〻(notes.) this was inspired by the song 'a little death' by the neighbourhood. i tried writing in third person for the first time in a while as a way to challenge myself, so... sorry if it sounds weird :p
〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. use of Y/N. kissing (a lot). unprotected sex. pulling out. switch! jake. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. licking(?). mentions of cum. cum eating (male). dirty talk (like, a lot of it). spreading my jake oral fixation agenda. mirror sex (kinda? but not really). use of petnames (baby, sweetheart). reader is described as being smaller than jake and having hair long enough to grab in a ponytail. porn with a little plot?
Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other.
The road stretched endlessly and in complete darkness, only broken by the occasional flickering lamppost, the passing of headlights, or the red neon glow of a motel sign. The only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the muted hum of raindrops against the car windows.
Jake’s hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale under the dim dashboard light. He hadn’t said a word since they left. His jaw was tight, and his shoulders looked stiff. Every so often, he would turn his head to look at her, but then quickly look back. This time, though, he looked for longer.
She sat curled into the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, sleeves covering her hands. Her eyes were distant, and her voice had gone hoarse hours ago due to all the screaming, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.
She heard him exhale heavily and stopped feeling his eyes on her.
A black duffel bag sat in the back seat, its contents being everything important they owned: clothes, IDs, cash, medication, basic toiletries, a burner phone, a couple of Jake’s blood bags (carefully hidden inside an unassuming pouch), and his watch, which he refused to wear anymore—too recognizable, he said. Too risky.
His hand twitched on the gearshift, then reached toward her—slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d pull away.
She didn’t.
Their fingers met, barely. But she clutched his hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.
“I've got you. Always,” Jake said finally, voice low, rasped from hours of silence. His accent melted the edges of the words.
Y/N answered by tightening her grip, eyes still focused out the window.
He glanced at her, then added, “I’ll kill anyone that comes near you again,” his voice no louder than a murmur. “Anyone.”
A beat of silence passed. She turned towards him.
“I’d help you bury them,” she said quietly with a shaky voice.
Jake let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. He pressed her knuckles against his lips, “That’s my girl.”
The silence returned, but it was different now. Not empty—just waiting. Expectant.
A bright light from a crumbling motel illuminated their faces. It’d been the first in over two hours to show that relieving word in green light, blooming like a beacon that promised some rest for both of them.
With a swift flick of his wrist against the steering wheel, Jake pulled into the lot. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The building looked like it had seen better days—fluorescent lighting leaking through grimy windows, paint peeling, and a Coke machine that looked forgotten by time.
Jake turned the engine off.
For a moment, they just sat there.
“Wanna stay in the car?” he asked gently, not looking at her.
Y/N blinked. “I…I don’t wanna be alone.”
Jake turned to her then. His hair was tousled, damp near his temples, and he looked impossibly tired—but his eyes held her like another’s arms never could.
“Okay,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”
She nodded, “Okay.”
The motel lobby smelled like stale air and damp carpet. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead. There were vending machines along one wall with empty rows of old-looking snacks, and a plastic dust-coated fern in a chipped ceramic pot by the entrance.
Jake walked in first, black duffel slung over one of his broad shoulders. His sweater was damp, making it slightly heavier than usual. It was a little stretched at the sleeves, but long enough to cover his belt and the waistband of his jeans; it was his favorite. Y/N had gifted it to him on their first anniversary.
She followed just a step behind, eyes down but sharp, scanning everything—quietly clocking exits, faces, weaknesses. He hated that she had to. Her legs were bare beneath a pair of denim shorts, she had a tank top clinging to her chest, and Jake’s oversized hoodie swallowing the rest of her.
Behind the desk sat a man in his mid-50s who looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Greasy hair clung to his forehead, and the collar of his shirt was stained with sweat. His breath stank of microwave dinners and cheap beer.
“Well, shit,” the man drawled, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes didn’t even pretend not to wander over Y/N. “That’s a pretty little thing you got there.”
Jake’s expression hardened.
The man reached beneath the desk and slapped a dingy clipboard with a registration form down, in front of him. “Bet she keeps you warm at night, huh?”
Jake said nothing, opting to fill the paper and try not to tear the man’s throat out. He didn’t want to cause a scene, being aware that the last thing Y/N needed was another traumatic event happening because of her, but god, was that ball of grease making it hard from him to behave.
The man scratched at his neck, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Tracing the way her hair fell over her shoulders.
“If I were you, I’d be careful, boy. Girls like that one don’t stay loyal for long,” His smile widened. His eyes cut toward Y/N again—lingering too long on her bare legs and the dip of her cleavage. “Though, I bet she looks gorgeous on her knees with her tongue out.”
The air changed like a static charge crawling across the skin.
Jake didn’t say a word. He just set the pen down and gave the man a look while his hand dropped to the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers grazed a sharp blade—small, easy to flick open, and easier to bury in someone’s throat. Quick, and much less messy. Though at that point he wanted to make it hurt.
But before the situation could escalate, Y/N wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She didn’t need to say anything.
He paused.
‘It’s not about you, idiot. Think about her.’
He remembered how her body trembled in the shower while he scrubbed the blood off her body—not having the luxury of time, to be able to do it as gently as he would’ve wanted—and the way her eyes avoided the dead body in her floor at all costs.
His grip loosened.
His hand moved to his front pocket, taking out his wallet and sliding the cash across the counter.
The man slid a grimy clipboard across the counter, followed by a single plastic key. “7B. Corner room. Pretty quiet. No one would hear a thing.”
Jake took the key and started walking outside with Y/N, now holding his arm.
“Better hang on to him, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Boys like him don’t last long out here. The minute he goes for gas, I might just answer the door instead.”
Jake stopped mid-step.
Y/N pulled him gently, asking for his attention.
“It’s not worth it,” she whispered so that only he could hear.
Jake didn’t move.
“Jake.”
He turned to look at her. Angry. Offended. Possessive.
He held her gaze for a few seconds and then closed his eyes for a beat, jaw flexing as he breathed through his nose. Y/N didn’t let go of his hand until they were outside.
The cool air hit once the door opened—wet with rain that never stopped pouring.
As soon as the motel door swung shut behind them, Jake turned to her, voice low and serious. “Should’ve killed that fucker.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Y/N said softly.
Jake turned to her with something dark and hot in his stare. Y/N brushed her fingers along his knuckles. “It’d be hard to get the blood off your sweater.”
That got a ghost of a smile from him.
They walked in silence again, hands still laced, until they reached the door to their room. Jake unlocked it without a word. It smelled like mildew, the carpet was littered with suspicious stains, and the comforter on the bed was older than both of them combined. A single lamp flickered in the corner next to a small table with two wooden chairs, casting warped light across the room.
Jake stepped in first, scanned every inch—walls, window, ceiling tiles. Once he made sure the room was clear, he let the duffel drop to the floor near the dresser. She didn’t question his actions, allowing him to do whatever he needed to calm his paranoia.
He shut the door, locked it, and slid the bolt into place. Then he checked the knob, then the bolt, then the knob again. Still feeling like it wasn’t enough, he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it under the door handle with a slow, deliberate shove. Only then did he step back, still facing the door with tense shoulders.
Y/N sat quietly on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up beneath her, Jake’s hoodie bunched around her thighs. Her fingers played with the frayed seam near the pocket.
“It won’t open,” she said gently. “No one’s getting in.”
“Not gonna risk it,” he muttered while checking the door again.
With a heavy exhale—let out like he hadn’t taken a real breath since they left the city—Jake sank down to his knees in front of her, resting his head in her lap.
His hands moved, sliding up the outside of her calves, thumbs tracing gentle circles to soothe the nerves under her skin back into place. Yet his movements—up and down, over and over—seemed more like it was him who needed the repetition to calm whatever was clawing at his ribs.
Y/N’s hands slipped into his hair without hesitation. Her fingers tangled through the raven-black strands, nails brushing his scalp gently. It was instinct. Muscle memory. The way she touched him when she didn’t know what else to say.
They stayed like that—him with his eyes closed, and her lost in thought.
Just that morning, she’d woken up in her bed, sunlight peeking through the curtains in soft streams. His arm was around her waist, mouth against her shoulder, whispering something about finding a place for just the two of them—a stupid, perfect moment.
She remembered the gunshots. Her apartment torn to hell—furniture flipped and broken, bullet holes in the walls, blood across the floor. She remembered the sound of Jake kicking down the door. She remembered him dressing her up and dragging her towards a car that she didn’t recognize.
And now they were here.
In a motel that smelled like rot and someone else’s regrets, with Jake kneeling in front of her like her penance. Her savior and her ruin.
He raised his head slowly, like it hurt to move. His eyes met hers, tired, red-rimmed, and crystallized. Y/N studied every inch of him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered—rough and low, like the words had clawed out of his throat.
His lips were dry, the lower one split with a cut he kept bothering between his teeth. There was a bruise blooming just under his jaw, ugly and dark, half-hidden beneath his hair. His sweater was damp at the collar, wet with a mixture of rainwater and sweat.
Her hands reached to cradle his face delicately, as if he were to break if she used too much force. Her thumbs brushed slowly across his cheeks, wiping away what little was left of his composure. And instead of pulling away, Jake leaned into her touch.
One of her thumbs trailed down, brushing the cut on his lip and then applying more pressure. He flinched slightly, his mouth parting from the sting. His eyes searched hers as if he were afraid she might vanish if he blinked.
“I love you,” she said.
A single tear rolled down Jake’s cheek, his eyes never once leaving hers. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, trying—and failing—to find words to formulate an answer.
So instead, he stood up.
Y/N didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—as he stepped forward and caged her with one hand braced on the bed beside her hip, the other gently brushing her cheek.
Jake stared down at her, eyes glossy but intense, and then he kissed her.
Not slow or careful, but everything—all of it—at once. Love, fear, need, guilt, relief. It poured into the kiss from his very being like water breaking through a dam. His mouth crashed against hers, urgent and soft at the same time, teeth grazing her lip before he kissed her deeper, letting his body press into hers like he needed to be sure she was real.
Y/N responded without hesitation. She opened to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with everything she had, like this was the only place in the universe where she belonged. Her hands travelled upwards to tangle in his hair, fingers sliding through the strands like she never wanted to let go again.
Jake let out a low sound against her mouth—half a growl, half a moan. His hips pressed into hers as he deepened the kiss, mouth moving feverishly, hands wandering beneath the fabric of her clothes like he needed skin under his palms.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed, eyes locked.
“I fucking adore you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it hurts.”
One of her hands moved down again to wipe off the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks.
His eyes swept over her face—cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising with shallow, anticipating breath. His lips found hers once more, slower this time—but no less hungry.
His hands moved to the hem of the hoodie she wore—his hoodie—and slowly, he unzipped it. The sound was quiet, but it felt loud within the room's silence. He peeled it off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her onto the bed.
Then, his fingers slid beneath her tank top. He didn’t rush it, though. He pushed the fabric up slowly, palms brushing the warm slope of her stomach, ribs, and finally lifting it over her head. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves.
“God, look at you,” he whispered.
His hands slipped down to her shorts, thumbs brushing the band before sliding them off inch by inch. He knelt again to guide them down her thighs, his mouth ghosting across her skin as he did. His lips pressed a kiss to the bruise on her knee as a silent promise. Then they were gone—shorts, fear, and the last of the night’s cold fingers.
She was left in only her bra and panties, breath soft and body already arching toward him.
Jake rose again, eyes locked on hers, and reached behind her to unhook the clasp. The straps slipped down her arms like falling silk.
His hand slid between her thighs, brushing her still-clothed core with the lightest stroke of his fingers.
She let out a breathy moan—soft and instinctive and his.
“There she is,” he murmured, a smile growing on his face. “You always sound so pretty when you want me.”
Y/N reached up without a word and tugged at the hem of his sweater. He raised his arms and let her pull it off, revealing the slightly damp T-shirt beneath, clinging to his frame.
She slipped her hands beneath that next layer and lifted it too, revealing the bare torso beneath—warm skin, faint scars, a few smudges of grime from the road and the fight. Her palms ran along his chest, slow and lingering, over the bruise just below his ribs, up to the center of his chest where his heart beat like a war drum.
Then her fingers moved to his belt.
She undid it with steady hands, her knuckles grazing the soft line of hair beneath his navel. The buckle clinked. The button snapped open. The zipper came down slowly.
She eased his jeans down his hips, her eyes never leaving his.
Jake stepped out of them, standing over her now in nothing but breath and want and the fire burning in his eyes.
Her hands slid back up his thighs, over his hips, tracing along the sharp lines of his toned abdomen and the dip of his lower back. Her hands weren’t shy. She knew him. And he let her see him.
“Touch me,” he rasped. “Everywhere. I want to feel like I belong to you.”
“You do,” she said, voice low, shaky with need. “You always have.”
Jake followed when Y/N tugged gently at his wrist, guiding him down onto the bed beside her. The mattress creaked beneath their combined weight, thin and worn, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but skin and breath and the heat building between them.
He laid facing her, propped on one elbwo, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. Y/N mirrored him, her fingers already skimming his shoulder, then down along the soft line of muscle across his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palm—faintly damp, flushed, and alive.
Jake’s eyes traced every flicker of movement. She could feel his stare like a physical touch.
“You look like a fucking dream,” he murmured, voice rough silk. His accent curled around the words, low and thick like honey.
She smiled, slow and sinful, and leaned in close until her lips hovered just by his ear.
“Then do something about it.”
Jake let out a breath of a laugh, short and sharp. “Oh, believe me, I’m gonna.”
He turned his head, nose brushing her cheek, and whispered directly against her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this… about you in my hoodie… parading around with your thighs all soft and bare… I swear it had me losing my mind.”
She gasped softly when his hand slid over her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Her thigh brushed his—then something else. Hard and thick, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She tilted her head just enough to catch his smirk.
“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, Jakey.”
“And you love every word,” he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.
Her hand trailed down his stomach, her fingers feathering along the band of his boxers before dipping lower, slowly pressing over the thick bulge beneath the fabric.
His hips flexed forward instinctively, chasing her touch. “Fuck…” he hissed.
Her hand rubbed over him again, firmer this time, and Jake groaned—low and guttural, his eyes fluttering half-closed.
“You’re so hard,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his jaw. “Have you been aching for me since we walked through the door?”
Jake turned toward her, his lips brushing hers with maddening slowness.
“Since way before that,” he breathed. “Since I saw you covered in blood and still fuckin’ beautiful. Since you said ‘I love you’ with those shaky hands and I wanted to drop to my knees and taste every inch of you for the rest of my life.”
Y/N whimpered, her hand curling tighter around him through the fabric.
“I’d never feed again in my life if it meant I can have that pretty mouth on me at all times.”
Jake kissed her—open-mouthed, deep, his tongue claiming hers as his fingers slid along the dip of her waist, down to the curve of her ass. He squeezed gently, grinding himself into her touch.
“You wanna see what my mouth can do?” she murmured against his lips.
Jake grinned, teeth flashing as he licked into her mouth again.
“Oh, trust me, I know.” One of his hands slipped between her thighs to rub slow circles over her soaked panties.
“I want your thighs on my shoulders and your voice hoarse from screaming my name,” he growled. “I’ll have you so fucked out you’ll forget everything else but me.”
She moaned, and he bit her lower lip gently.
He leaned in, slowly, and pressed a single kiss to her inner thigh. Then another, higher up. Then another—closer. She twitched beneath his mouth.
And when his lips ghosted over her slick, swollen heat through the thin barrier of her panties—fuck. She let out a sound that shot straight through his spine.
Jake chuckled low.
“You’re already soaked?” he murmured, his breath hot against her clothed core. “Just from me running my mouth?”
He licked her through the fabric again—slow and deliberate. A long, wet stripe from the bottom of her slit to the swollen nub at the top. Her thighs tensed, and her fingers twisted in the sheets.
Jake moaned.
“I can taste it, even through the cotton,” he groaned. “You’re not fuckin’ real.”
Then he did it again—his tongue flattening, dragging up over her with aching pressure. He circled her clit through the soaked fabric, then used his fingers to push it slightly aside, exposing her properly.
She gasped when the cool air hit her slick folds, and Jake didn’t waste another second to let his tongue meet bare skin.
A slow stroke. One, then two. Then the tip of his tongue flicked right over her clit—fast, teasing, before he flattened his mouth against her, licking and sucking in slow, sinful rhythm.
Y/N moaned, long and high.
She could feel every flick of Jake’s tongue like a pulse.
It started as warmth—wet and slow, the drag of heat between her thighs making her legs tremble. But then it spread. Her skin flushed, prickled, tightened in waves. Her belly clenched. Her chest rose and fell faster, nipples hardening in the motel’s stale air.
Jake growled into her.
“Fuckin’ sing for me, baby.”
His fingers slipped down, circling her entrance, smearing her wetness up over her slit and back down, working in tandem with his mouth—pressure and motion, just enough to tease her open without giving her what she wanted. Yet.
One finger dipped inside, shallow, curling just a little.
“Feel that?” he whispered, voice soaked with lust. “You’re pulling me in already. She missed me.”
Y/N’s head fell back.
“Jake…”
He sucked hard on her clit at the same time his finger slid deeper, and her whole body arched off the bed.
“Oh—fuck—Jake—”
He didn’t let up. Didn’t even pause. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. His finger curled again, and then another joined it—thrusting slow, thick, wet sounds echoing in the small motel room as her body clamped around him.
His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties, tugging them down with a quick, practiced motion and letting them slide past her thighs, knees, and ankles until they were gone—tossed somewhere on the motel floor, forgotten like everything else that wasn’t her.
He resumed his ministrations to her heat with another long lick of his tongue. Her hips bucked involuntarily, only to be caught by his strong hands. He held her open possessively, grounding her like he belonged there. Like she belonged to him.
Every time his tongue swirled over her clit, it was like a current. It tugged something deep in her gut—coiled and heavy and needy.
She whined softly, head rolling against the pillow.
Jake chuckled darkly, tongue flattening against her again before he spoke.
“There she is,” he murmured, lips brushing right over her. “My sweet girl. My pretty baby with a filthy fuckin’ mind. You gonna come for me, yeah?”
Her fingers fisted the sheets. The pleasure was sharp now—buzzing and deep, like her body couldn’t decide if she needed more or needed to escape. But he wasn’t letting her go.
“Shit, every sound you make just makes me hungrier,” he whispered. “Like I could stay down here for hours. Would you let me, baby? Would you ride my tongue like you ride my cock? All sweet and needy and wrecked?”
She gasped—a ragged sound pulled straight from her chest.
Her thighs tried to close, instinctively reacting to the intensity, but Jake didn’t let them. His arms pinned her open again, his mouth dragging over her again with more pressure this time—faster. His fingers teased her entrance, soaked and twitching, never pushing in again, just stroking, circling, making her want.
“She’s mine. This cunt’s mine. Say it,” he groaned.
Y/N’s voice shook, barely a whisper. “Yours. Jake—I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“Yours. Fuck, Jake—don’t stop!”
He latched onto her clit with his mouth, sucking just hard enough to have her back arching. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub, rhythmic and relentless, while his fingers finally slid back inside—two, then curling.
The stretch. The wet sound. His fucking voice.
“You’re so tight like this, baby. So fuckin’ good around my fingers… just imagine when I sink my cock into you. Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll forget your own name.”
Y/N let out a strangled moan. Her body was right there—trembling on the edge, her vision blurring with the heat. Every nerve under her skin was singing. Her thighs trembled, her core slick and throbbing, her hands lost in the mess of Jake’s dark hair.
And just as that perfect, unbearable heat coiled impossibly tight in her belly, his mouth slowed.
He stopped.
He parted from her with a long, slow lick—one last deep stroke, his tongue pressing into her fluttering, soaked entrance. She gasped, back arching. Her body welcomed it, clamped down around the warm, wet intrusion, needy and desperate for more. But it was only a taste. A farewell.
Then he pulled back, licking his lips like a man coming up from worship, not war.
Her slick shimmered on his mouth, on his chin. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with the pace of his hunger.
Jake gave her pussy one final kiss—slow, wet, open-mouthed, his lips sealing over her entrance in a filthy goodbye that made her toes curl.
Then he leaned back, running his hand slowly up her trembling thigh, fingers trailing like embers on overheated skin. He grinned, smug and shining.
“She missed me,” he murmured.
Y/N blinked, dazed. “What?”
Jake dragged his fingers gently through her folds again, a soft touch now, barely-there. Just enough to make her twitch.
“Your sweet little cunt,” he whispered. “She missed me. Clenching ‘round my tongue like she hadn’t felt me in days.”
Y/N flushed instantly, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
“You—Jake—that’s so—”
He leaned forward, raised a brow, and let the smirk crawl across his face. “That same pussy I had my fingers in this morning, baby. When I made you grind against my hand until you came all over the sheets.” His voice dipped lower. “And you’re telling me she still missed me?”
She slapped his shoulder lightly, giggling despite herself. “You’re the worst.”
Jake laughed, that deep, messy, boyish sound that made her chest ache.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then kissed her inner thigh gently, almost apologetically. Then again, softer, trailing upward—his body following the path until he was level with her.
Y/N watched him rise, her skin still flushed and buzzing, her thighs parted, her breath catching when his face came close again.
This time, instead of being teasing or wild, the kiss was calm.
His mouth met hers like he was kissing her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, like she hadn’t just screamed into the motel pillows. Like her taste on his lips didn’t matter—or maybe it mattered too much.
She sighed into it, arms looping loosely around his neck, fingers curling into the still-damp strands at his nape.
And when he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet. Different.
“I’m never letting anything touch you again.”
Y/N tugged gently at his arm again, pulling him down with her.
Jake followed instantly, like he was born for it. They sank into the mattress together, bodies pressed side by side, her hand still curled behind his neck, fingers threading through the damp strands at his nape. He was warm against her—bare skin to bare skin, all muscle and heat and tension—but her focus was already drifting.
Because then he kissed her again.
Slow at first. Soft.
Just the faintest brush of lips that sent sparks across the surface of her skin.
But then his mouth opened, and everything else stopped.
Jake’s tongue slipped into her mouth like he owned the air she was breathing. He didn’t push—he coaxed. He guided. His lips molded to hers with aching, perfect pressure, and then that wicked tongue of his licked over hers—just once, slow, deep, wet—and her entire body reacted.
Her thighs clenched instinctively.
A low whimper escaped her throat before she could catch it.
Jake smiled into the kiss.
He heard that.
He licked into her again, tongue flicking, curling, then retreating just to pull her back in with a gentle suck on her lower lip. It was sensual. Hypnotic. Her thoughts dissolved like sugar in warm water. Her fingers slid over his shoulder, her palm resting on his chest, feeling the sharp beat of his heart through her touch.
His mouth was too much and not enough all at once.
Every time he sucked her lip, her stomach fluttered. Every time his tongue dragged over hers, slick and slow, her core throbbed—empty, wet, waiting. Her knees pressed together again, a silent attempt to ground herself.
It didn’t work.
Because he knew. He always knew.
Jake broke the kiss just long enough to breathe into her mouth.
“You’re squeezing your thighs pretty hard,” he whispered, voice thick and hoarse. “Did my kiss makes your pussy ache, baby?”
Her hands tightened on his skin.
This time, she kissed him. Deeper, with more tongue, more heat, more of her mouth claiming every soft part of him. The rhythm was slow, but the weight of it pressed deep, like she could feel his tongue between her legs even though he wasn’t touching her there now.
Their bodies writhed closer, chasing the warmth of each other’s chests, the friction of his thigh between hers, her mouth that wouldn’t stop making him need.
Jake pulled back from the kiss, lips slick, parted. His chest heaved beneath her palm, and his voice when he spoke came out like a growl filtered through a moan.
“You keep kissin’ me like that and I’m gonna fuck you like I did in that bathroom stall. Remember that, baby? In between classes… you were so needy and made me late for my lecture.”
Y/N chuckled breathily at the memory. Her thighs clenched again—this time around him.
She climbed into his lap, slow and sure, knees bracketing his hips. Her body sank down onto his thighs, bare heat pressed to the strain of him beneath his boxers. Jake’s head fell back with a hiss through his teeth.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.
Y/N leaned in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple twitch beneath her lips, felt the vibration of his groan as she dragged her tongue up over it.
Jake’s hands gripped her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there like he didn’t know whether to worship or hold her down.
She kissed his jaw next—slow and adoring, lips dragging over the faint stubble, then behind his ear, where her tongue flicked just enough to make him shudder.
And through it all, he kept talking.
His voice was broken, breathless, ruined.
“Gonna bend you over this bed next. Hands flat, back arched, legs shaking. Gonna fuck you ‘til your voice is gone and your knees are too weak to close around me.”
She moaned softly into his neck.
“You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” he whispered, nipping gently at her shoulder. “My pretty baby gets wet when I tell her all the ways I’m gonna ruin her.”
Her hips rolled forward against him—slow, aching friction that made them both gasp.
“Gonna take you from behind,” he panted, “one hand on your throat, the other between your thighs, makin’ you drip all over me. Then I’m gonna flip you on your back, press your knees to your chest, and fuck into you so deep you won’t remember what day it is.”
Y/N whimpered, her hands dragging up his chest, her mouth pressing kisses along his collarbone, her tongue tasting salt and desperation.
Jake was shaking under her.
“And when you come?” he breathed, “I’m gonna stay inside you. Keep fuckin’ you through it. Gonna keep you open for me and stretch you ‘til you don’t want anyone else. Not that you ever could, baby. No one else knows how to break you like I do.”
His voice cracked, just a little, at the end.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “No one makes me feel the way you do. You ruin me. Every time.”
Y/N lifted her head. Their eyes met. Her breath was ragged, her lips swollen, her heart thundering in her chest.
“You want to break me?” she whispered. “Then do it.”
Jake’s hands tightened on her hips. His next breath hitched into a growl.
They shifted together, both kneeling now on the motel bed, their bodies bare and flushed and starving. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, the low creak of the old mattress beneath them, and the far-off hiss of passing cars outside the window.
Jake kissed her again.
Hard and raw.
Tongue and teeth and heat—his hand tangled in her hair as he dragged her mouth open and took. His tongue plunged deep, slick and possessive, curling against hers in slow, molten strokes that made her hips rock forward without thinking.
She moaned into him. Loud. Needy.
Jake swallowed the sound, then pulled back, lips wet and swollen.
“Turn around,” he rasped.
Y/N obeyed, breath shaking. She turned slowly, body burning, and knelt on the bed facing the front of the motel room. The beat-up TV sat on top of the scratched old dresser, screen black and slightly dull; however, in the warped, glassy surface, she saw them.
Faintly, hazy with distortion—but there.
Her bare chest, belly, and thighs. The curve of her hips, the dip of her waist and the possessive hold that Jake kept on her. Her flushed face. The dark silhouette of Jake behind her.
And her body reacted.
Her cunt clenched, slick leaking down her thighs, the heat of it so sudden she gasped.
Jake saw it all.
He slid in behind her, chest to her back, hands framing her hips like he was sculpting her posture to his taste. He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.
“You like seeing us like this,” he murmured, voice honey-thick and wicked. “My girl… dripping just from a reflection.”
Y/N whimpered.
Jake’s hand gathered her hair—twisting it gently at the base of her skull—and made an imperfect ponytail with his fist. Her head tipped back into his grip, neck exposed.
He groaned softly.
“Pretty fuckin’ neck,” he whispered, and then—his mouth was on her again.
His lips dragged over the skin of her nape, slow and possessive. Then he licked her.
A long, wet stripe from the base of her spine to the crest of her neck. All tongue. Hot and firm and deliberate. Like he was tasting her. Claiming her.
She shuddered violently, hips twitching forward.
“Jake…”
“Shh,” he breathed, mouth still pressed to her skin. “Let me have this.”
He licked her again. Tongue flat, dragging slowly across the sensitive skin just beneath her hairline. His breath hitched.
“I could die like this,” he muttered.
Jake’s fingers slid between her thighs with the same confidence his mouth carried—like he already knew exactly how to ruin her.
He pressed in just enough to glide through her slick, then found her clit with maddening ease. Two fingers moved in tight, slow circles—firm pressure, the rhythm tuned perfectly to her body, like muscle memory.
Y/N moaned, low and broken, knees quivering on the mattress.
“Fuck,” she whispered, arching her back into him, “just like that.”
She turned her head—wanted to see him. Kiss him. She twisted just enough to catch his mouth again, pulling him in with lips parted and tongue already waiting.
But this time, she took the lead.
Jake didn’t resist. He groaned against her lips as she kissed him—hard, hungry. Her tongue slid over his, slick and confident, coaxing every sound from his throat. Then she bit his bottom lip, not enough to hurt—but enough to claim.
Jake’s cock twitched hard behind her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He ground forward, hips rolling into the soft dip of her ass and lower back, pressing the thick, hot length of himself into her skin so she could feel exactly how desperate he was.
He groaned into her mouth, lips swollen, breath ragged.
“Christ, you kiss like you want to own me.”
“You already said I could,” she whispered.
Jake didn’t argue.
Her left hand reached down, covering the wrist of the hand still playing with her pussy. She didn’t stop him—just held him there, grounding herself in the motion of his fingers. Feeling every stroke, every circle as it sent sparks through her hips and up her spine.
The other hand twisted up and into his hair, fingers tangling tight, pulling.
Jake gasped, his mouth parting under hers, head tipping forward like his whole body was surrendering.
“Fuck, baby…” he whispered against her lips. “You feel that? You feel how hard you’ve got me? Just from your mouth—just from the way you taste.”
His fingers never stopped.
That steady rhythm—perfect circles, light press, then firmer when she whimpered. The slick sounds between her legs grew louder, wetter, and Jake groaned like it was a symphony he’d been dying to conduct.
“You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Fuck, I can feel it all over my hand.”
“Good,” she breathed. “You make me like this.”
He kissed her again, messier now. Tongue everywhere. Groaning into her mouth.
Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, and every press of his cock against her back made her body throb harder. Every kiss she stole made him weaker.
Jake’s fingers slowed—just slightly—then slipped away from her soaked, abused clit.
Y/N let out a gasp, her hips instinctively rolling forward, chasing the friction that had been building into fire under her skin.
Then she whined, high-pitched and desperate.
Jake groaned at the sound—low and guttural, forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder.
“Fuck me,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what that sound does to me.”
She whined again, back arching, her hand grabbing blindly for his wrist, trying to pull his fingers back down between her thighs.
“Jakey—please—why’d you—”
“I have to get these off, baby,” he rasped, pulling his hips back just far enough for her to feel the absence, but not forget it. His hand left her pussy, but he reached down immediately, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.
“Gonna lose my fucking mind if I don’t get inside you.”
He pushed the fabric down over his hips and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark at the tip, glistening with precum, aching for her. It slapped softly against his lower stomach before he wrapped a hand around the base, groaning at the contact.
“See what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice a growl in her ear. “Look at that. I’ve never been this fucking hard in my life. Never wanted anyone like I want you. Not like this.”
She whimpered, and his hand came up—fingertips trailing along her spine, soft, reverent, until they found her waist again.
Jake leaned in close again, his voice low, rough with hunger and awe.
“Down for me,” he breathed. “Face down. Ass up. You know what I like.”
Y/N obeyed without hesitation.
She lowered her chest to the mattress, arching her back, lifting her hips—slow and deliberate—until she gave him that perfect line, that sweet curve of her spine that he’d seen a hundred times. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, her hands gripping the sheets, thighs parted just wide enough to let him see everything.
Jake let out a sound—raw, desperate, worshipful.
“Jesus fuck, baby… look at you. You want me this bad?”
She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.
“I want all of you.”
Jake’s hand slid up her back, tracing the arch, possessive and trembling. The other wrapped around the base of his cock again as he stepped in closer, the flushed tip dragging through the slick heat of her folds, wetting himself with her arousal.
Then he found her entrance.
She was swollen, fluttering, dripping with need.
And he pushed in.
The thick head of his cock eased inside, stretching her open, filling her just enough to steal the air from her lungs.
Y/N gasped—sharp and high-pitched.
Her hands fisted the sheets, her head dropping between her arms.
He was inside her.
Not fully. Not yet. Just the tip.
But still, it was everything.
Jake groaned behind her, voice breaking.
“You feel that?” he rasped. “How tight you are around just the tip? She missed me, baby.”
Then—inch by inch—he pushed deeper.
Y/N felt it like a tide rolling through her.
The slow, overwhelming pressure of him filling her, pressing into spots only he could reach. The friction, the fullness, the way her walls fluttered with every slow slide forward—it was too much and not enough all at once. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and greedy.
He was hot and thick and so hard, the stretch sending shocks of both pleasure and pain up her spine. Her body pulsed around him, instinctively trying to pull him deeper.
Her mouth fell open.
But it wasn’t just her body reacting.
It was her heart, as well.
Because this was Jake—her Jake. The boy who kissed her forehead after she woke up from a nightmare, who licked blood from her thighs like a vow, and who said I love you with his tongue inside her and meant every syllable.
And now he was filling her completely.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—not from pain. From how much she felt.
He leaned over her, one hand braced on the bed, the other still gripping her hip like he couldn’t let go.
He bottomed out—finally—the base of his cock pressing flush against her soaked, trembling cunt. Her body took every inch, molded to fit him, welcomed him like he belonged there.
At first, Jake didn’t move.
He just held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her walls pulse around him—hot and slick and impossibly tight. His hands gripped her hips like he was holding on for dear life, and when he finally pulled back, it was a slow torture.
Then he thrust back in.
Deep.
“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted. “So fuckin’ warm. So tight. Squeezin’ me like you never want me to leave.”
Y/N’s back arched, and she let out a shaky moan as his hips rolled forward again, another slow, deep stroke that dragged every nerve along her walls.
Jake leaned over her a bit more, his mouth hovering by her ear, his voice a growl softened by awe.
“Do you know how good you feel? How fuckin’ wet you are for me? God, baby—she’s greedy. She’s pulling me in.”
She whimpered, her thighs shaking.
“Jakey, feels so, so good—”
“I know it does,” he whispered, biting softly at her shoulder, hips dragging back again before plunging in deep, deeper. “I get it now. I understand.”
She gasped.
“Understand what?”
Jake groaned, kissing her nape, tongue running up the curve of her spine between thrusts.
“Why men start wars over girls like you.”
Y/N let out a breathless, stunned laugh, even as her body clamped down around him again.
“You’re insane.”
“Mmhm.” He smirked, dragging his cock all the way out until just the tip lingered at her entrance—then slammed back in with one smooth, slow roll of his hips. “Crazy. Absolutely fucking gone for you.”
She moaned again, and her laugh turned into a shiver.
Jake’s thrusts kept the same rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. His hips snapped forward with weight, burying himself again and again in the tight heat of her cunt, groaning every time her body fluttered around him.
His hand slid up her spine, pressing between her shoulders to deepen that perfect arch.
“You were made for this,” he growled. “For me. This tight little hole’s mine, baby.”
He kissed her again—messy and open-mouthed against her back.
“Could fuck you like this forever. Never pull out. Just keep you full and dripping. Bet you’d love that.”
Jake’s pace began to shift—slow, deep strokes turning faster, sharper. His hips slapped softly against her ass, wet sounds echoing in the quiet, hot room, timed perfectly with her breathy moans and the creak of the bed frame.
He couldn’t stop watching her.
His bottom lip caught between his teeth, bitten and red, eyes locked on the way she moved for him. Met his thrusts halfway. Took him like she’d been sculpted just for this.
And Y/N noticed. Of course she did.
Even through the dizzying pleasure, she saw in their reflection the way his gaze stayed glued to her ass, saw the way he twitched every time she clenched around him.
And she grinned—breathless, wicked.
“I thought you were a boob guy,” she panted, voice laced with teasing. “What happened to all that chest worship, huh?”
Jake froze for a split second.
Then laughed—ragged and wrecked, the sound spilling out of his throat between groans.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, snapping his hips forward harder, making her jolt with the sudden depth, “you bounce this ass like that and expect me to focus on anything else?”
Y/N laughed too—cut short by a moan as his cock hit that perfect spot inside her.
Jake leaned in over her, lips brushing her ear, one hand still gripping her hip, the other now sliding around her front—palming one of her breasts with a rough groan.
“I am a boob guy,” he rasped. “And an ass guy, and a pussy guy. I’m a ‘you’ guy.”
He pinched her nipple, rolled it gently between his fingers.
“You could breathe in my direction, and I’d get hard. Doesn’t matter what part I’m lookin’ at. It’s all mine.”
She gasped again, back arching deeper into him, ass pushing up to meet his thrusts.
He watched the motion in the reflection again—the way she pushed back onto him, watched her face tighten with every thrust. Her mouth open, eyes heavy-lidded, her skin flushed and glistening.
Jake’s rhythm had gone near-perfect—deep and sharp, his hips pistoning into her with that mix of strength and craving. But then he felt it.
Every time he slid out, her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing tight, as if trying to hold him in. And then—when he pushed back in, thick and deep—her muscles relaxed, like she was letting him in on purpose. Inviting him.
Jake choked on a moan, thrust stuttering.
“Baby—fuck—what are you doing to me?”
She smiled—he knew she did, even without seeing her face.
He looked in the reflection.
That wicked, breathless grin.
That soft bounce of her ass every time she clenched around him.
She did it again.
Tighter.
Then again—pulsing around his cock like her body was trying to pull him apart.
Jake snapped.
His hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, not rough enough to hurt, not really, but enough to make her feel it. He pulled her back hard, arching her spine into a curve so perfect it made his cock throb inside her.
She whined, voice high and sharp.
“Jake—ow—fuck. That hurts—”
He bent over her, his lips brushing her jawline.
“You love it.”
She did.
And so did he.
His free arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her upright against him—flush to his chest, his cock still buried deep inside her, now from a new angle that made them both gasp. The fullness. The depth. The way her walls clung to him like a second skin.
He kissed her again. Tongue-first. All heat, no hesitation. Her mouth opened to him instantly. Tongues collided. Teeth clicked. Her hand flew back, clawing at the side of his thigh, holding him in place as she rocked her hips back into his lap.
Jake moaned into her mouth, hips still moving, fucking up into her from beneath now, his cock dragging against her spot with every thrust.
“You milk me like that again,” he panted against her lips, “and I’m gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it in your fucking throat.”
Y/N gasped, lips red and slick, eyes dazed and so full of him.
Jake started to move—hand still in her hair, cock still buried deep, ready to flip her into a new position and fuck her from a new angle.
“Wait,” she breathed, voice soft—breathless, but sweet. “Can—Can you… can you be on top of me?”
He froze.
Still half-sheathed inside her, his hips twitching with restraint.
She looked back at him, over her shoulder, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair messy from where he’d gripped it.
Her voice went softer, and her smile turned sheepish.
“I’m tired,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.
Jake blinked once, then a smirk makes its way onto his face. He stared at her—really stared at her. That look in her eyes. The slight tremble in her thighs. Her trust.
He felt it hit right in his chest.
“You’re just lazy,” he said, teasing but warm.
Her cheeks flushed deeper.
“Maybe.”
Jake chuckled, the sound low and loving.
“Come here then, lazy girl.”
He moved gently, slipping out of her to adjust their bodies. He guided her down onto her back, her body folding into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut for a moment with the loss of him. The sheets were rumpled, warm, and damp from sweat and sex.
Then he settled between her legs. Face to face.
His hand found hers, fingers lacing. His other hand came up to brush the damp hair off her forehead, his expression suddenly soft—worshipful.
“You’re so beautiful like this.”
Then he slowly pushed back in.
Her soaked cunt parted for him, her walls welcoming him back like he belonged there. Every inch stretched her again, but now she could see his face. See his lashes flutter when he bottomed out. See the tension in his jaw, the part in his lips when her pussy clenched again.
Her mouth opened in a gasp. Her brows knit with pleasure. Her chest rose with every shaky breath.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, hips pressing deep, “I can feel all of you.”
Y/N whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.
Jake’s hips rolled into her—deep strokes that made the bed creak and her breath stutter.
But he couldn’t stop looking at her chest.
The rise and fall of her breasts with every thrust.
The way her nipples were already pebbled, flushed, just begging for his mouth.
His hand slid up between them—palm warm and rough—and he groaned low in his throat.
Then he took one into his mouth.
He sucked hard at first, like he wanted to bruise her with his lips, then softened—his tongue circling her nipple, then flicking it in short, wet strokes that made her gasp and arch into him. He used his hand on the other, kneading, rolling the other peak between his fingers while his teeth grazed the one in his mouth.
Y/N moaned, high and ragged.
Her fingers flew into his hair, tangling there, holding him against her. She gripped tighter every time he sucked harder, tugging the way she knew he loved.
Jake groaned into her breast.
“Fuck, baby… your tits were made for my mouth.”
He bit gently—just enough to make her hips jump—and she let out a breathless, shaky laugh.
Then she started talking.
And it undid him.
“You feel so good, Jakey,” she whispered, eyes locked on his flushed, focused face. “So, so deep… I can feel you in my stomach.”
Jake growled around her nipple, thrusting deeper, slower.
“You’re fucking me so well, baby… you always know what I need.”
His hips twitched, rhythm faltering for a second. Her praise hit different—like she was stroking something raw inside him.
Her thumb brushed his temple as he licked across her chest.
“I love the way you move inside me. Like you’re made for it. Like you know I was made for you.”
Jake lifted his head, mouth wet, jaw tight.
“Keep talking like that,” he panted, “and I’m not gonna last.”
Y/N smiled, dazed and wrecked.
“Good,” she whispered. “I want you to fall apart. I want to feel you lose it inside me.”
Jake kissed her again—open, messy, tongue tangled with hers—while his cock thrust deeper, harder, the rhythm now desperate. His mouth moved from hers to her neck, back to her breast, worshipping, sucking, devouring.
His free hand slipped down between them, careful through the thrusts, until his fingers found her clit again—swollen, soaked, needy.
He rubbed tight, firm circles just the way she liked. Not too fast. Not too soft. Perfect.
Y/N cried out.
Her back arched. Her thighs jerked. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she grabbed at his shoulder with one hand, her other still tangled in his hair.
“Jake—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
His hips rolled deep, cock thrusting in fast, rough strokes that brushed right there, over and over—right on the spot inside her that made her toes curl and her whole body feel like fire under her skin.
His tongue flicked over her nipple again, teeth grazing, sucking, biting.
His fingers never stopped moving.
And her voice—God, her voice—just kept coming.
“You feel so good, Jake—so deep—you’re fucking me so good, baby—I can’t think—I can’t—”
Jake moaned into her chest, cock twitching inside her from her words alone.
“I—I love your cock—fuck, I love how good you fuck me—like I’m yours—Ah!”
“You are mine,” he growled, voice muffled against her skin. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fuckin’ moan—mine.”
“Faster, Jakey,” Y/N gasped, voice cracked and begging. “Harder—please—I need you.”
Jake didn’t hesitate.
His hips snapped forward with more force now, driving into her with heavy, wet thrusts that made the bed rock and her breath catch with every impact. His fingers on her clit moved faster—tight circles, perfect rhythm, slick with her arousal and the heat of how close she was to coming undone.
He kissed her breast again—open-mouthed, tongue dragging over her nipple as he groaned into her skin.
Y/N clutched at his back, nails pressing into the flex of his shoulder blades.
“No one else, Jake,” she breathed, words tumbling between gasps and moans. “There’s no one else who makes me feel like this. No one else I want.”
Jake’s body jerked at that—cock twitching deep inside her, his breath stuttering against her chest.
“I’d rather die than live without you,” she whispered.
His groan was guttural, primal, ripped straight from his chest.
“You mean that?” he rasped, voice shaking, hips pounding into her now, every thrust hitting so deep she could barely breathe.
“I need you,” she said. “I belong to you. I’m yours, Jake—only yours.”
His rhythm faltered for just a moment, like her words had broken something loose inside him.
Then he snapped.
His fingers on her clit moved faster, tighter.
His cock drove into her with the kind of force that made her body bounce into the mattress, thighs trembling with the overload of sensation.
“You’re mine,” he growled, kissing her throat, biting softly at her jaw. “No one gets you but me. No one ever could.”
Her hands flew back into his hair, dragging him down into another kiss—sloppy, deep, tongue-heavy.
She whimpered into his mouth, her thighs shaking, her body trembling beneath him as that coil in her belly tightened dangerously.
“Come for me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”
Y/N shattered like glass struck by lightning.
It hit fast and overwhelming—the first spasm of pleasure rolling through her like a shockwave. Her thighs clenched around his hips, her toes curled, and her walls tightened around Jake’s cock with a force that nearly made him come on the spot.
“Oh my god—Jake—Jake—” her voice was broken, high, holy, like prayer and desperation fused together.
He felt every squeeze. Every flutter.
His thrusts slowed immediately, deep and controlled, his cock dragging through the slick heat of her as her body convulsed around him. His fingers on her clit softened just slightly, keeping her there, guiding her through it, not rushing, not pulling away.
He kissed her cheek, her throat, her collarbone—open-mouthed and breathless.
“There you go, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked on her face. “That’s it. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. Just let it happen.”
She was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, back arching as another wave ripped through her.
Her cunt pulsed around him again—tight, wet, relentless.
Jake didn’t stand a chance.
The second he felt her come—the way her pussy clamped down on him, fluttering around his cock like she was trying to keep him there forever—he was gone.
He slowed even more, each thrust deliberate, letting her feel the weight and stretch of him through the peak of it.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Y/N trembled beneath him, her moans tapering off into soft, overwhelmed whimpers as the high began to fade—but the glow stayed. Her whole body buzzed. Her heart raced. Her fingers gripped him like she’d sink without his skin.
His grip on her hip tightened, his jaw clenched, and he groaned into her shoulder, the sound deep and guttural and full of something breaking.
He was so fucking close, so, so full.
And it took every last ounce of strength in him to pull out—slowly, painfully—her slick, soaked walls dragging on him like a velvet vice, clinging as if to say, ‘don’t go’.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasped, pulling back inch by inch, every nerve ending in his body on fire. “I don’t wanna leave—shit—”
But he did.
Barely.
And the second he was out—his cock flushed and glistening, twitching with the need to release—he wrapped his hand around the base and stroked himself once—
Twice—
Three times—
“Fuck—Y/N—”
The first rope of cum shot out of him with force, landing right across her slit—thick and creamy and hot.
He groaned through his teeth as another followed—painting her pussy lips white, coating her clit in the warm, sticky mess of it.
More spilled over her entrance—so close to filling her, some of it already seeping inside just the slightest bit, thick drips collecting there, slicking her folds.
He watched it happen, jaw slack, breath ragged.
Her pussy, twitching from aftershocks.
His cum, marking her.
Not bred—but his, nonetheless.
He rubbed the tip of his cock along her soaked slit, dragging through the mess, smearing it across her clit, watching her shiver slightly beneath him.
The room was silent, save for the sound of their ragged breathing—his slower now, hers soft and shallow, like she hadn’t quite come back to earth yet.
Their bodies were still tangled, neither willing to move yet. The motel air was warm against sweat-slick skin, the sheets rumpled and half-slid off the bed.
Jake hovered just above her, propped on one trembling arm. His other hand rested flat over her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her chest under his palm.
Her breasts were flushed and glistening, nipples still wet from his mouth, the skin beneath them mottled with hickeys he’d sucked deep into her flesh—his signature, his need. Her collarbones bore more—dark blooms of red-purple where his tongue and teeth had lingered too long. The soft skin at her hips was red, raw where his hands had gripped her too tightly. Possessive. Worshipful. Maybe even a little cruel.
Her lips—God, her lips—swollen and bitten, shiny with spit from their messy, desperate kisses. They looked like sin, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss them again.
Her hair spilled out over the motel pillow in wild, damp waves. A halo of chaos. A crown she didn’t even know she wore.
But it was her cunt that kept his eyes.
Red, puffy, glistening. Her pussy lips were flushed and swollen, the delicate folds puffy from how hard she’d been worked, how deep he’d fucked her. The soft pink of her inner lips peeked through slick-stained outer lips—raw, parted, like she was still open for him even now.
His cum was everywhere.
Thick, creamy streaks filled the soft creases between her folds. Some of it clung stubbornly to her clit, tangled in the ridges, glossy and warm, slowly dripping. Another trail had slipped lower—pale white against the flush of her used entrance, where it threatened to slide in, teasing the raw, fluttering rim of her hole.
Her pussy was still clenching.
Twitching—tightening around nothing in soft, slow pulses like it hadn’t yet realized he was gone. As if it was still calling for him, still missing the stretch of his cock. The emptiness only made the mess more obscene.
Her inner thighs gleamed with her slick—slick that had soaked her before he’d even touched her. Before she’d come. Before he’d been inside. It had poured out of her in waves, wetting her soft skin, dripping in thin rivulets down the smooth curve of her thighs, pooling beneath her.
Now, mixed with his cum, it looked even more filthy.
Even more beautiful.
Jake moved without a word.
He slid down the bed, between her still-trembling thighs, resting on his forearms like he belonged there.
Y/N laid open and flushed, her legs barely parted now, heavy with fatigue and aftershocks. But she didn’t resist when he gently eased them apart again. She knew what he was doing. And she let him.
He started at her thighs.
Slow licks first, his tongue dragging along the inside, tracing the sticky remnants of her arousal. He licked through the streaks of slick that had dried to her skin, then lower, collecting the creamy drips of his own cum that had spilled from her. His mouth worked without pause, lips pressing soft kisses in between every lick, every stroke of tongue.
Y/N sighed softly. A shiver rolled through her.
Then he moved up.
There was a bit of his semen clinging to the soft mound above her slit—just a smear, pale and glossy against her flushed skin. Jake leaned in and sucked it clean. Slow. Wet. His tongue flattened, dragging upward, collecting every trace.
He kissed it, then exhaled, hot and heavy.
Then he moves onto her outer lips.
Swollen. Gleaming. Still puffy from the stretch of him.
He mouthed over them first, soft kisses that turned into gentle sucks. His tongue worked in slow strokes along the edges, tasting her, cleaning her, owning the mess he’d made. His hands held her thighs gently now, thumbs stroking mindlessly.
Then his mouth found her clit.
He didn’t rush.
He circled first—just the tip of his tongue, light flicks over the sensitive nub, coaxing it rather than attacking it. Then he flattened his tongue and dragged it across—up, down, again—pressing just a little firmer when she gasped and arched her back.
Jake groaned softly.
She was still so reactive.
He sucked it gently into his mouth, just for a moment, rolling it between his lips before letting go. Her hips twitched. Her breath caught. He loved how she responded to his mouth.
He slid lower.
His tongue pressed between her folds now—slow, deliberate strokes that gathered her slick, his cum, everything in between. He traced the shape of her, the soft, delicate creases, licking through the aftermath like it was his favorite flavor.
And then he reached her hole.
Still red. Still open, just barely.
Still twitching.
Jake moaned, the sound low and desperate.
He leaned in, tongue circling the rim, gentle but unrelenting. He licked over it, around it, into it—just a little. Just enough to make her gasp and shift and say his name like she wasn’t sure if she could take more.
But Jake couldn’t stop.
His mouth never left her—tongue dragging from the soft folds of her used pussy back up to her clit, where he paused.
Her breath hitched.
“Jakey…” she murmured, voice hoarse, barely more than a whimper.
But it wasn’t no.
It was more.
So he latched onto her clit again—deliberate now, tongue flicking fast and tight, then circling slow, then flicking again.
Y/N’s legs jumped.
Her thighs pressed inward, instinctively trying to close around his head—but Jake just wrapped his arms around them, holding her wide and open.
“You love this,” he murmured between strokes. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
She moaned—high and helpless.
“I—I can’t—”
“You can,” he growled, tongue never breaking rhythm. “You will. You’re gonna come again, sweetheart. Gonna let me taste it this time.”
He sucked her clit between his lips again, harder now—drawing circles with his tongue while he held her in place.
She writhed under him, fingers twisting in the sheets, her hips stuttering against his face, overwhelmed and overstimulated and so fucking close.
Jake moaned into her, eyes half-lidded, cock still half-hard just from the taste of her.
“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmured. “Letting me fuck you like that… letting me lick you clean. You’re gonna come just from my mouth, aren’t you?”
She nodded, breathless, gasping.
“Yes—yes, Jake—I’m close again—”
He buried his face deeper, tongue stroking harder, faster—one hand sneaking up to press flat over her lower belly, holding her down.
“Then fucking do it, baby,” he growled. “Come on my tongue. I want you shaking. I want you crying for me.”
And she did.
With a cry that broke halfway into a sob, her body arched, then locked, her legs trembling, cunt clenching in fluttering spasms as another orgasm crashed through her. This one was sharper—brighter, and painfully sweet. Her thighs trembled, her hips jerked, her hands flew to his hair, pulling him tighter.
Jake held on.
Held her.
Licked her through every wave, clench, and aftershock. Letting her calm down just enough for her squirming to become light twitching and her moans to become soft whimpers.
And with that, Jake kissed her one last time.
A full-mouthed smack to her overstimulated, twitching pussy—his tongue already gone, but his claim still lingering in the sound. A parting gift. A promise. Something she’d remember every time she shifted her legs and felt the soreness he left behind.
She let out a shivery, exhausted laugh.
He grinned against her thigh.
Then he finally moved.
Jake dragged his body up the bed, slow and loose with post-release heaviness, skin damp with sweat and her scent. His hair was a mess—flattened where she’d held him, spiked where she’d pulled—but his eyes were soft, dark and warm when they found her face.
She was wrecked.
Her lips parted, lashes low, chest still heaving with the final echoes of that second climax. Her skin glowed with heat, her body limp and raw and safe.
He laid down beside her, then pulled her in—an arm looping around her waist, tugging gently until she rolled into him, face tucked under his chin, her leg sliding over his thigh like it had always belonged there.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Still with me?”
Y/N let out a soft hum against his chest.
“Mmhmm.”
Jake smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He ran a hand slowly down her spine, then back up to her shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles into her skin. There was no need for more now. No pressure. Just her in his arms.
Quiet, safe, and his.
The room was dim now, shadows stretching long across the motel ceiling, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and fading adrenaline.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
Jake held her close—her cheek resting just above his heart, her leg thrown over his hips, his arms a circle around her small, worn body like a vow made in flesh. She was warm. Quiet. Real.
Her fingertips traced his bicep in slow, looping lines. Barely there. Soothing. The kind of touch that wasn’t meant to stir—but to keep.
She spoke softly.
“What do we do now?”
Jake’s breath hitched.
“We can’t run forever.” she added. Her voice was tired.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.
Her fingers paused.
“We can’t go back,” he added. “Not to your place. Not to the city. They’ll be looking.”
Y/N nodded faintly against his chest.
“Then what?”
Jake looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
Y/N waited, heart pressed against his, her fingers still trailing slowly along his skin. She could feel the hesitation in the way his chest rose beneath her cheek. The pause in his breath. The heaviness starting to creep in again.
And then, finally—softly:
“I don’t know.”
He turned his face slightly, hiding in her hair, one arm tightening around her waist like he was afraid she might let go after hearing it.
“Just hold me,” he whispered.
Y/N didn’t hesitate and pulled him in.
Both arms around him now. Her leg tightening over his hip. Her fingers finding the back of his neck and threading into his hair, grounding him.
“I think I can be okay,” she murmured. “As long as you’re with me.”
He didn’t speak again.
He didn’t have to.
Because in that moment, with her heart pressed to his, her breath warm against his skin, and her arms wrapped around his body—that was the only answer either of them needed.
And in the quiet, with hundreds of questions but nothing left to say, they stayed together.
A JAKE SIM SMUT-SHOT
"Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other."
RELEASE DATE ➜ OUT NOW
❝ In the backseat of his car sat a black duffel bag containing only their most important items—IDs, cash, clothes, basic toiletries, a water bottle, a burner phone, a gun, amongst other miscellaneous things.
The road was pitch black, save for the occasional barely-functioning lamppost and the red neon signs of 'no vacancy' that grew smaller in the distance. His head turned toward her. She was still in the same position she was in an hour ago—bare legs tucked beneath her, the long sleeves of her navy blue hoodie completely covering her palms, leaving only her fingers visible, head pressed against the glass window. She seemed as if she were looking out the window into the darkness, but he knew her mind was probably repeating the events of earlier that evening over and over again.
It's not every day that you kill a person, after all.
Or, at least not for her.
One lone tear fell from her eye. He instinctively wanted to move—to wipe it off. To hold her, and hug her, and kiss her, and love her as much as his heart wanted. To protect and shield her from the world, just like he'd done for years, now.
Like he'd failed to do earlier that evening.
He hadn't always been like that—consistent. stable. settled. His nature and feeding habits prevented him from staying put for too long without risking discovery. It never bothered him, though. He made it his mission to never stay long enough in one place to let his feelings cloud his judgment. He'd always been the most sentimental one out of his brothers.
But then she came along.
And suddenly, his nomadic lifestyle was but a distant memory. His semiweekly feedings turned monthly. He began supplying himself from underground markets for his kind, rather than directly from humans. But most importantly—he began to feel.
He felt worry whenever he saw her stressed with projects and schoolwork, he felt need when she kissed him like she wanted to own all of him, he felt joy when she begged him to stay the night with sultry eyes and a playful smile, he felt sadness when she cried over arguments with her parents, he felt pride when she excitedly told him she passed an exam she had spent weeks studying for.
He felt fear when he saw that her apartment door was unlocked. He felt panic when seeing her furniture broken, curtains torn, and bullet holes all over her walls. He felt panic when he saw her on the kitchen floor, completely covered in blood—not all hers, thankfully—bawling her eyes out silently with a dead body in front of her.
He'd let himself go. He became soft, comfortable. Too sloppy and trusting. And it was she who paid the price.
He figured he could hide forever and not worry about her finding out about his other life. Now he doesn't even know if she knows. Should he bring it up? Or would it only make everything worse?
His lip caught between his teeth. He'll just have to deal with it when he's ready—when they're both ready.
But for now, he turned his head back to the road, letting a heavy exhale through his nose, and kept driving. ❞
I write for all of enha! If you have any questions, you can check my FAQ. There, I specify what type of content and which groups and members I do and do not write for. If you had a specific scenario or request in mind, feel free to send it!
SISTER HOW DID YOU WRITE SO MANY LONG FICS IN LIKE 10 DAYS??? I ONLY WRITE HALF A BLURB AND GET WRITERS BLOCK FIR LIKE A MONTH
LABSOKAJDBCHWDOJ technically I’ve been working on the vamp! Sunghoon Au since December, when I became an engine. But what made it truly become what it ended up being was two other friends (who also write fan fiction, although not for kpop) who helped me a lot, so I owe to them that it ended up being liked by so many people.
For the Hee one, it was also technically already half written, since I used old headcanons that I had written about Taeyong from NCT a long time ago. I recently found my old phone, and it was in the Notes app. As I kept reading, the only thing I could think about was that en-log where Heeseung made the ringtone for engine. Already having the main structure and plot points, I only had to connect all the hcs and give it a proper ending.
I also get writer's blocks that last a long time (I'm currently going through one lol). Honestly, writing those fics took a pretty long time, but thankfully I had a lot of inspiration at the moment. I was really tempted to just post them all at once but one of my friends told me that I would probably just end up clogging up the tags and not getting any engagement. Yet, I got excited and still posted them kinda close together lol.
This is my first time posting on this site, though I've been reading and reposting from my main blog for a while. It's okay if inspiration doesn't come to you immediately or if you keep abandoning projects halfway through. I think it happens to all of us. What's important is to remember that writing shouldn't feel like a chore or an obligation. Don't be too hard on yourself 🫂
My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.
But life had other plans.
War has returned to our home. Again.
And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.
There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.
I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.
Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.
This is my life.
This is my daughter’s life.
And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness.
Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.
Why I’m Reaching Out
Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.
That’s why I keep going.
I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.
How You Can Help:
🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity
🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources
🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war
💛 If you can, please support our journey here:
My name is Saja. I am a wife, a mother to a precious 8-month-old girl, and I am writing this in a moment that I wish I didn’t have to live t
If you can’t give, please consider sharing.
Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.
From My Heart to Yours
Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war.
But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.
I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.
Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you.
Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring.
We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.
I'm so sorry. I currently don't have the means for donating, but I can repost!! I sincerely hope this brings awareness to your and many others' stories. I wish you and your daughter the best, sister. Stay safe.
heesimp’s stepdad! hoon has me on a chokehold so bad lately 🫠
Thinking about being in stepdad! Sunghoon’s beach house...
The clock ticks past midnight.
The beach house is cloaked in soft silence, broken only by the distant hush of the waves outside.
You lie on your side in the guest bed; tiny sleep shorts riding up your hips, a loose tank top brushing against your bare chest—your skin still sticky and warm from the humid night air.
The creak of the door is almost imperceptible.
But you hear it.
You feel him.
Sunghoon’s silhouette looms in the doorway, his body lit only by the faint moonlight slicing through the blinds.
He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to.
Your breath catches in your throat as he closes the door softly behind him, clicking the lock into place with a tenderness that betrays just how badly he wants to devour you.
He pads over to the bed—shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and the outline of his cock already swelling visibly beneath the fabric.
In a split second he’s there, sitting on the edge of the mattress and grazing the soft skin of your exposed calf.
“Couldn’t sleep without my baby,” he whispers, voice thick, dark with need.
He bends down and presses a kiss above your knee, trailing upward slowly, until his lips brush your inner thigh.
You shift, thighs parting instinctively with a sigh escaping your lips.
An invitation.
Sunghoon exhales a shaky breath, fingers sliding under the hem of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your hips with agonizing patience.
“Such a sweet girl,” he murmurs, voice almost worshipful. His nose nuzzles the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis, inhaling you like you’re the oxygen he needs to breathe.
“My love… My pretty baby.”
The words make you whimper—a sound so small the dark swallows it.
But Sunghoon hears it.
And he thrives on it.
You lift your hips, helping him peel the shorts down completely, leaving you in only your thin panties and the loose cotton tank.
He kisses along your hips, teasing closer until he’s spreading your thighs wider with his broad palms, settling himself between them like he belongs there.
And he does.
He presses his hot, wet tongue against the fabric, tracing over the outline of your pussy lips and leaving a kiss to the visible wet spot over your entrance. He then shifts his focus back to exploring your clothed cunt. You moan softly when his tongue grazes your sensitive bud. He smiles.
He puts all of his attention into stimulating your clit. He gives adoring kisses at first and then kitten licks that quickly transform into full-on sucking.
He gives it one more kiss before pulling away to look at you—lips parted, chest rising irregularly, nipples hardened from you playing with them just a minute ago.
God, he loves seeing you like this.
Sunghoon reaches the hem of your panties and pulls down slowly. You raise your hips slightly and watches as a string of slick connects your pussy to the ruined pice of fabric previously hiding it from him.
He positions himself, spreading your legs again. His eyes never leave your pussy, the hunger in his stare resembling a starved man about to eat for the first time in weeks.
The first press of his tongue to your bare slit is slow and devastating.
Sunghoon moans low against you, the vibration shooting straight into your core.
He licks you in long, deliberate strokes—savoring, tasting, owning.
One of your hands finds his hair—silky and soft between your fingers—and tugs gently, but Sunghoon just growls, low and warning.
“No, sweet girl. Let Daddy take care of you.”
He wraps his arms under your thighs, locking you in place, and devours you properly.
His tongue dips into your entrance, teasing, before lapping up your slick and circling your clit in lazy, torturous patterns.
Every slow lick, every wet suck against your aching bundle of nerves pulls a broken moan from your throat.
You arch, panting, grinding your hips against his mouth helplessly.
Sunghoon pulls back just enough to mutter against your dripping cunt, “Look at you… already so wet for me. My baby’s pussy always knows when I need her.”
You whine, thighs trembling.
The need spirals, sharp and unbearable, but Sunghoon keeps it slow. He keeps you right on the edge, wanting, needing, desperate.
Only when you’re sobbing, softly whispering ‘Please, Daddy, please!’ does he relent.
He sucks your clit between his lips hard enough to make you cry out, the orgasm ripping through you without warning, blinding and hot.
He doesn’t stop.
Not even when you start squirming from the overstimulation, not even when your fingers scrabble at his shoulders.
Sunghoon growls against your cunt and holds you down, tongue and mouth working you through every wave, until you’re left limp and gasping.
When he finally pulls back, your juices slicking his chin, he kisses his way up your trembling body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, the soft underside of your breast.
You blink up at him, dazed, and he smiles—soft, almost sweet—as he brushes your damp hair from your forehead.
“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “So good for me… always so fucking good.”
You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s pushing his sweats down, his thick cock springing free—flushed, leaking, and hard for you.
Sunghoon leans down, pressing a kiss to your parted lips.
You taste yourself on his mouth.
“Think you can give Daddy just a little more, baby?” he whispers, nudging the head of his cock against your sore, needy entrance.
The way you whimper and nod—desperate, greedy—makes him chuckle softly.
“That’s my good girl.”
He pushes in devastatingly slow, stretching you all over again—claiming you once more in the dead of night, with only the moon to witness it.
He’s not gentle this time.
Because you’re his.
And tonight, just like every night, he needs to remind you of it.
Sunghoon sinks into you inch by inch, and your walls flutter helplessly around him, still soaked, still twitching from the orgasm he wrung out of you minutes ago.
He curses low under his breath—the sound raw, almost pained—and braces his hands on either side of your head, caging you beneath him.
“Fuck, baby…” he rasps, pressing his forehead against yours for a breathless moment. “You’re so warm… my sweet, sweet girl, so fucking tight for me…”
He doesn’t wait—doesn’t even give your pussy time to adjust.
He pulls almost all the way out—the head of his cock catching at your entrance—before slamming back in with a deep, heavy thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.
You sob his name brokenly, your nails clawing at his broad back, but Sunghoon just growls—a dark, possessive sound vibrating in his chest.
“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “Take it—Take all of Daddy’s cock.”
He sets a brutal pace—hips snapping against yours, his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust.
The bed creaks under the force of it, the frame rattling against the wall, but neither of you care.
Not when he’s fucking you like he’s trying to carve you open—to brand you from the inside out.
Sunghoon dips his mouth to your neck—biting, sucking, marking—leaving angry red blooms along your skin.
You feel them blooming across your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulder—a constellation of bruises only he will ever touch.
“My baby,” he grits out, sinking his teeth into your shoulder just hard enough to make you cry out. “My fucking baby. Mine.”
You can’t speak—too overwhelmed by the relentless stretch and thrust of him—but he sees it in your eyes, the way you nod frantically, whimpering as tears prick the corners of your lashes.
Sunghoon lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his arm to fuck you deeper, harder, until every thrust punches a wet gasp out of you.
The angle lets him hit that perfect spot—over and over—until you’re babbling, begging without words.
“Never gonna let you go,” he hisses, his voice rough against your temple. “You’re mine, my love. You hear me?”
You nod again, tears slipping free now, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how good it is, how right it is.
“You’re never going back to that fucking campus without me,” he growls. “Never gonna let some little college boy even look at you. Gonna keep you right here—in my bed—dripping with my cum every fucking day.”
The filthy, possessive words send you hurtling toward another orgasm—tighter, hotter than the first.
You feel yourself clenching around him, milking his cock greedily, and Sunghoon snarls when he feels it.
“Fuck—that’s it, baby. Cum on my cock. Show me who you belong to.”
You shatter around him with a hoarse, broken gasp—body seizing, back arching off the bed—and Sunghoon loses it.
He drives into you with reckless, punishing thrusts, chasing his own release, desperate to empty himself inside you.
And when it hits him—when his cock throbs deep inside your spasming cunt—he presses his mouth against your throat and roars into your skin, thick, hot cum flooding you in endless, jerking spurts.
He doesn’t pull out; he stays buried deep. His hips grinding in tight, messy circles, making sure every drop stays inside you.
The lewd wet sounds echo in the silence, your bodies slick, trembling, bound together by sweat and want and obsession.
You’re both gasping—wrecked, ruined—but he still doesn’t move far.
Instead, Sunghoon leans down—his body heavy over yours—and captures your mouth in a kiss.
It’s filthy; your spit mixing, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip, his tongue fucking into your mouth just like he fucked your cunt.
A kiss that tastes like desperation, need, and ownership.
He kisses you until you’re whimpering into him, clinging weakly to his shoulders.
Only then does he pull back slightly—just enough to press his forehead against yours again.
“My baby,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “My sweet girl. You’re not going anywhere. Ever.”
This time you kiss him—slower, but just as dirty—while his heavy, softening cock remains buried inside you, your combined cum leaking slowly out your pussy.
Outside, the night stretches on, the ocean murmuring against the shore.
Inside, you’re wrapped up in Sunghoon’s arms—claimed, filled, and hopelessly his.
〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. unprotected sex. kissing. oral sex (male receiving). cum eating (reader swallows). creampie. overstimulation. praise. switch! heeseung. slightly subby hee. reader wants to please hee. riding. couch sex. soft sex.
They were supposed to go out. Dinner reservations, cute outfits—a normal night like any other couple. Instead, she ends up in her boyfriend’s lap wrapped around his cock. Then again, with the way every one of their dates ends up exactly like this, did they really miss anything?
The door clicks shut softly behind you.
You slip out of your heels at the entryway, leaving them next to Heeseung’s worn sneakers. For a moment, your heart squeezes at the sight: your shoes and his, side by side like they belong together.
Like you belong here.
You let yourself pretend, just for a heartbeat, that this is your shared home. Pretend he’s your husband waiting in the next room, pretend you’re walking into the rest of your life.
‘One day’, you think with a smile.
Your white maxi skirt brushes your ankles as you pad barefoot down the hallway. The fabric hugs your hips and waist, the soft tube top above showing off your shoulders, your belly, your curves—you know he’ll notice. He always does.
You knock softly on the closed studio door, smiling to yourself. A beat later, his voice—warm, a little distracted—floats through.
“Come in, baby.”
You open the door and step inside. The studio is dim, cozy—monitors glowing, fairy lights casting a soft haze over the cluttered space.
Heeseung’s hunched over the mixing board, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, brows furrowed in concentration. He turns when he hears you, and when he sees you his whole face lights up.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower just for you.
You cross the room to him without hesitation, your skirt swishing softly around your legs.
He rises halfway from his chair, meeting you for a kiss — slow, sweet, a lingering brush of lips that feels like sinking into something warm and endless.
His hands skim over your waist, squeezing lightly, like he needs to reassure himself that you’re real.
“Missed you,” he says against your mouth.
“Missed you too, Hee,” you whisper back.
He pulls back just enough to grin at you—soft, a little smug, eyes dipping down to drink you in.
You see the way his gaze catches on the sliver of skin showing between your top and skirt, the way his fingers flex like he’s fighting the urge to touch.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, almost to himself.
You laugh, cheeks heating, and tap his chest lightly.
“You wanted to show me something?”
“Yeah,” he says, snapping out of his daze. “New track. Just finished it.”
He sits back down and pulls you into his lap without a second thought, one strong arm wrapping around your waist, the other resting lazily on your thigh—his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your skin.
You melt against him, arms looping around his neck, your chest pressed flush to his.
You can feel his heartbeat, quick and steady beneath your palm.
The track starts—a low, throbbing beat, thick with bass and lazy synths.
It’s sexy, smoky, the kind of song that makes your body want to move without thinking. Heat coils low in your stomach instantly.
You tilt your head, giving him a playful look.
“It’s hot,” you murmur.
Heeseung grins, cocky and shy all at once.
“Made it thinking about you.”
Your stomach flips. You kiss him, just a quick press of lips that isn’t nearly enough, and before you know it, you’re kissing him again.
Slower. Deeper.
Your fingers threading into the messy strands of his hair, tugging gently. Heeseung hums against your mouth, hand squeezing your thigh a little harder.
The beat plays on, slow and grinding, a rhythm that sinks into your bones.
You start to move—tiny shifts of your hips in his lap, not even thinking about it. Just wanting to feel more of him, wanting to give more of yourself.
His breath stutters when you kiss down his jaw, over his stubbled chin, down the column of his throat.
You find the spot just behind his ear you know drives him crazy, and suck lightly at the skin there, your teeth grazing his earlobe.
He shudders beneath you, hips jerking up instinctively.
“Baby,” he groans, voice wrecked already. “You’re playing dirty.”
You smile against his neck, smug and sweet.
His hand moves up, sliding over your skirt, fingertips ghosting over the soft skin of your thigh, your hip, your waist—his touches light and teasing, but filled with a promise you know too well.
“Can’t help it,” you whisper. “You make it so easy.”
Heeseung laughs—low and breathless—and captures your mouth in another kiss, rougher this time, teeth nipping at your lower lip.
You’re dizzy with it—the taste of him, the feel of his body under yours, the sound of his music wrapping around you both like a spell.
Heeseung leans back in his chair slightly, dragging you even closer onto his lap.
You can feel his hardness pressing against your thigh now, hot and demanding through the fabric of his sweats.
“You feel that, pretty girl?” he murmurs against your mouth. “You do that to me.”
His hands trail down your body — tracing the curve of your waist, the soft dip of your exposed belly button and the flare of your hips over the tight fabric of your skirt.
You whimper, grinding down just slightly—enough to make you both gasp. Heeseung growls softly, gripping your hips to hold you still.
“Fuck,” he breathes.“If you keep doing that I’m gonna fuck you right here, baby.”
You blink down at him, pupils blown wide, heart hammering.
“Maybe that’s what I want,” you whisper back.
Heeseung stares at you for a second—like you’ve just undone every bit of his control—and then he’s standing, sweeping you up in his arms so fast you squeal.
One of his arms hooks under your thighs, the other around your back, lifting you off like you weigh nothing.
The world tilts as he turns, heading toward the back of the studio — toward the worn, familiar couch tucked against the wall.
The one that’s seen its share of late nights and lazy, heated sessions, and that’s about to witness another.
He sets you down in front of it carefully, but he doesn’t let go. Not even for a second.
His hands roam — reverent, greedy — tracing up your sides, over the curve of your waist, along the bare skin peeking out between your top and skirt.
“God, look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked.
And then slowly, teasingly, he reaches for the hem of your white tube top.
His fingertips skim up your sides, dragging the fabric higher, baring more and more skin as he goes.
You lift your arms obediently, heart pounding, and Heeseung peels the top off you, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.
His eyes darken immediately.
You’re not wearing a bra, just delicate little silicone pasties covering your nipples—a teasing, playful barrier he hadn’t expected.
Heeseung’s throat works as he swallows hard, chest rising and falling faster.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice laced with awe. “Baby…”
You smile, slow and mischievous, and reach up, peeling the pasties off one by one—teasing, slow—watching the way his gaze tracks every movement, hungry and helpless.
When your bare breasts are finally exposed to him, Heeseung lets out a heavy, shaky breath, like he’s trying—and failing—to hold himself back.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands finding your waist again, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing softly over your nipples, pulling a breathy moan from you. Heeseung groans, deep in his chest, thumbs circling, caressing, worshipping.
“My beautiful, perfect girl.” he murmurs.
You arch into his hands instinctively, chasing his touch, and he rewards you with a lazy, heated kiss, tongue teasing yours, slow and filthy.
When he finally moves again, it’s to sink down to his knees in front of you, hands finding the waistband of your skirt.
“Been thinking about this since I saw you,” he admits, voice hoarse. “Peeling this off. Seeing what’s mine.”
He presses a kiss to your belly button, making you both chuckle a little. He drags the skirt down slowly—agonizingly slow—his palms tracing the curves of your hips, your thighs, as he goes.
The skirt falls to the floor in a soft puddle around your ankles.
You stand there now in just a simple pair of white panties—sweet, delicate, almost innocent—and Heeseung visibly twitches in his sweats at the sight of you.
You bite your lip, feeling a wicked thrill pulse through you.
You can see the bulge straining against the fabric of his pants—see how much he wants you, how much he’s holding back for you.
“See what you do to me, pretty girl?” he rasps, running his hands slowly up your calves, your knees, your thighs—every touch a brand, every inch a silent worship.
You reach for him, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, tugging him closer.
“Show me, Hee,” you whisper.
His eyes flash—dark, dangerous, beautiful—and he surges up, capturing your mouth in a desperate, bruising kiss.
Heeseung’s hands roam everywhere at once—cupping your breasts, gripping your thighs, sliding under your panties to palm the heat between your legs.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he growls against your mouth, fingers teasing your slit,making you gasp and writhe under him.
“All this,” he whispers, dragging his fingers up to rub slow circles against your clit, “just for me?”
“Always,” you whimper, with a dazed smile.
Heeseung smiles and leans in, nipping your jaw lightly.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Heeseung whispers, voice rough and low, his hands warm and possessive, now on your thighs.
But he doesn’t move to undress yet.
No—he stays fully clothed, looming over you, looking down at you like he’s starving.
And you know him well enough to recognize that glint in his eyes—the one that means he wants devour you.
He leads you to sit on the couch and leans in, mouth finding your breast—and for a moment, he just breathes you in, his nose brushing the curve of your skin, his lips ghosting over the soft swell.
Then he kisses you there: open-mouthed, wet, hungry, but not hurried. Never hurried.
Heeseung savors you, dragging his mouth across your breast, tasting every inch, pressing kisses along the delicate slope before finally closing his lips around your nipple.
You gasp, arching up into him instinctively.
His tongue flicks softly at first—light, teasing laps that make you whine—then he sucks harder, pulling your nipple into the hot, wet heat of his mouth, rolling it gently between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Your hands fly to his hair, tugging helplessly.
Heeseung hums against your skin—a deep, pleased sound that vibrates through your chest—then moves to your other breast, giving it the same slow, worshipful attention.
He suckles, slow and filthy, hands squeezing your waist, your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself.
“You taste so good everywhere,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations of his voice shooting straight down between your legs.
You can feel your panties sticking to you now, wet and clinging, and you know he feels it too—his hands sliding lower, thumbs brushing just under the waistband teasingly, making you writhe.
Then, without a word, Heeseung drops to his knees again, kneeling between your spread thighs like you’re something holy.
His hands slide up your thigh slowly, thumbs pressing gently into the soft flesh as he takes it and spreads it as he leans in.
And then he kisses you right over the wet fabric of your panties. A gasp rips from your throat, sharp and desperate.
Heeseung groans softly, mouthing at your clothed pussy, his tongue dragging a slow, lazy stripe over the soaked cotton, making sure you feel everything through the thin barrier.
You whimper, hips bucking up into his mouth, but he just holds you down, big hands pressing into your thighs, keeping you still, helpless under his teasing.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs against you, breath hot and damp.
“Fuck, baby. You’re dripping through your panties.” You feel him smirk against you—‘cocky bastard’ you think—and then he licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, pressing his mouth against the fabric like he wants to taste you through it.
You whimper his name, hips grinding against his mouth desperate for more. Heeseung chuckles—low and sinful—and pulls back just enough to admire the growing wet patch between your legs.
“Look at this,” he murmurs, voice thick with need. “All for me.”
You can barely breathe—barely think—and he’s still fully dressed, still teasing, still completely in control.
You reach for him blindly, tugging at the hem of his hoodie.
“Off,” you plead, lust lacing your words. “Please, Hee… want you.”
Heeseung’s eyes darken even further, and finally, finally, he relents.
“Anything for you, pretty girl,” he says, voice pure filth wrapped in velvet.
He stands up slowly, grabbing the hem of his hoodie and pulling it off in one smooth motion—baring his lean, strong torso to you, the faint lines of his abs flexing as he moves.
You see the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, the flushed heat spreading across his chest.
Next, his sweats—he pushes them down, revealing his cock, thick and flushed, curved up toward his belly, a bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip.
Heeseung stands over you, fully naked now, chest heaving, cock flushed and leaking, and you can’t help it—your mouth waters at the sight of him.
You sit up slowly, feeling the heat between your legs throb with need, but right now, you want him to fall apart first.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock—hot, thick, pulsing under your touch—and Heeseung hisses between his teeth, hips jerking slightly.
“Baby…” he groans, voice strained, his hand instinctively finding the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair, grounding himself against the overwhelming need clawing through him.
You look up at him through your lashes, catching the wild, glassy look in his dark eyes—and then you lean forward and press a soft, tender kiss to the leaking tip of his cock.
Heeseung shudders violently, a broken sound escaping his throat.
“Fuck, baby—”
You smile and then drag your tongue in a long, slow stripe from the very base of his shaft all the way up to the head, lapping at the bead of pre-cum there like you’re savoring the taste of him.
Heeseung’s fingers tighten in your hair, a ragged breath tearing from his chest.
“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasps, hips twitching helplessly.
You hum against him, then part your lips and take him into your mouth—slowly, teasingly, letting the thick head of his cock glide over your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of him stretch your mouth deliciously.
Heeseung groans—a deep, helpless sound that makes you clench around nothing.
He’s trying so hard to stay still, trying so hard not to thrust into your mouth like he’s desperate to.
You take him deeper, inch by inch, feeling the slick, heated slide of his cock over your tongue, down your throat.
Your jaw aches slightly, but you don’t care—you want him, want all of him, want to taste and feel and ruin him.
His hand cradles the back of your head tenderly, thumb stroking the side of your neck, his body trembling under your worship.
“That’s it, babygirl,” he moans, his voice a wrecked, broken thing. “Taking me so good. Ah-!”
You bob your head slowly, building a lazy, messy rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside of his cock every time you pull back.
Drool slips from the corner of your mouth, slicking his shaft, and Heeseung swears under his breath, his hips giving tiny, helpless thrusts he can’t seem to control anymore.
“You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” he gasps, warning you, giving you the chance to pull away—but you don’t.
You dig your nails into his thighs. You take him deeper, suck harder—own the way he falls apart for you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Heeseung moans, thighs trembling, and then he’s spilling into your mouth, hot and thick and overwhelming.
You hold him deep, swallowing every drop, feeling him pulse and jerk on your tongue, listening to the desperate, broken sounds he makes as you milk him through it.
When he finally stills, panting like he just ran a marathon, you pull back slightly, opening your mouth wide—showing him his release pooling in your mouth, mixing with your saliva.
You swirl it with your tongue. Heeseung groans, low and filthy, eyes dark and blown wide with lust and awe.
“Jesus, baby,” he chokes out. “You’re fucking perfect.”
You hold his gaze, smiling around the filthy mess he gave you—and then you swallow, slow and deliberate, throat working visibly.
Heeseung watches you like he’s ready to fall to his knees.
“Come here,” he rasps, grabbing your face in both hands, pulling you up into a messy, hungry kiss—almost like he needs to taste himself on your lips, like he can’t stand another second without you.
The kiss is filthy; wet and open-mouthed and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours, his body shuddering against you.
Heeseung breaks the kiss first—panting against your lips, trembling slightly. His hands roam your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he needs to touch every inch of you to believe you’re real.
He moves instinctively to guide you back down onto the couch, trying to lay you out beneath him, to worship you like he promised.
But you don’t let him.
You press your palms flat against his chest, feeling the rapid drum of his heart, and gently push.
Heeseung blinks up at you, dazed, confused, completely gone for you.
You don’t say a word.
You just look at him—eyes dark, lips swollen, body humming with power—and he obeys immediately, sinking back onto the couch with a soft, wrecked sound.
You stand up—barefoot, bare-chested, in nothing but those damp, clinging white panties.
His gaze devours you—moving slowly up the length of your legs, your thighs, your hips, your waist, your breasts.
He looks hungry, helpless, wrecked—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
You turn around slowly—giving him your back—and Heeseung lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like he’s physically restraining himself from grabbing you.
You glance over your shoulder at him—smirking softly—and then hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Teasing.
You peel the fabric down inch by agonizing inch—over the curve of your ass, your thighs, your knees—moving with a lazy, sensual roll of your hips.
Heeseung’s breath hitches sharply behind you.
You can feel his gaze like a physical caress, heavy and searing on your bare skin.
When the panties slip past your knees, you feel a slick, sticky pull and as the panties slide down, a thin, glistening string of slick stretches from your soaked pussy to the fabric.
You hear it—the broken, helpless sound Heeseung makes.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, voice rough and raw. “Baby…”
You glance back again, catching the way his eyes are locked on the obscene sight, his hands now fisted tight against his thighs, his cock twitching visibly, already painfully hard again.
You let the panties fall to the floor, and step out of them gracefully, kicking them aside.
You don’t rush.
You don’t speak.
You just let him watch—let him see everything—the bare, plump curve of your thighs, the perfect curve of your ass, the slick shining between your legs, all for him.
You reach behind yourself—slowly, lazily—and run your fingers along the inside of your thigh, up to the slick heat between your legs, gathering it on your fingertips deliberately.
Heeseung swears again—a filthy, desperate sound—and you hear the faint thud of his head dropping back against the couch, as if the sight of you is too much to survive.
You turn around slowly to face him—naked, wet, radiant in the soft golden light of the studio—and you see him: completely undone. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, chest heaving.
Heeseung looks at you like you’re a goddess, a dream, something he’s too fucked to deserve but too in love to resist.
“Come here, baby,” he rasps, voice so rough it scrapes the air.
You take your time—walking toward him slowly, hips swaying, slick still shining between your thighs—and watch the way his jaw clenches, his fingers twitching like he’s dying to grab you.
But he doesn’t move.
He lets you come to him.
Lets you keep control, because he wants to see what you’ll do next. Because he trusts you completely. And you’re not done driving him crazy yet.
You climb onto his lap slowly, swinging one leg over him, feeling his hands automatically come to rest on your hips like magnets pulled to steel.
Heeseung looks up at you, flushed, breathless, wrecked.
Like you’re something holy.
Like you’re everything.
You settle onto his thighs, feeling the hard, hot weight of his cock pressing against your soaked folds.
His chest rises and falls quickly under you, every muscle in his lean body tight with restraint, with need.
You lean in, pressing your mouth to his in a messy, hungry kiss. It’s not soft, it’s desperate—tongues tangling, teeth clashing, hands grabbing.
You swallow his gasps, he swallows your whimpers.
It’s filthy and beautiful all at once.
While your mouths stay locked, you start to move your hips—slowly grinding your dripping pussy along his cock, slicking him up, teasing both of you with the obscene wet sounds filling the room.
Heeseung groans into your mouth, his hands flexing on your hips as he fights the urge to thrust up into you.
“Baby…” he breathes, voice cracking. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
You keep sliding up and down his length, the heavy weight of him dragging against your clit every time you grind your hips forward, making you gasp into his mouth.
Every pass smears your arousal over his cock, coating him, making him harder, hotter, pulsing between your thighs.
It’s slow torture—for both of you—but you love the way he falls apart under you.
You love how helpless he looks, how beautiful he is when he’s wrecked for you.
Eventually, you pull back from the kiss—panting, both of you dazed and shaking. You catch his bottom lip between your teeth—biting it, tugging it gently—before letting it go with a wet pop.
Heeseung’s eyes flutter closed for a second—like even that small act is enough to destroy him.
You sit up straighter, still grinding lazily, feeling his cock twitch under you.
Then, without breaking eye contact, you reach behind yourself, your fingers wrapping around the slick, hot length of him.
Heeseung’s hips jerk up instinctively, but you press him back down with a hand on his chest, smirking.
“Easy, baby,” you whisper.
Heeseung whines softly—actually whines—and you almost feel bad for how desperate he looks.
Almost.
You line him up with your entrance, the fat, swollen head of his cock pressing against your soaked, aching pussy and you both freeze there for a second, the air thick and electric between you.
You look into his eyes—really look—and see everything: the love, the lust, the devotion, the helpless awe.
And then he whispers.
“I love you,”
His voice rough and raw and so full of everything he is.
It knocks the air from your lungs. The way he says it, like it’s a prayer, like it’s a promise.
You smile, heart splitting wide open, leaning in just enough to press your forehead to his.
“I love you too,” you whisper back.
And then you sink down onto him—slowly, deeply, completely—taking him inside inch by inch, stretching around him, filling yourself with all of him.
You both moan—loud, helpless, raw—clutching at each other like you might fall apart without the connection.
Heeseung’s hands tighten on your hips, but he doesn’t move.
He lets you have this—lets you take him exactly how you want, exactly how you need.
You bottom out, feeling the thick, aching stretch of him seated fully inside you, the way he fits so perfectly it’s almost unbearable.
You stay there for a moment—both of you shaking, gasping, barely holding on—and then you start to move.
Slow.
Lazy.
Sensual.
Grinding your hips in tight circles, rocking up and down on his cock, feeling every thick, delicious drag of him inside you.
Heeseung watches you, completely wrecked and completely in love. He lets you ride him at your own pace, his mouth dropping open in awe every time you sink down onto him again.
“You’re so hot,” he breathes, voice breaking. “So fucking perfect, my love.”
You smile through the haze of heat and pleasure—because he means it. You know he means every single word.
“So you keep saying.”
You ride him slow, deep, deliberate—grinding down onto him with every roll of your hips, taking him deeper than should be possible, making both of you gasp and shudder with every wet, filthy slap of skin on skin.
Heeseung groans beneath you, his head tipping back against the couch, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to breathe through the pleasure.
His hands can’t stay still.
One slides down — grabbing a handful of your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, squeezing like he can’t help himself.
The other moves up — cupping your breast, groping shamelessly, thumb flicking across your nipple, making you whimper.
“God, you feel so good,” he pants, eyes glassy and wild, hips jerking up instinctively every time you grind down onto him.
You lean forward, hands braced on his shoulders, grinding your clit against the hard line of his pelvis with every movement, chasing more friction, more heat.
Heeseung surges up slightly—mouth finding your neck—and he kisses you there, messy and wet and hungry.
His tongue drags sloppily over your throat, mouth sucking at the sensitive skin just below your ear, teeth scraping lightly, leaving tingling trails in his wake.
You shiver violently, gasping, riding him harder without meaning to.
You know what he’s doing—know he’s trying to mark you up again, claim you in the most primal way he knows how.
You feel his mouth linger, sucking harder for just a moment, and you slap his shoulder lightly, breathless.
“Hee,” you gasp, half laughing, half moaning. “Don’t leave too many… You know I hate covering them up.”
Heeseung chuckles—low, filthy and so fucking smug.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he licks the spot he just sucked—tongue slow and hot against your skin—and murmurs against you:
“You look so beautiful wearing my marks, baby.”
You feel it—the deep throb of want at his words—and you clench around him hard, making him groan into your neck.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against your pulse, voice thick with love and lust and something darker underneath. “Only mine.”
You whimper, riding him faster now, grinding rougher, harder, your thighs starting to tremble with the effort.
The knot in your belly pulls tighter, heat building low and deep, your orgasm coiling inside you like a fuse about to snap.
Heeseung feels the change instantly. The hand playing with your tits slides down until his fingers find your clit.
He rubs tight, fast circles against the swollen bundle of nerves—perfect, relentless pressure—and the sensation is devastating.
You cry out—a raw, broken sound—your body clenching around him so hard he gasps, hips jerking up into you.
“That’s it, baby,” he pants, eyes locked on yours, voice almost frantic. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna feel you lose it on my cock.”
You grind down harder, chasing the friction, the heat, the desperate need clawing through you.
You’re so close.
You can feel it—your walls fluttering around him, your legs trembling, your mind going white with the overwhelming pleasure building inside you.
Heeseung keeps working your clit, keeps whispering filthy, beautiful things against your skin—and you break.
Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave—huge and devastating.
It starts in your pussy—a sharp, blinding pulse deep inside—and then spreads outward, a fiery flood through your thighs, your belly, your chest, your vision blurring around the edges with the force of it.
You cry out, body seizing, back arching—blinded by pleasure, blinded by him.
Your mind whites out for a moment—but even through the shuddering, searing waves of your orgasm, you’re still aware of him underneath you.
Still aware of Heeseung’s cock, thick and hot, buried deep inside you. Still aware of his desperate moans, the way his hands clutch at your hips, trying to hold on.
You falter — just for a second — hips stuttering as the pleasure overloads you, but you don’t stop.
You refuse to stop.
You force yourself to keep moving—grinding down onto him, riding him through it, milking him with every slow, trembling roll of your hips, even as your own body shudders uncontrollably.
And then you feel it—feel him chasing you into the abyss.
Heeseung’s cock twitches violently inside you, and his breath breaks apart into guttural, frantic moans.
“Baby,” he gasps—voice shredded, desperate. “Baby, I’m gonna cum—”
You clench around him—deliberately—tightening your pussy around his pulsing length, dragging another helpless, broken groan from him.
You feel him jerk, feel the first thick pulse of his orgasm spill into you, hot and overwhelming, flooding you deep inside.
Heeseung cums hard — hips thrusting up helplessly into you, hands fisting in the meat of your hips, trying to anchor himself as you ride him through it.
You don’t let up.
You keep moving, slow and filthy and relentless, grinding down against him, coaxing every last spurt of cum from his cock.
Milking him dry.
You feel every twitch, every pulse—feel the way he tries to thrust up into you weakly, instinctively—feel the way his body trembles under yours, totally undone.
And you match him—your body clenching when he pulls back, relaxing when he pushes in, drawing him deeper, squeezing around him, refusing to let him go until there’s nothing left to give.
It’s too much—for both of you—the overstimulation bordering on unbearable, pleasure bleeding into pain, into something even deeper, even more raw.
Heeseung’s head falls back against the couch, his throat exposed, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes screwed shut as he rides it out.
You shudder through aftershocks, clinging to his shoulders, both of you shaking, sweating, completely ruined together.
Finally—finally—when his last drop is buried inside you, when your bodies can’t handle a second more—you collapse against his chest, trembling, both of you gasping for breath.
Heeseung wraps his arms around you instantly—holding you so tightly it almost hurts—pressing messy, desperate kisses to your hair, your shoulder, your neck.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, voice still wrecked. “I love you so, so much, my love.”
You nuzzle into him, feeling his cum leak slowly from between your thighs, feeling the messy, beautiful reality of what you just did together.
You smile weakly against his skin, your heart swollen and aching with how much you love him.
You don’t say anything.
You don’t have to.
He knows.
And so you stay there—tangled, trembling, filled—as the room hums softly around you, as the studio lights blur in your vision, as the world narrows down to just you and Heeseung, still breathing each other in.
(smut. non idol! au.) They were supposed to go out. Dinner reservations, cute outfits—a normal night like any other couple. Instead, she ends up in her boyfriend’s lap wrapped around his cock. Then again, with the way every one of their dates ends up exactly like this, did they really miss anything?
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nothing yet...
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God Between My Legs
(smut. dark-ish romance.) Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other.
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Stepdad! Sunghoon thought
(smut. stepdad! au. stepcest) Based on heesimp’s stepdad Sunghoon thought.
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