perfectly. Your heart slammed against your chest in anticipation. This was your one and only chance to make a move on him. 

“Hello!” He was so cute.

You started off with small talk, leaning forward on the table, giving him a clear view of your tits squished together perfectly. 

Jake wasn’t oblivious to your tactics. He played along—eyed your lips for a couple seconds too long, and bit his lip every time you adjusted your shirt. You wore your most expensive perfume—one that smelled of bourbon and sweet cherries. You smelled like what sex felt like.

Jake found himself taking deeper breaths—inhaling your intoxicating scent. He wished he could spend more time with you. Little did he know he was about to have his wish granted. 

“I just love your new album so much, especially Sleep Tight, it really has me feeling some type of way.” You smirked, your eyes taking in all of his soft features.

His ears immediately turned pink—realizing that you were talking about his very own song, which was pretty much about getting a girl into his bed. Now, he was imagining that girl was you.

“T-thank you—really, I mean, that really means a lot to me.” His aussie accent thickened and his voice dropped lower. 

Time was ticking, and you needed to make a move fast. 

The staff motioned that your turn was over.

Without even thinking, you purposely dropped your pen you had brought for him to sign with. It fell underneath the table, just barely peeking out from the table cloth that draped to the floor. 

You quickly ducked down, pretending to grab the pen.

Jake, like the gentleman he is, was planning on helping you pick it up.

“Oops, let me grab that for ya,” He leaned down, but was only met by your face underneath the table.

Jake gulped, shooting straight back up in his chair, looking around frantically for staff who may be standing nearby.

It was the perfect moment for you to duck underneath the table. Staff was busy yelling at the line of people waiting, music was loud, fans were screaming—no one was paying attention.

You crawled quickly, making sure the tablecloth fully covered you. And it did. 

You were about to play the most dangerous game of your life. 

You peeked out just enough through the curtain of the tablecloth to see that the next fan had taken their seat, ready to talk to Jake—who was currently in a state of panic.

Giggling to yourself, you scooched over to his knees, bracing your hands onto his thighs. You felt him jump.

Jake could feel his cock twitching in his pants—his hottest fan was now at his knees, and he could only imagine what you were about to do next.

As slow as you could—you took one hand and reached for his belt. Your pace was like molasses—painfully unhurried. On one hand, you didn’t want to get caught. On the other, you wanted to tease the shit out of him. 

You unlooped the belt, setting it beside you. Jake stuttered while talking to the fan, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious.

“Oh my goodness Jake! You’re my bias!” The fan chirped and bounced in her seat.

“It-it’s so nice to m-meet you..!” Cute. Jake was now obviously very flustered. Maybe the fan thought she was doing that to him. But really, it was you, and your dainty fingers that started unzipping the fly of his jeans. 

You slid your hand in just far enough to reach for his cock—which to your surprise was exactly how you had imagined it. Big. Hard. Twitching in his boxers. You palmed him ever so slightly, causing him to flinch as if someone had just pinched him. He bit his lip so hard he could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. 

It was dark under the table—you could barely see what you were doing. But you slid your hands further into his pants, finding the small hole in the center of his boxers. You pulled him out slowly—he was so warm and thick in your hands.

You could only stare at his length in awe—your mouth watering. You couldn’t wait to gag and slobber all over it. 

“Could you sign this shirt for me Jake?” A different fan was now sitting at the chair.

“Y-yeah, of course!” Jake hissed, gritting his teeth hard. He could feel your warm hand start to wrap around the base of him. 

As he grabbed the fan's shirt to sign it, you slowly started pumping him. Your hand traveled up and down firmly over his cock, which was already wet from the leaking precum. He scribbled a messy autograph onto the shirt—he gripped the pen so hard, trying to keep himself from losing control and drawing all over the place. 

Your pace quickened, your wrists twisting to get the perfect coverage around him. He couldn’t help but bite his lips as you increased speed. 

“Ngh–” He whimpered.

 Out. Loud.

His eyes went wide—people definitely just heard him.

Sunghoon chuckled next to him, “Yo dude—you good?” 

Jake nodded, and explained he had an upset stomach. Yeah right. 

The girl talking to Jake started giggling with the girl talking to Sunghoon. Meanwhile, Jake’s face was tomato red. His cheeks were on fire. 

His breathing quickened and caught Jay’s attention. 

“Damn, you must have a really bad stomach ache!” 

The surrounding fans and crowd laughed hysterically. It was public humiliation. Maybe that was your new kink. Jake swallowed, forced a chuckle, and continued signing things.

You decided to push the teasing further, bringing his tip to your lips. You gave it small kisses and kitten licks, letting the salty precum dribble onto your tongue. His thighs clenched, and he reached one hand down to your head, pulling on your hair with a steel grip. Finally, you took him all the way into your mouth. God, your mouth felt so full of him. You wasted no time bobbing your head furiously up and down his cock. He shifted restlessly in his seat. 

You made loud slurping and gagging noises as he prodded the back of your throat with his tip. He was afraid someone was going to hear you sooner than later. 

Drool collected at the sides of your mouth as you continued to hollow your cheeks on him. You were being messy and loud—which turned Jake on so much. The thrill of being caught made both of you feel like your skin was on fire. 

You could feel his release nearing as his cock twitched and throbbed in your mouth. His hips began bucking into your face, your nose hitting his pubic bone. Each thrust made you gag around his length. 

Your panties grew tighter around your folds. You were so slick between your thighs… Oh how Jake would love to be in between them right now. 

“Hi Jake!” A new fan was now sitting down.

“Do you miss Australia? How’s Layla? Have you eaten today? If you had a girlfriend what would…” The sounds of the fan’s questions drowned out as you continued to suck him.

All you could hear was the wet gargles and gags that came from your throat, which was being abused by his thick cock. 

Jake was close. He stuttered while answering questions, and cursed in between sentences.

“I uh—Fuck! I–uhm, yeah, I miss Australia—”

At this point, the fan was weirded out. Here was ‘confident and sexy’ Jake absolutely falling apart in his chair, acting like a complete weirdo. He got suspicious looks from other members as he continued to choke over small whimpers.

Then suddenly, with a groan, his eyes began to roll back into his head. His cock gave one last final twitch—then spurted out hot seed into your throat.

You gagged slightly, making a mess on the floor. Drool and cum dripped from the sides of your mouth. Jake’s cock was still down your throat—you bobbed your head furiously, making sure every last drip of cum was milked from him.  

Once he finished riding out his pleasure, it became apparent to him how much of a mess he had become. He slouched in his chair, his hair messy, sweat beading at his forehead, and his cheeks burning. He was panting like a dog.

You swallowed his cum with a gulp, letting the salty and musky taste wash over your palette. 

Mission fucking accomplished. 

Jake knew he had to get your number, or something. He pushed your head back under the table, motioning for you to stay until the fan sign was over. As long as he could have those pretty lips wrapped around his dick again, he was a happy man. 

Jake Sim was wrecked for you.

The first week he “casually” pulled up baby videos on his phone while you were curled against him on the couch. “Look at this one,” he’d murmur, voice soft and warm, thumb hovering over the screen. A chubby-cheeked six-month-old giggling at a puppy, fat little hands clapping. “God, that laugh. Imagine hearing that every day.” He’d glance at you sideways, watching your face soften, the way your lips curved without you realizing. He’d let the video loop once more before scrolling, never pushing, just… leaving the image there.

Next came the shopping trips. He’d steer you towards baby sections in every store and pause like it was an accident. “Aw, babe, look at these,” he’d say, lifting a minuscule pair of striped overalls, holding them up with two fingers like they were made of glass. “Can you imagine a little person in these? Tiny legs kicking.” He’d grin, boyish and innocent, but his eyes would flick to yours, cataloging every flicker of fondness, every quiet “they’re so cute” that slipped out of your mouth. Each time you agreed, even softly, he felt a spark of victory. Progress.

And the real jackpot: actual babies in the wild.

Every time you passed a mom with a stroller or a carrier, Jake would slow down, eyes lighting up like he’d spotted treasure. He’d coo—actually coo—low and delighted. “Hi, little man,” he’d murmur to a wide-eyed infant strapped to its mother’s chest at the park, waving his fingers in that exaggerated way adults do when they forget how ridiculous they look. The mom would smile, proud, and Jake would turn to you with the softest expression. If the baby gurgled or grabbed at his finger, he’d melt dramatically, clutching his heart. “I’m done for. Dead. You’re gonna have to carry me home.”

You’d laugh, swat his arm, but he noticed—you always lingered a second longer too. You’d smile at the same babies, sometimes reach out to wiggle a little socked foot, murmur “so tiny” under your breath. Every shared glance, every time your eyes met over a drooling, gummy grin, he felt the plan clicking into place.

He was patient. Methodical. Every cute baby video was saved to a private playlist titled “Random lol,” it was all ammunition, all breadcrumbs leading you gently toward the same future he saw so clearly.

And when you started pointing things out first—when you grabbed his sleeve outside a store window and whispered, “Look at that little hat, it’s ridiculous,” or when you smiled at a toddler waving from a high chair and said, “God, they’re so cute at that age”—Jake had to fight not to rub his hands together like a cartoon villain.

Oh, he was cackling on the inside. Pure, evil glee. The seeds were sprouting. You were softening. 

Jake kept scheming, oh, he schemed like a mastermind in a rom-com thriller, but he kept it playful, light-hearted, never letting the intensity bleed through to scare you off—always that boyish grin, that sparkle in his eyes like it was all just fun and games, even as his heart hammered with the weight of what he was building toward. He'd ramp up the baby talk in the subtlest ways, turning grocery runs into opportunities by "accidentally" lingering in the family aisle, picking up a pack of tiny fruit pouches and waggling them at you with a mock-serious face. "Babe, these are for kids, but honestly? I could smash like three right now." He'd laugh it off when you'd roll your eyes, but he'd catch the way your gaze softened, and inside he'd fist-pump, another point scored in his quiet campaign. Walks in the park became prime time for his antics; he'd spot a family picnicking and nudge you gently, whispering, "Look at that dad chasing his kid—total goals, right? I'd be the fastest tag player ever." Playful, always playful, with a wink and a squeeze of your hand to keep it from feeling like pressure.

But then came the day you showed him a baby video first—god, that moment hit him like a freight train, straight to the gut and lower, leaving him breathless and half-hard in an instant. You were lounging on the bed one lazy Sunday afternoon, phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok while he pretended to read a book beside you, his mind already wandering to the next subtle push. Out of nowhere, you turned the screen toward him, eyes bright with amusement. "Jake, oh my god, look at this little nugget trying to dance—it's ridiculous how cute they are." The video was simple: a pudgy baby no older than eight months, wobbling on chubby legs in a living room, tiny hips swaying to some upbeat kids' song, arms flailing wildly with pure, unfiltered joy, that infectious belly laugh bubbling out every few seconds. 

You giggled along with it, replaying the clip once it ended, murmuring, "The way they just... light up. It's adorable." Jake stared, frozen for a split second, his book forgotten as a rush of heat flooded him—not just warmth in his chest, but a deep, throbbing ache in his cock, twitching against his thigh like the fantasy had leaped off the screen and into his veins. He could see it overlaying the video: you holding your own baby like that, the one with his smile and your eyes, dancing in your shared kitchen while he filmed, your laughter mixing with theirs. His throat went dry, palms suddenly clammy as he shifted subtly under the sheets to hide the growing bulge, forcing a casual laugh that came out a little too husky. "Yeah... yeah, that's killer cute.." He leaned in to kiss your temple, playing it cool, but inside? Fuck, it almost made him cum right there, untouched, the sheer thrill of you initiating it—of you seeking out that cuteness and sharing it with him—sending his mind spiraling into overdrive, his heart pounding with triumphant glee. This was it; the seeds weren't just sprouting, they were blooming, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from grinning like a maniac.

After that pivotal moment, Jake knew it was time for the next step—the real escalation, subtle but irreversible. He stopped buying condoms. No dramatic declaration, no suspicious trips to the trash; he just... let the storage empty out naturally, like an oversight born of busy schedules and forgetfulness rather than intent. The box in the nightstand drawer dwindled slowly at first—one used here after a heated makeout session on the couch, another there during a steamy shower where he whispered how perfect you felt around him—each time noting the count with a secret thrill, his scheming mind calculating the timeline. He'd "forget" to restock during grocery runs, casually mentioning offhand, "Oh shoot, we're low—I'll grab some next time," but then conveniently letting it slip his mind amid distractions like picking out your favorite snacks or debating ice cream flavors. 

He imagined the night when the drawer would finally be empty, the moment he'd "realize" it mid-kiss, his voice low and rough against your ear: "Babe... we're out. But fuck, I need you—can we...?" And in his fantasies, you'd nod, breathless and wanting, pulling him closer without a second thought, letting him slide in bare for the first time, skin to skin, no holding back.

He did so good—played the long game like a master, patient and playful and impossibly sweet on the surface while the scheming simmered underneath, quietly letting those last few condoms disappear one by one.

He counted them in secret. Just a quick glance every time the drawer opened. Five became four. Four became three. Three became two. Two became one. And then, on a quiet Thursday evening, the box was finally, gloriously empty.

Excellent.

The cardboard was light when he lifted it, the foil packets gone, nothing left but the faint crinkle of discarded wrappers from weeks ago. Jake stared at it for a long second, heart kicking hard against his ribs, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. No more barriers. No more excuses. Just you, him, and the raw, skin-to-skin heat he’d been fantasizing about for months.

It didn’t take long for him to hunt you down.

You were in the kitchen, completely innocent, humming softly under your breath as you stood at the counter in one of his oversized hoodies and tiny sleep shorts, hair tied up in a messy bun, chopping vegetables for a simple salad. The knife moved in neat, practiced slices—cucumber, cherry tomatoes, red onion—Layla snoozing in her bed by the window, the whole scene domestic and warm and so perfectly you that it made his chest ache even as his cock throbbed with anticipation.

He stepped into the doorway quietly, barefoot, still in his gray sweatpants and black tee, hair damp from the quick shower he’d taken earlier just to calm himself down. You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on the cutting board, but the second you sensed him you glanced over your shoulder with that soft, easy smile that always undid him.

“Hey, babe,” you said brightly, knife pausing mid-slice. “You want olives in the salad? I was thinking feta too, maybe some lemon dressing—”

He didn’t answer.

In three long strides he closed the distance, hands finding your hips, spinning you so fast the knife clattered onto the counter. Before you could even gasp his name he had you lifted—effortless—setting you on the cool granite with a gentle but firm thud. Your legs parted instinctively around his waist; his palms sliding up the outsides of your thighs.

“Jake—?” Your voice was half-laugh, half-breathless surprise, hands flying to his shoulders for balance.

He didn’t speak. Just dropped to his knees right there on the kitchen floor, dragged your shorts and panties down in one rough tug until they caught on your ankles, then hooked your legs over his broad shoulders. The hoodie rode up, exposing your stomach, and he pressed a single, burning kiss to the soft skin just below your navel before diving in.

No teasing tonight. No slow buildup.

He buried his face between your thighs like a man starved, tongue flattening against your clit in one long, greedy drag that had you jolting against the counter with a sharp cry. His hands gripped the undersides of your thighs, holding you open, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks as he feasted.

He ate you like he was trying to consume you whole—lips sealing around your clit, sucking hard, then releasing with a wet pop only to lap at you in broad, relentless strokes, tasting every inch, every drop of slick that coated his tongue. His nose nudged against your folds as he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow, deep thrusts before pulling back to circle your clit again, faster now, flicking in tight little patterns that made your hips buck helplessly against his mouth.

“Fuck—Jake!” Your hands flew to his hair, fingers threading through the damp strands, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

He moaned louder in response, shameless, filthy sounds muffled against your pussy—wet slurps, hungry hums, the occasional ragged “so fucking good” breathed into your skin like a prayer. He didn’t let up until you came—hard, sudden, thighs clamping around his ears as your whole body seized and shuddered, pulsing hot and wet against his tongue. Slick flooded his mouth in a rush; he drank you down greedily, humming low and filthy in his throat like the taste of your release was the only thing keeping him alive. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open through every tremor, every broken cry that spilled from your lips, until the waves finally ebbed and left you boneless against the cold granite.

Only then did he pull back—just enough to rest his forehead against the trembling skin of your inner thigh, chest heaving, lips swollen and glistening red with you. He looked up through damp lashes, licking his lips deliberately, savoring the last traces of you.

“You taste even better when you’re this worked up.” He rasped, voice wrecked and thick. 

Before you could catch your breath or form a coherent answer, he was rising—strong hands sliding under your ass, lifting you off the counter in one smooth motion. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist; the hoodie bunched up around your hips, shorts and panties still tangled around one ankle as he carried you out of the kitchen. The cutting board, half-chopped vegetables, knife abandoned mid-slice—everything forgotten. Salad? What salad?

You both giggled breathlessly into each other’s mouths as he walked, clumsy and urgent, bumping into the hallway wall once because neither of you could stop kissing long enough to watch where you were going. 

By the time you reached the bedroom, the giggles had dissolved into soft, needy whimpers. He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, then turned and lowered you onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, like he was handling something precious even as his body screamed with impatience.

You sank into the soft sheets; he followed immediately, climbing over you, knees bracketing your hips, caging you beneath his broad frame. His mouth found yours again—slower this time, deeper, tongues sliding together in lazy strokes while his hands slid up under the hem of the oversized hoodie.

He pushed the fabric higher, bunching it just under your chin, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. Your nipples were already peaked, sensitive from earlier teasing, and the second the hoodie cleared them he broke the kiss to look down—really look—like he was seeing you for the first time.

“Oh… look at you,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, almost awed. His palms covered your breasts completely, warm and rough from calluses, thumbs brushing slow circles over the tight buds. “So pretty...”

He kneaded gently at first, squeezing the soft weight of your breasts in his big hands like he was trying to memorize every curve under his palms. He watched, mesmerized, as your skin spilled between his spread fingers, the way the mounds overflowed just slightly when he pressed harder—perfect, heavy, made for his grip. 

He leaned down and captured one peaked nipple between his lips, sucking slow, hollowing his cheeks so the suction pulled tight and steady. His tongue swirled lazy, filthy circles around the tight bud before flattening to drag over it in long, wet strokes until it throbbed under his mouth. 

All the while his hips rocked down in slow, grinding rolls—his cock still trapped in the soft gray sweatpants, thick and leaking, dragging the damp fabric against your bare, slick folds with every forward motion. The friction was maddening: hot, insistent pressure sliding over your clit on every upstroke, the head nudging right where you ached most without ever pushing inside. He was humping you like a desperate teenager, rutting against your pussy with shameless, needy thrusts, the wet spot on his pants growing bigger with every pass.

You were writhing beneath him, hips bucking up to chase the pressure, thighs trembling, hands fisting the sheets and then his hair, tugging hard enough to make him moan louder into your chest.

“Jake—oh god… what’s gotten into you?” you managed breathlessly, voice high and shaky, half-laugh half-whine as another sharp tug on your nipple sent sparks down your spine. “You’re—you’re insane tonight—”

His only answer was a moan—long and broken—vibrating straight through the swollen peak still trapped between his lips. He didn’t pull away, didn’t explain, just kept his mouth busy.

You were shaking, thighs trembling around his waist, hips bucking up to chase more friction even as your mind spun. The pressure built unbearably fast— too much of him everywhere—and before you could stop yourself the words tumbled out in a wrecked plea.

“Jake—please! Fuck me.. need you inside—”

The second the words left your mouth he disconnected with a wet pop, leaving your tits a glistening, swollen mess: nipples dark red and glistening, covered in his spit, faint bite marks blooming around the areolas, strings of drool clinging from his chin to your skin like obscene spiderwebs. He reared back on his knees, chest heaving, lips puffy and shiny, eyes glassy and wild as they locked onto yours.

“Drawer’s empty, baby,” he rasped, voice thick and trembling. “No more condoms. We’re out.”

You blinked, brain struggling to catch up through the haze of arousal. “How—? Huh? Didn’t you buy new ones when you—”

Your question died in your throat.

Because Jake had already snuck his sweatpants down just enough, waistband shoved below his hips, and now his bare cock was free: thick, flushed dark at the tip, veins standing out, already leaking a steady bead of precum that dripped onto your folds as he guided the shaft down. He glided it slowly along your slit, bumping over your clit on every pass, coating himself in your arousal until the length of him shone with both of you.

Panic flared sharp and sudden. “Jake! Wait—no, we can’t—” You reached to push at his chest, but he was faster—grabbing both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the pillow. His other hand braced beside your hip, as he leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged against your lips.

“Please,” he whimpered—actually whimpered—voice cracking. “Please let me go in raw—just once—just feel you… fuck, baby, I need it so bad—need to feel you tight and hot around me with nothing in the way—need to fill you up, need to come so deep inside you…”

His hips rocked forward again, the head of his cock catching at your entrance, nudging just inside before pulling back, teasing, torturing. Precum mixed with your slick in thick, sticky ropes that stretched between you every time he pulled away, obscene little strings connecting his tip to your folds.

You tried. God, you tried to cling to responsibility. “Jake—it’s not safe—we can’t just—”

“But we’re clean,” he cut in frantically, words sloppy, “Both of us.. tested last month, remember? No STDs, no worries—just you and me—please, mama, I need to see you full of me—need to watch it drip out after.. need to know I marked you inside—”

Mama.

The word hit like a shockwave.

Your eyes widened, breath catching as pieces snapped together—the baby videos he kept showing you, the cooing at every toddler in the park, the way he’d trace circles on your stomach at night, the condoms mysteriously running out, the sudden obsession with your tits like he could already picture them leaking…

“Jake…” you whispered through your own whines, voice trembling as his cock kept gliding. “Is this… is this because you want to make me pregnant?”

His whole body jerked like you’d struck him.

For a heartbeat he froze—eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown—then the dam broke.

“Yes—fuck—yes,” he babbled, words tumbling out in a frantic rush, hips still rocking helplessly against you. “Wanted it so bad—been thinking about it every day.. about putting a baby in you, making you swell up so pretty, your belly round with our kid—our kids—twins, triplets, whatever you want—fuck, mama, I wanna make you a mom, wanna make me a dad, wanna see you glow, wanna feel the kicks, wanna watch you feed our baby with these perfect tits—please—please let me, let me come inside, let me breed you, fill you up until it takes—please, baby—please, mama—I’ll take care of you, both of you… I swear—please—”

He was shaking now, cock throbbing against your entrance, head nudging just inside again and again without pushing deeper, waiting, begging, as tears of pure desperation welled in the corners of his eyes.

“Say yes,” he pleaded, voice wrecked and small. “Please—just say yes and I’ll give you everything, everything I’ve been dreaming about—please, mama…”

You kept quiet.

Not because you didn’t have words, but because the sight of him like this stole every coherent thought you had.

Jake was shaking—full-body tremors that made the mattress dip and creak beneath you both. His arms braced on either side of your head trembled, biceps flexing and releasing in erratic pulses; sweat beaded along his hairline, trickling down the side of his flushed face. His cock throbbed hot against your entrance, the blunt head nudging just inside your slick folds again and again in tiny, helpless little thrusts that never went deeper, like he was physically incapable of pushing without your permission. 

Tears—actual tears—gathered at the corners of his eyes, not falling yet but shimmering there, making his lashes clump together. His eyes glassy and unfocused, locked on yours like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. His bottom lip quivered; drool slipped from the corner of his mouth in an obscene trail that he didn’t even try to wipe away.

“Need to—fuck.. need to come inside you—deep—wanna feel you clench when I do, wanna—wanna flood you, make it stay, make it take—please—been thinking about it so long, your belly getting round, our baby kicking, me feeling it, kissing your bump every morning—fuck—wanna see you waddle, wanna carry you when your feet hurt—wanna—wanna watch you push, hold our kid right after, see them look like you—like me—fuck—twins maybe—god—twins would be perfect, two little ones, your eyes, my smile—please—mama—please—let me—let me breed you, fill you up, give you my cum, give you everything, make you a mom, make me a dad—please—please—I’ll be so good.. promise! Promise I’ll take care of you—both of you—fuck—can’t think straight—need it… need you, need to come in you—please—just say—say yes—mama—pleeeeease—”

His voice cracked on every other word, rising and falling in uneven pitches. Sometimes the sentences dissolved completely into whimpers—high, broken little sounds that vibrated against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, inhaling you like a lifeline, then pulling back to look at you again with those pleading eyes.

“Gonna—gonna be the best dad, read bedtime stories, do the voices, teach them soccer, carry them on my shoulders—fuck—wanna see you nurse, wanna taste you after.. wanna—wanna put more in you, keep you pregnant, keep you full, house full of kids—laughing—running—Layla chasing them—please—please—I’m dying—can’t—can’t hold it—feels too good—just the tip.. Fuck.. just a little deeper.. please—mama—mama—I love you—love you so much, wanna make a family—our family—please—” The last syllable cracked like thin ice. His babbling didn’t stop because he’d run out of things to say; it stopped because your silence had finally sunk in, heavy and cold, wrapping around his ribs until he couldn’t pull in a full breath.

The tears that had been trembling on his lashes gave up. Two thick drops fell at once, carving bright, glistening tracks down the flushed, sweat-slick planes of his cheeks. 

His whole body sagged.

Shoulders rounded forward, curling in like he was trying to protect the raw, bleeding thing inside his chest. His arms—still braced on either side of your head—started to shake harder, muscles quivering with the effort of holding himself up when all he wanted was to collapse. His cock was still throbbing helplessly against your entrance, still leaking, still nudging in those tiny, little rocks forward like it refused to accept defeat even when the rest of him was crumbling. 

He leaned down slowly until his forehead rested against yours. His breaths came in shallow, uneven pants that ghosted hot and damp across your lips. His eyes fluttered shut for one long second; wet lashes brushed your skin like butterfly wings. When they opened again they were red-rimmed, shining, utterly resigned.

He thought this was it.

He thought your silence was the gentlest way you could say no.

A soft, shattered whimper slipped out of him—barely a sound, more air than voice—as he started to pull back. Just a fraction. Just enough to give you space. Ready to roll off you, to press clumsy, apologetic kisses to your shoulder, to whisper “I’m sorry, I got carried away, we can stop, I’ll never bring it up again—” and pretend the ache in his chest wasn’t splitting him open.

But then your hands moved.

Gentle. Certain. Palms cupping both sides of his tear-streaked face, thumbs sweeping under his eyes to catch the fresh drops that kept falling. Your fingers slid into the damp strands at his temples, holding him steady, refusing to let him retreat.

You lifted his head until his gaze locked with yours.

It was the kind of eye contact that stripped everything else away until there was only this: you, him, the trembling space between your mouths.

He froze. 

Chest still heaving. Cock still twitching against your soaked folds. But the rest of him went statue-still.

“Put a baby in me, Jake.”

The words didn’t just land.

They detonated.

For one stunned, suspended second—nothing. Just wide eyes, parted lips and tears, a sharp, painful-sounding inhale that rattled in his throat like he’d forgotten how lungs worked.

Then a fresh wave of tears spilled—not from despair this time, but from something so bright and sharp and overwhelming it felt like joy might actually tear him apart. A shaky, disbelieving laugh punched out of his chest—half sob, half broken wonder—raw and ugly and beautiful.

And then he snapped.

Not gentle. Not careful.

Feral.

A guttural sound tore from his throat as he surged forward and crashed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. Teeth clacked, tongues tangled immediately, wet and sloppy and frantic. His hands flew from the mattress to your hips, fingers digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow—perfect crescent moons he’d trace later with apologies and filthy pride.

He lined himself up with one trembling hand—thick head catching at your entrance, already slick with both of you—and then he thrusted.

One long, deep, relentless slide.

Bare.

Hot.

Unforgiving.

He sank in to the hilt in a single, shuddering motion, groaning so loud it vibrated through your entire body. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him immediately—no latex, no barrier, just the raw velvet drag of skin on skin, every ridge and vein and pulsing heat of him filling you completely for the first time.

“Fuck.. mama—oh god—” His voice was shredded— barely holding together—as he pulled back halfway, letting you feel every thick inch dragging out of you with torturous friction. The drag was obscene: slick walls clinging to him, trying to keep him inside, only for him to slam back in with brutal force. His hips snapped forward so hard the headboard thudded against the wall, shoving your body higher up the mattress in one rough jolt. The wet, filthy slap of skin on skin rang out louder than anything else in the room—sharp, rhythmic, echoing like a drumbeat that matched the frantic pounding of your hearts.

He fucked you like a man possessed—like every single fantasy he’d ever choked back, every late-night spiral, every stolen glance at your stomach while you slept, had finally been unshackled and set loose inside him.

On each inward thrust he ground down, the thick base of his cock pressing hard against your clit, grinding in tight circles that forced sharp, broken cries from your throat. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails he’d feel for days; your legs locked tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to pull him deeper, like you couldn’t get enough even as he gave you everything.

“My mama—gonna be so pretty… gonna be so full—gonna look so good carrying my baby—our baby—fuck—”

His thrusts grew more erratic—deep slams that knocked the breath out of you, hips rolling hard on every inward stroke so the base of his cock dragged relentlessly over your clit. The wet, obscene squelch of him moving inside you filled the room, louder than his ragged breathing, louder than your own whimpers. His whole body shook with how close he was, muscles locked and trembling as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“Please let me come inside—please, mama—need to.. need to fill you—need to come so deep—please—let me breed you, let me make it real...”

His hips stuttered, thrusts turning shallow and frantic, cock throbbing thicker inside you, pulsing against your walls like it had its own heartbeat.

You gasped—back arching hard off the mattress, thighs clamping tighter around him as the coil in your belly wound impossibly tighter. 

“Come inside me,” you begged, voice high and trembling, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. “Jake—please—come inside, put a baby in me—please—”

The words barely left your mouth before he shattered.

A broken cry tore from his throat as his hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt. He came violently, cock pulsing thick and hot inside you, flooding you with rope after rope of cum. His whole body jerked with every spurt, hips grinding deep in tiny circles like he wanted to push it even further, making sure every drop stayed where it belonged. The heat of his release spilled deep, warm and endless, coating your walls, filling you so full you could feel the excess starting to leak out around him even as he stayed buried inside.

You came right after him—hard and sudden—walls fluttering and clenching around his throbbing length. Your vision whited out for a second; a broken, keening moan ripped from your throat, thighs shaking, toes curling.

He collapsed over you—still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside—forehead pressed to your shoulder, chest heaving against yours. His arms wrapped around you tight, crushing you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“Thank you,” he whispered—over and over—voice hoarse and trembling. “Thank you—thank you—mama.. thank you—”

He lifted his head just enough to find your mouth, pressing slow pecks against your lips. One after another: corner of your mouth, your bottom lip, the bow of your upper lip, your cheek, your temple. 

“Thank you,” he breathed again, lips brushing yours between every word. “Thank you for saying yes—thank you for letting me.”

You could only lie there beneath him, feeling the slow, warm drip of him leaking out of you where he stayed half-hard and buried deep. Your chest rose and fell in sync with his; your fingers stroked lazy circles through the sweat on his back while he kept pressing those soft, endless pecks to your skin.

He didn’t pull out.

He didn’t want to.

And neither did you.

He just stayed there—inside you, over you, around you—whispering thank yous into your hair like a prayer, like he’d finally found everything he’d ever been searching for.

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You were completely and utterly freaked-out. 

You were the kind of girl men had wet dreams of. Sexy, slim legs, cold eyes—the kind that could pierce right through you. Also not to mention your sex drive of a literal god. 

But you had your eyes set on one person. The Sim Jaeyun of Enhypen.

Most evenings, you’d find yourself twisted in your damp bedsheets, gasping Jake’s name as you scissored your fingers deep inside your cunt. 

He had you on your knees. You were down bad—desperate. It was honestly pathetic. You wondered what he’d think if he knew he had fans who ruined themselves to the thought of him. 

Oh– there’s a new angle of his fancam? You had already seen it. New merch? You already owned it. You needed him, and nothing was going to stop you from getting what you wanted.

So here you are, sitting in the crowd, at Enhypen’s 2026 fanmeet for their new album release. Your ears rang from how loud it was—fangirls screaming and yelling to get the boys attention, cameras flashing all over, and the faded bass from their track Big Girls Don’t Cry.

You’re not sure exactly how it happened—the announcement on Weverse had caught your attention one day and you decided to take a shot at the raffle. 

Your stomach erupted with butterflies and did a full 360 when you saw your name on the final list. Fuck. You were going to finally meet Jake. You loved all of Enhypen, but there was something about that Aussie charm that shot jolts of electricity right to your core.

An MC finally appeared on stage and announced the starting of the event. They explained that the boys would do a quick introduction, followed by some games, and then the actual fan sign process would start.

Girls around you giggle and whisper to one another, asking each other if their makeup looks nice. Some even look pale as a ghost—sick to the stomach with nervousness. I mean, who could blame them? They were about to meet the Enhypen. 

But you—you were confident. Ready. 

Ready to make yourself known to Jake Sim, the man who has you cumming all over your fingers each night. 

“Please remember, 2 minutes with each member—once your time is up please move on to the next chair. No touching the members, no giving them gifts, no reaching over the table…”

Blah blah blah.

The staff was always insanely strict at these events, but again, nothing was gonna stop you from getting what you wanted.

After waiting for around 30 minutes, you stepped onto the stage. It was your turn. 

First, you spoke to Heeseung.

He was hot as hell, you couldn’t lie. That perfect side profile, prominent nose and Adam's apple—it could make anyone melt on the spot.

Next was Jay, who was such a gentleman. Always so sweet. You talked about your shared love for F1 racing, and found it adorable how much he nerded out. One thing you noticed right away—his eyes darting back and forth to your exposed cleavage. You were straight up eye candy to these boys.

Finally… you reached Jake. Fuck, he looked so good today. His new brown curls framed his face perfectly. Your heart slammed against your chest in anticipation. This was your one and only chance to make a move on him. 

“Hello!” He was so cute.

You started off with small talk, leaning forward on the table, giving him a clear view of your tits squished together perfectly. 

Jake wasn’t oblivious to your tactics. He played along—eyed your lips for a couple seconds too long, and bit his lip every time you adjusted your shirt. You wore your most expensive perfume—one that smelled of bourbon and sweet cherries. You smelled like what sex felt like.

Jake found himself taking deeper breaths—inhaling your intoxicating scent. He wished he could spend more time with you. Little did he know he was about to have his wish granted. 

“I just love your new album so much, especially Sleep Tight, it really has me feeling some type of way.” You smirked, your eyes taking in all of his soft features.

His ears immediately turned pink—realizing that you were talking about his very own song, which was pretty much about getting a girl into his bed. Now, he was imagining that girl was you.

“T-thank you—really, I mean, that really means a lot to me.” His aussie accent thickened and his voice dropped lower. 

Time was ticking, and you needed to make a move fast. 

The staff motioned that your turn was over.

Without even thinking, you purposely dropped your pen you had brought for him to sign with. It fell underneath the table, just barely peeking out from the table cloth that draped to the floor. 

You quickly ducked down, pretending to grab the pen.

Jake, like the gentleman he is, was planning on helping you pick it up.

“Oops, let me grab that for ya,” He leaned down, but was only met by your face underneath the table.

Jake gulped, shooting straight back up in his chair, looking around frantically for staff who may be standing nearby.

It was the perfect moment for you to duck underneath the table. Staff was busy yelling at the line of people waiting, music was loud, fans were screaming—no one was paying attention.

You crawled quickly, making sure the tablecloth fully covered you. And it did. 

You were about to play the most dangerous game of your life. 

You peeked out just enough through the curtain of the tablecloth to see that the next fan had taken their seat, ready to talk to Jake—who was currently in a state of panic.

Giggling to yourself, you scooched over to his knees, bracing your hands onto his thighs. You felt him jump.

Jake could feel his cock twitching in his pants—his hottest fan was now at his knees, and he could only imagine what you were about to do next.

As slow as you could—you took one hand and reached for his belt. Your pace was like molasses—painfully unhurried. On one hand, you didn’t want to get caught. On the other, you wanted to tease the shit out of him. 

You unlooped the belt, setting it beside you. Jake stuttered while talking to the fan, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious.

“Oh my goodness Jake! You’re my bias!” The fan chirped and bounced in her seat.

“It-it’s so nice to m-meet you..!” Cute. Jake was now obviously very flustered. Maybe the fan thought she was doing that to him. But really, it was you, and your dainty fingers that started unzipping the fly of his jeans. 

You slid your hand in just far enough to reach for his cock—which to your surprise was exactly how you had imagined it. Big. Hard. Twitching in his boxers. You palmed him ever so slightly, causing him to flinch as if someone had just pinched him. He bit his lip so hard he could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. 

It was dark under the table—you could barely see what you were doing. But you slid your hands further into his pants, finding the small hole in the center of his boxers. You pulled him out slowly—he was so warm and thick in your hands.

You could only stare at his length in awe—your mouth watering. You couldn’t wait to gag and slobber all over it. 

“Could you sign this shirt for me Jake?” A different fan was now sitting at the chair.

“Y-yeah, of course!” Jake hissed, gritting his teeth hard. He could feel your warm hand start to wrap around the base of him. 

As he grabbed the fan's shirt to sign it, you slowly started pumping him. Your hand traveled up and down firmly over his cock, which was already wet from the leaking precum. He scribbled a messy autograph onto the shirt—he gripped the pen so hard, trying to keep himself from losing control and drawing all over the place. 

Your pace quickened, your wrists twisting to get the perfect coverage around him. He couldn’t help but bite his lips as you increased speed. 

“Ngh–” He whimpered.

 Out. Loud.

His eyes went wide—people definitely just heard him.

Sunghoon chuckled next to him, “Yo dude—you good?” 

Jake nodded, and explained he had an upset stomach. Yeah right. 

The girl talking to Jake started giggling with the girl talking to Sunghoon. Meanwhile, Jake’s face was tomato red. His cheeks were on fire. 

His breathing quickened and caught Jay’s attention. 

“Damn, you must have a really bad stomach ache!” 

The surrounding fans and crowd laughed hysterically. It was public humiliation. Maybe that was your new kink. Jake swallowed, forced a chuckle, and continued signing things.

You decided to push the teasing further, bringing his tip to your lips. You gave it small kisses and kitten licks, letting the salty precum dribble onto your tongue. His thighs clenched, and he reached one hand down to your head, pulling on your hair with a steel grip. Finally, you took him all the way into your mouth. God, your mouth felt so full of him. You wasted no time bobbing your head furiously up and down his cock. He shifted restlessly in his seat. 

You made loud slurping and gagging noises as he prodded the back of your throat with his tip. He was afraid someone was going to hear you sooner than later. 

Drool collected at the sides of your mouth as you continued to hollow your cheeks on him. You were being messy and loud—which turned Jake on so much. The thrill of being caught made both of you feel like your skin was on fire. 

You could feel his release nearing as his cock twitched and throbbed in your mouth. His hips began bucking into your face, your nose hitting his pubic bone. Each thrust made you gag around his length. 

Your panties grew tighter around your folds. You were so slick between your thighs… Oh how Jake would love to be in between them right now. 

“Hi Jake!” A new fan was now sitting down.

“Do you miss Australia? How’s Layla? Have you eaten today? If you had a girlfriend what would…” The sounds of the fan’s questions drowned out as you continued to suck him.

All you could hear was the wet gargles and gags that came from your throat, which was being abused by his thick cock. 

Jake was close. He stuttered while answering questions, and cursed in between sentences.

“I uh—Fuck! I–uhm, yeah, I miss Australia—”

At this point, the fan was weirded out. Here was ‘confident and sexy’ Jake absolutely falling apart in his chair, acting like a complete weirdo. He got suspicious looks from other members as he continued to choke over small whimpers.

Then suddenly, with a groan, his eyes began to roll back into his head. His cock gave one last final twitch—then spurted out hot seed into your throat.

You gagged slightly, making a mess on the floor. Drool and cum dripped from the sides of your mouth. Jake’s cock was still down your throat—you bobbed your head furiously, making sure every last drip of cum was milked from him.  

Once he finished riding out his pleasure, it became apparent to him how much of a mess he had become. He slouched in his chair, his hair messy, sweat beading at his forehead, and his cheeks burning. He was panting like a dog.

You swallowed his cum with a gulp, letting the salty and musky taste wash over your palette. 

Mission fucking accomplished. 

Jake knew he had to get your number, or something. He pushed your head back under the table, motioning for you to stay until the fan sign was over. As long as he could have those pretty lips wrapped around his dick again, he was a happy man. 

Jake Sim was wrecked for you.