⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SAVE A HORSE ⭑⠀𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗐𝖻𝗈𝗒
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘'𝐒 ✿ ⠀𝗐𝗁𝗈⠀𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾⠀𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀⠀𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅⠀𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 . . .
cowboy! enha x 𝑓! reader ◜ᵕ◝ smut mdni cow-girl position
⚬ hope u guys enjoy thisss ⨾ this is a repost !!
the barn smells like dust and hay and something sweet—maybe the wildflowers growing along the fence line, or maybe it's just the way the late afternoon sun turns everything golden. you're supposed to be checking on the new foal, but instead you're watching lee heeseung stack hay bales like it's nothing, muscles flexing under his worn t-shirt, that infuriating calm expression on his face.
he knows you're watching. he always knows.
"you gonna help or just stand there?" he asks, not even looking up.
"i'm supervising," you say, leaning against the stall door. "making sure you're doing it right."
"uh huh." he finally glances over, and there's that hint of a smirk. "your dad know you're out here supervising?"
"my dad thinks i'm in town." you push off the door and walk closer, boots scuffing against the concrete floor. "and you're not gonna tell him."
"wouldn't dream of it." heeseung sets down the bale he's holding, dusting off his hands on his jeans. he's got hay stuck in his dark hair, and you want to reach up and pull it out, but you don't. not yet.
"you've been avoiding me," you say.
"that's what your dad pays me for." he's still so calm, so steady, like nothing gets under his skin. it drives you crazy. you step closer, close enough that you can see the slight sheen of sweat on his neck, the way his jaw tightens just a little.
he does. his eyes are dark and unreadable, but there's something there—something that makes your heart kick against your ribs. you've been dancing around this for months, ever since he showed up looking for work and your dad hired him on the spot. stolen glances across the dinner table, hands brushing when you pass him tools, that one time in the truck when he drove you home from town and neither of you said a word but the air felt electric.
"we shouldn't," he says quietly.
"your dad would fire me."
you close the distance between you, pressing your palms flat against his chest. his heart is beating hard, you can feel it. "because i'm tired of pretending i don't want this."
for a moment, he doesn't move. then his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek, and he leans down and kisses you.
it's not gentle. there's too much pent-up wanting for gentle. his other hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth that would be embarrassing if you cared. but you don't care, not when he's kissing you like this, not when his tongue slides against yours and his fingers dig into your hip hard enough to bruise.
he walks you backward until your back hits the hay bales, never breaking the kiss. you grab his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes this low sound in his chest that goes straight through you. his hand slides under your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you arch into his touch.
"fuck," he breathes against your mouth. "you're gonna get me in so much trouble."
"worth it," you gasp, and he kisses you again, harder this time.
his hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, sliding up to cup your breasts through your bra. you're pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel skin, and he helps you, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. then his fingers are working at your jeans, popping the button, dragging down the zipper.
"i've got you," he says, and there's that steadiness again, even now. even with his pupils blown wide and his breathing ragged. he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, and the sight of him like that makes your knees weak.
he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, and then his mouth is on you and you have to bite down on your fist to keep from crying out. his tongue works you over with devastating precision, like he's been thinking about this, planning it. one hand grips your thigh, holding you steady, while the other slides up to press against your stomach.
"oh shit," you whimper, fingers tangling in his hair. "heeseung—"
he hums against you and the vibration makes you shake. he's relentless, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your clit, and you're falling apart embarrassingly fast. when he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you come with a strangled gasp, thighs trembling.
he doesn't stop until you're pushing at his head, oversensitive and shaking. when he stands up, his lips are wet and his eyes are dark with want. you kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and reach for his belt.
"you sure?" he asks, even as his hips press forward into your touch.
"so sure," you breathe, and make quick work of his jeans.
he's hard and thick in your hand, and the sound he makes when you stroke him is almost enough to make you come again. you push him backward until he's sitting on a hay bale, and then you're straddling him, sinking down slowly.
"jesus," he grits out, hands gripping your hips. "you feel—fuck—"
you start to move, rolling your hips, and his head falls back. you take advantage, kissing his neck, biting gently at his collarbone. his hands guide your movements, helping you find a rhythm, and it's perfect, it's so perfect you could cry.
"that's it," he murmurs, voice rough. "just like that, baby."
you ride him harder, chasing that feeling, and he meets you thrust for thrust. one of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and you gasp against his shoulder.
"come on," he says. "wanna feel you come on my dick."
the words push you over the edge. you clench around him, pleasure rolling through you in waves, and he follows seconds later with a muffled groan against your neck, hips stuttering.
for a moment, you just breathe together, foreheads pressed close.
then you hear it—footsteps outside the barn, your dad's voice calling your name.
"shit," you hiss, scrambling off him. you're both grabbing for clothes, pulling them on frantically. heeseung is infuriatingly calm even now, tucking in his shirt like he has all the time in the world.
"go," you whisper, shoving him toward the back door. "i'll distract him."
he pauses, hand on the door, and looks back at you. his lips form the words silently: love you.
your heart stops. then he's gone, slipping out into the golden afternoon, and you're left standing there with hay in your hair and your dad's footsteps getting closer.
the bedroom mirror reflects you turning side to side, checking the fit of the denim skirt you'd forgotten lived in the back of your closet. it sits higher on your thighs than you remember, frayed hem brushing against skin that'll be cold once the sun drops. jay's already dressed, sitting on the edge of your bed in his good boots—the ones without mud caked in the treads—watching you with that particular stillness he gets sometimes.
"we could skip it," he says, voice low and even. "order something. stay in."
you meet his eyes in the mirror. he's wearing his dark flannel, the one that makes his shoulders look broader, sleeves already rolled to his forearms like he couldn't be bothered with the buttons. there's something in the way he's looking at you that makes your stomach flip.
"it's the friday night rodeo," you say, smoothing the skirt down. doesn't help much. "everyone goes."
"yeah." his gaze tracks down your legs, slow and deliberate, before dragging back up. "everyone's gonna be looking at you in that."
heat creeps up your neck. "you don't like it?"
he stands, crosses the room in three strides. his hands find your waist, thumbs pressing into the strip of bare skin between your shirt and the skirt's waistband. in the mirror, you watch him step closer, his chest against your back, his mouth near your ear.
"didn't say that." his voice has dropped lower, rough around the edges. "said everyone's gonna look. didn't say i liked sharing."
your breath catches. his hands tighten slightly, possessive, and you can feel the heat of him through your clothes. for a second you think he might actually convince you to stay. then he steps back, grabs his keys off your dresser, and jerks his head toward the door.
"come on. you wanted to go."
the rodeo grounds smell like kettle corn and livestock, dust hanging in the air turned gold by the setting sun. you find seats in the bleachers, jay's arm draped across your shoulders, his thumb drawing absent patterns on your upper arm. he's trying to watch the barrel racing, you can tell, but his attention keeps sliding sideways.
every time you lean forward to see better, the skirt rides up. every time you cross your legs, denim pulls taut across your thighs. you're not doing it on purpose—not entirely—but you notice when his jaw tightens, when his hand on your leg moves higher, fingers splayed possessive across your thigh.
"you good?" you ask, innocent.
his eyes cut to you, dark and focused. "fine."
but his thumb strokes higher, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you have to bite your lip to keep from reacting. the bull riding starts and you cheer with everyone else, standing up to see better, and when you sit back down his hand is there to guide you, pulling you closer against his side.
"watch the show," he murmurs, but his fingers are drawing circles now, maddeningly light, and you can barely focus on anything except the heat pooling low in your belly.
by the time you get back to his truck, the sun's gone and the parking lot is emptying out. the radio plays something low and twangy as he pulls onto the main road, his hand back on your thigh like it belongs there. you watch his profile in the dashboard light—the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat works when he swallows.
"you've been quiet," you say.
his fingers flex against your leg. "about how i've been watching you in that skirt all night. watching other guys watch you." he glances over, eyes dark. "thinking about getting you alone."
your heart kicks hard against your ribs. the truck slows, and you realize he's turning off the main road onto a dirt path that cuts into an empty pasture. the headlights sweep across tall grass before he kills the engine, and suddenly it's just the two of you and the sound of crickets and your own breathing.
he's already moving, one hand cupping the back of your neck as he kisses you hard and hungry, all that quiet intensity finally unleashed. you gasp against his mouth and he takes advantage, tongue sliding against yours, swallowing the small sound you make. his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in through denim.
"backseat," he says against your lips.
you scramble over the console, clumsy with want, and he follows, pulling the door shut behind him. the space is cramped and dark, smelling like leather and him, and then his hands are on you again, pulling you into his lap. you straddle him, knees on either side of his hips, and the skirt bunches up around your waist.
"this stupid skirt," he mutters, hands sliding up your bare thighs, gripping hard. "been driving me crazy."
you roll your hips and feel him hard beneath you, straining against his jeans. he groans, head falling back against the seat, and you do it again, grinding down deliberately. his hands fly to your hips, holding you still.
"don't," he grits out. "unless you want this over real quick."
you lean in, lips brushing his jaw. "then do something about it."
that breaks something in him. he hauls you closer, kissing you messy and desperate, hands everywhere—sliding under your shirt, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, palming your breasts while you work at his belt. you can feel how hard he is when you finally get his jeans open, and the sound he makes when you wrap your hand around him is obscene.
you rise up on your knees, pushing your underwear aside, and sink down onto him in one smooth motion. the stretch makes you both groan, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as you adjust to the fullness. he's gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, breathing ragged against your neck.
"move," he says, voice wrecked. "please, move."
you do, lifting up and dropping back down, finding a rhythm that's faster than you planned, more desperate. the truck rocks with your movements, windows already starting to fog. his hands guide you, pulling you down harder, meeting your movements with upward thrusts that hit deep.
"that's it," he pants, watching where you're joined, then dragging his gaze up to your face. "take what you need."
you brace your hands on his shoulders, riding him harder, chasing the pleasure building hot and urgent in your core. he leans forward, mouth closing over your nipple through your thin shirt, and you cry out, movements turning erratic.
"so good," he's murmuring, almost reverent. "so fucking perfect. been wanting this all night, wanted to bend you over in that goddamn skirt—"
his words send you over the edge. you come with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he follows immediately, hips jerking up as he spills into you with a broken groan of your name.
for a long moment you just breathe together, tangled up in the cramped backseat, your face buried in his neck. his hands stroke up and down your spine, gentle now, grounding.
"we should probably head back," you finally whisper.
"yeah." but he doesn't let go, just holds you tighter. "in a minute."
you smile against his skin, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath your palm. through the fogged windows, the moon hangs full and bright over the empty pasture, and for this moment, there's nowhere else you need to be.
the television flickers blue-gray across jake's bedroom walls, some old western playing that neither of you are really watching anymore. you're tucked against his side, your head finding that perfect hollow between his shoulder and chest, his arm a comfortable weight around you. the cotton of his old t-shirt is soft under your cheek, worn thin from a hundred washes, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
his room smells like him—clean laundry and the faint woodsy scent of whatever soap he uses. it's small and lived-in, the kind of space that feels like safety. posters on the walls, boots kicked off by the door, a flannel shirt draped over the back of his desk chair. the bed's not big, just a full size with a quilt his grandmother made, which means you're pressed close together. not that you're complaining.
"this movie's terrible," you murmur, even though you've lost the plot entirely.
"it's a classic," he protests, but there's laughter in his voice. his fingers have been tracing absent patterns on your arm for the past ten minutes, and you're pretty sure he hasn't looked at the screen in just as long.
you tilt your head up to look at him. the television light catches the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. he's beautiful in that easy, unaware way—like he doesn't know what he does to you. his eyes flick down to meet yours, and something shifts in the air between you.
he's quiet for a moment, his hand stilling on your arm. then: "can i kiss you?"
your heart does something complicated in your chest. you've been friends forever, but this—this is new territory. uncharted. you nod, not trusting your voice.
he leans in slow, giving you every chance to change your mind. when his lips meet yours it's gentle, questioning. sweet. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you sigh into his mouth. that seems to be the permission he needs because he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting and exploring.
you shift, turning more fully toward him, your hand fisting in his shirt. he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, and suddenly you're being pulled closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist. the kiss turns messier, more urgent. years of friendship and wanting finally spilling over.
when you break apart you're both breathing hard. his pupils are blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and pink.
"i've wanted to do that for so long," he admits, voice rough.
he kisses you again, and this time there's less hesitation. his hands start to wander—down your back, over your hip, sliding under the hem of your sleep shirt to find bare skin. you gasp against his mouth, arching into the touch. his palm is warm and slightly calloused, and everywhere he touches feels like it's catching fire.
you get bold, your own hands exploring. you push at his shirt and he helps you pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere toward the floor. in the flickering light you can see the lean lines of him, the way his stomach tenses when you run your fingers over it.
"you're so pretty," you whisper, and he laughs, embarrassed.
he rolls you onto your back, hovering over you, and for a moment just looks. his hair falls into his eyes and you reach up to brush it back. he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, then the inside of your elbow. working his way up your arm while his other hand slides your shirt up.
you help him get it off, suddenly shy despite everything. but the way he looks at you—like you're something precious—makes the nervousness fade. he kisses you again, slower this time, while his hand maps the curve of your waist, your ribs, higher. when his thumb brushes over your nipple you gasp, your back arching off the bed slightly.
"okay?" he asks, always checking.
he takes his time, learning what makes you sigh, what makes you squirm. his mouth follows where his hands lead, kissing down your neck, across your collarbone, lower. you thread your fingers through his hair, holding on, feeling like you might float away if you don't anchor yourself to him.
when his hand slides into your sleep shorts you bite your lip, trying to stay quiet even though you're alone in the house. he finds you slick and ready, and the groan he lets out is almost as good as the feeling of his fingers sliding through your folds.
"god, you're so wet," he breathes against your neck. "is this all for me?"
you nod, beyond words, your hips rolling up to meet his touch. he's not rushed about it, taking his time to figure out what you like. when he slides a finger inside you, then another, you whimper, clutching at his shoulders.
"that good?" he asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
"shut up," you manage, but there's no heat in it.
he laughs softly, kissing you while his fingers work inside you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right pressure. the pleasure builds steady and warm, and when you come it's with his name on your lips, your whole body tensing and then melting into the mattress.
he works you through it, gentle and careful, until you're pushing his hand away from oversensitivity. he withdraws slowly, bringing his fingers to his mouth, and the sight of him tasting you makes heat flare all over again.
"my turn," you say, finding your courage.
you push at his chest until he's on his back, then make quick work of his sweatpants. he lifts his hips to help, and then he's bare beneath you, hard and flushed and perfect. you wrap your hand around him, experimenting with pressure and speed, watching his face to see what he likes.
his head falls back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. "fuck, that feels good."
you stroke him slowly, learning the weight and feel of him, the way he pulses in your palm. his hips start to move, small aborted thrusts, and his hand comes down to cover yours.
"wait," he pants. "i want—can we—"
"yeah," you say, understanding. "yeah, i want that too."
you shed your shorts and underwear, suddenly aware that you're both completely naked, that this is really happening. he reaches for his nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom. his hands shake a little as he rolls it on, and the vulnerability of that—the realness of it—makes your chest feel tight.
you swing your leg over his hips, straddling him. his hands come to rest on your waist, steadying you. for a moment you just look at each other, and there's something almost overwhelming about it. this is jake. like your best friend jake. and you're about to—
"we don't have to," he says softly, reading your face.
"i want to," you assure him. "i'm just… it's a lot. in a good way."
he smiles, that warm genuine smile that's always made you feel safe. "yeah. it is."
you reach between you, lining him up, and then slowly sink down. the stretch is intense, almost too much, and you have to pause halfway, breathing through it. his grip on your waist tightens, his jaw clenched with the effort of staying still.
"take your time," he grits out. "we've got all night."
you lower yourself the rest of the way, both of you groaning when he's fully seated inside you. you sit there for a moment, adjusting, feeling impossibly full. his hands stroke up and down your sides, soothing.
"okay," you confirm. "really okay."
you start to move, just small rolls of your hips at first, finding a rhythm. it's awkward at first—you're both new at this, at least with each other—but that's okay. you figure it out together, his hands guiding you, showing you the angle that makes his breath catch.
"like this?" you ask, lifting up and sinking back down.
"yeah, just like that. you're doing so good."
the praise makes you bold. you brace your hands on his chest and really start to ride him, finding a pace that feels good for both of you. the room fills with the sound of skin on skin, your combined breathing, the quiet moans neither of you can hold back.
he sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you, changing the angle so he's hitting deeper. you cry out, clutching at his shoulders, and he buries his face in your neck.
"you feel so perfect," he mumbles against your skin. "so perfect f'me."
one of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you see stars. you're close, so close, the pleasure building to something almost unbearable.
"jake," you gasp. "i'm gonna—"
"let go," he urges. "i've got you."
you do, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around him. he follows right after, his hips stuttering up into you as he comes with a broken sound that might be your name.
you collapse against his chest, both of you trembling and spent. his arms come around you, holding you close, and you can feel his heart hammering against your cheek. for a long time you just stay like that, tangled together, coming down slowly.
"so," he says eventually, his voice rough and satisfied. "still think the movie's terrible?"
you laugh, lifting your head to look at him. his hair is a mess, his lips swollen, his eyes soft and full of something that looks a lot like love.
"what movie?" you ask, and kiss him again.
the rain comes down in sheets, turning the asphalt black and slick, each drop hitting hard enough to sting. you're soaked through within minutes, your shirt clinging to your skin, hair plastered to your neck. stupid to walk home. stupid to think you could make it before the storm hit. but anything was better than staying at that party, watching your boyfriend flirt with anything that moved.
headlights cut through the downpour, and a truck slows beside you. you don't look up until you hear the window roll down.
sunghoon's voice. low and certain, no room for argument.
you hesitate, water streaming down your face. you've known him since high school—the quiet one who kept to himself, all sharp edges and careful distance. he works at the garage now, keeps his head down, doesn't get involved in anyone's business.
"i'm fine," you say, but your teeth are chattering.
"you're not." he leans across the seat, pushes the passenger door open. "just get in the truck."
something in his tone makes you obey. you climb in, bringing the smell of rain and cold with you. the heat's blasting, and the sudden warmth makes you shiver harder. he doesn't say anything, just reaches behind the seat and pulls out a worn leather jacket, drops it in your lap.
he nods once, eyes on the road. his jaw's tight, and you can see the muscle working there. he's wearing a thermal under a dark shirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms. there's motor oil under his fingernails. he looks tired.
"where's your boyfriend?" he asks after a minute, and there's something hard in the question.
"he let you walk home in this?"
you don't answer. the silence is answer enough.
his hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white. "he's an idiot."
you pull the jacket tighter around yourself. it smells like leather and cigarettes and something clean underneath. "it's not his fault."
sunghoon's laugh is bitter. "yeah. it is."
he doesn't take you home. he takes you to his place—a small house on the edge of town, the kind with a porch that needs fixing and a yard that's more dirt than grass. he kills the engine and sits there for a moment, rain drumming on the roof.
"you can call someone from inside," he says. "get dry first."
you follow him in. the house is sparse but clean, everything in its place. he disappears down the hall and comes back with a towel, hands it to you without meeting your eyes.
"i should go," you say, but you don't move.
"you should leave him," sunghoon says quietly. "but that's none of my business."
a week later, you were at the bar on the edge of town—the one with the mechanical bull and the dance floor that got sticky by midnight. your boyfriend had been drinking, getting louder, meaner. when you told him you wanted to leave, he grabbed your wrist hard enough to hurt.
"we leave when i say we leave."
he didn't get to finish. sunghoon's fist connected with his jaw, and your boyfriend went down hard. the bar went quiet.
"she said let go," sunghoon said, voice deadly calm.
your boyfriend scrambled up, but one look at sunghoon's face and he thought better of it. he spat blood on the floor and stumbled toward the door.
sunghoon turned to you. "you okay?"
you were shaking. "yeah. i—thank you."
"come on. i'm taking you home."
but he didn't take you home. he took you to his place—a small house on the outskirts of town, neat and spare. you sat on his couch while he got you water, and when he sat down next to you, the dam broke.
"i'm sorry," you said. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean for—"
"don't apologize." his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "don't ever apologize for that."
you looked up at him, and the air shifted. charged.
"sunghoon," you whispered.
he kissed you. it wasn't soft or tentative—it was fierce, claiming. his hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back, and you opened for him with a gasp. when he pulled back, you were both breathing hard.
"tell me to stop," he said.
"i don't want you to stop."
he kissed you again, deeper this time, and then he was pulling you onto his lap. you straddled him, feeling the hard length of him pressing against you through his jeans, and you ground down. he groaned into your mouth.
"bedroom," he muttered against your lips.
you barely made it. clothes came off in a trail down the hallway—your shirt, his, your jeans. by the time you reached his bed, you were down to your underwear and he was shoving his jeans off.
he laid you down and covered your body with his, kissing you like he was starving for it. when his hand slid between your legs, finding you wet, he made a rough sound in his throat.
he worked you open with his fingers, watching your face, and when you were writhing beneath him, he reached for a condom from his nightstand. he rolled it on and positioned himself at your entrance.
you did. his eyes were almost black with want.
he pushed in slowly, and the stretch was overwhelming. you clutched at his shoulders, and he stilled.
"breathe," he murmured. "i've got you."
when he was fully seated inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours. "fuck. you feel perfect."
he started moving, deep and steady, and it was good but you needed more. needed different.
"hoon," you panted. "let me—"
he understood immediately. he pulled out and rolled onto his back, hands going to your hips as you climbed over him. you sank down onto him slowly, taking him deeper from this angle, and his fingers dug into your flesh.
"that's it," he gritted out. "take it."
you started moving, lifting yourself up and dropping back down, and the pleasure was sharp and intense. his eyes were locked on you—your face, your tits bouncing with each movement, where he was disappearing inside you.
"faster," he commanded, and you obeyed, riding him harder. the sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his rough breathing.
"look at you," he said, voice raw. "fucking yourself on me like you were made for it."
the words sent heat flooding through you. you braced your hands on his chest and moved faster, chasing the building pressure.
"that's my girl," he moaned.
one of his hands slid from your hip to where you were joined, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with firm pressure. you cried out, your rhythm faltering.
"don't stop," he ordered. "keep going. wanna feel you fall apart on me."
you did, moving desperately now, and when his thumb pressed harder, you shattered. your orgasm hit you like a wave, and you heard him curse as you clenched around him.
"fuck, that's it," he groaned, and then he was gripping your hips with both hands and thrusting up into you, taking over. the intensity of it pushed you into a second smaller peak, and then he was coming too, his whole body going rigid beneath you.
you collapsed onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard. his arms came around you, holding you close.
"you okay?" he asked after a moment, voice rough.
his hand stroked down your back. "good. because you're not going back to him."
"i know," you said. "i won't."
"and you're staying here tonight."
he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt something settle in your chest. something that felt like safety.
the air in the house was warm and thick with the smell of fried chicken and biscuits. the low hum of the cicadas outside was a familiar evening song, a sound that meant the day was finally letting go. you’d just finished setting the table, wiping your hands on your apron, when the back door creaked open.
jungwon stepped inside, bringing the scent of hay, dust, and hard labor with him. his shoulders looked heavy, his movements slow as he toed off his work boots by the door. he ran a hand through his dark hair, dislodging a few stray pieces of hay, and his eyes, tired but steady, found you.
“hey,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to settle in the wooden floorboards.
“hey,” you smiled, turning to grab a plate. “long day?”
he hummed in response, a noncommittal sound as he came to stand behind you. his hands settled on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles over the fabric of your dress. he rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “smells good.”
“it’s just chicken,” you said, leaning back into him. “figured you’d be hungry.”
“i am.” he was quiet for a moment, just breathing you in. then he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “but i think i’m more hungry for something else.”
you laughed softly. “won, the food’s gonna get cold.”
“yeah yeah,” he whispered, turning you around in his arms. his gaze dropped, taking you in. his eyes lingered on the frilly apron tied around your waist, and a small, almost shy smile touched his lips. “you look cute in this.”
“no, it’s…” he trailed off, his fingers tracing the edge of the lace trim. “it’s really cute.” he looked up at you, and the usual calm focus in his eyes was replaced by something softer, something needier. “can i kiss you?”
you didn’t answer with words, just tilted your head up and met his lips. it started slow, a gentle press that tasted of exhaustion and home. but then his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened. it wasn’t demanding, but it was deliberate.
“dinner can wait,” he breathed.
he led you to the bedroom, his hand holding yours, his grip firm but gentle. the room was cast in the warm, honeyed glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you between his knees. his fingers worked at the knot of your apron, his knuckles brushing against your stomach. once it was undone, he tossed it aside, his hands returning to your hips, kneading the flesh there.
he looked up at you, his expression open and wanting. “lay down for me, pretty.”
you did, settling back against the quilts. he followed, hovering over you for a moment before kissing you again, a slow, deep kiss. then he began his descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest. he paused at the hem of your dress, looking up at you one last time, a silent question in his eyes. you nodded, and he lifted the fabric, his breath hitching slightly as he saw you.
he didn’t waste any time. he settled between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to hold you still. the first swipe of his tongue was experimental, a slow, broad stroke that made you gasp. he hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you.
“you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled. “always so good for me.”
he was methodical, focused. he paid attention to every little hitch in your breath, every shift of your hips, learning what made you moan and what made you whimper. he wasn’t trying to rush you to the edge; he was savoring it, savoring you. his tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it, and he sucked gently, just enough to make your back arch off the bed.
“wonie,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair.
“yeah?” he looked up, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with pleasure. “right there?”
you could only nod, your voice gone. he smiled, a small, proud curve of his lips, and went back to work. it didn’t take much longer. the coil in your stomach tightened, snapped, and you came with a cry of his name, your thighs trembling around his head. he stayed with you, licking you through it until you were sensitive.
he crawled back up your body, kissing you softly. you could taste yourself on his lips. “you okay?” he asked, his voice soft.
you nodded, pulling him down for another kiss. you could feel him, hard and insistent against your thigh. you shifted, rolling him over so you were straddling him. his hands immediately went to your hips, his eyes wide with surprise and anticipation.
a soft whimper escaped his lips, and he nodded, his hands gripping your waist tighter. you reached down, fumbling with the button of his jeans, his breath hitching as your brushed against him. once he was free, you sank down onto him, slow and steady, taking him in inch by inch. he threw his head back against the pillows, a low groan rumbling in his chest.
“fuck,” he breathed. “you feel… so good.”
you started to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that had you both gasping. his eyes were locked on you, his gaze intense and full of adoration. his hands roamed your body, from your hips to your waist, up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.
“so pretty,” he murmured, his voice whiny and breathless. “look at you, taking me so well.”
you leaned forward, changing the angle, and he moaned out, his hips bucking up to meet yours. his praise was a constant stream of whispers, a mix of sweet endearments and desperate pleas.
“you’re so cute,” he whimpered. “my cute girl. riding me so good.”
he reached over, grabbing his cowboy hat from the nightstand where he’d left it. he placed it gently on your head, tilting it down so it sat just right. he looked up at you, his eyes shining.
“there,” he breathed. “now you’re my little cowgirl.”
the sight of him, flushed and needy beneath you, wearing his hat, sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. you picked up the pace, riding him harder, faster. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he tried to ground himself.
“that’s it,” he gasped. “just like that. don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
his control was slipping, his usual calm demeanor crumbling under the weight of his pleasure. he was whining now, high, breathy sounds that were completely uninhibited. “i’m close,” he whimpered. “so close."
“come for me, won,” you breathed, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
that was all it took. with a choked cry, he came, his body arching up into yours as he spilled inside you. you followed a moment later, your own orgasm crashing over you as you milked him for every last drop.
you collapsed on top of him, both of you breathing heavily. the hat tipped forward, falling onto the pillow beside you. jungwon wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as you both came down. he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his heart pounding against your chest.
“wow,” he whispered after a long moment.
you laughed softly, nuzzling into his neck. “yeah, wow.”
he held you for a while longer, just stroking your back, his breathing slowly returning to normal. then he sighed, a contented, happy sound.
“the chicken’s probably cold now,” he said.
“it can be reheated,” you mumbled into his skin.
he chuckled, a low, warm sound that you felt more than heard. “love you.”
the county fair is all bright lights and fried food and the tinny sound of carnival music. you're standing in line for lemonade when sunoo appears at your elbow, all easy smile and warm eyes.
"hey stranger," he says, and you can't help but smile back.
"you here alone?" he asks, falling into step beside you as the line moves forward.
"meeting some friends later. you?"
"was helping my someone with their booth earlier. peach preserves." he grins. "reallyy fun stuff."
you laugh. "sounds boring."
"yeah, it was. but i'm free now." he tilts his head, studying you. "wanna walk around? i'll win you something."
"i'm pretty good at the ring toss."
he is, actually. twenty minutes later you're holding an enormous stuffed elephant and trying not to be too charmed by how pleased he looks with himself.
"yeah, yeah." you adjust the elephant under your arm. "what now?"
"ferris wheel?" he suggests. "unless you're scared of heights."
"please. i've been on plenty of horses taller than that thing."
"ooh, a challenge." his eyes sparkle. "i like it."
the ferris wheel is old and creaky, and when your cart reaches the top, it stops, swaying gently. the whole fairground spreads out below, lights twinkling in the dusk.
"yeah," sunoo agrees, but when you glance over, he's looking at you.
your stomach flips. "smooth."
"i have my moments." he shifts closer, arm sliding along the back of the seat behind you. "so listen. i've been trying to figure out how to ask you something all night."
"yeah." he's close enough now that you can see the individual lights reflected in his eyes. "wanna get out of here? i mean, after this. come back to my place?"
you meet his gaze steadily. "and do what?"
"whatever you want." his voice drops lower. "i've got some ideas, though."
heat pools in your belly. "yeah?"
"yeah." he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "been thinking about it for a while, actually. thinking about you."
the ferris wheel lurches back into motion and you spend the rest of the ride in charged silence, his hand warm on your lower back.
his place is a small house on the edge of town, neat and cozy. the second the door closes behind you, he's on you, backing you against the wall with his mouth hot on yours.
"been wanting to do this all night," he murmurs between kisses. "you looked so good. drove me crazy."
"yeah?" you slide your hands up his chest. "what else did you want to do?"
he groans. "everything. wanna touch you everywhere. taste you. make you say my name."
"bedroom?" you say, and he takes your hand, leading you down the hall.
his room is simple, clean, the bed already made. you push him down onto it and he goes willingly, eyes dark as he watches you.
"what are you—" he starts, but cuts off when you drop to your knees between his legs.
"this okay?" you ask, hands on his belt.
you work his belt open, then his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help you pull everything down. his cock springs free, already hard, and you wrap your hand around it.
"shit," he breathes, head falling back.
you lean forward, licking a stripe up the underside, and he makes this gorgeous broken sound. encouraged, you take him into your mouth, working him slowly.
his hand comes down to rest gently in your hair, not pushing, just touching. "so perfect."
you hum around him and his hips jerk. "sorry, sorry," he gasps.
you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his fingers tighten in your hair. the praise keeps coming, breathy and sincere.
"doing so well— look so gorgeous like this."
when you pull off, he actually whines. "why'd you stop?"
"because," you say, standing and stripping off your clothes, "i want to ride you."
you climb onto the bed, straddling him, and his hands immediately find your hips. "you're unreal," he says, looking up at you with something like awe. "seriously, most beautiful thing i've ever seen."
"sweet talker," you tease, but you're smiling.
"just honest." he reaches between you, fingers sliding through your wetness, and you both moan. "you're soaked. this all for me?"
"who else would it be for?"
he grins, cocky and delighted. "good point."
you lift up, positioning yourself over him, and sink down slowly. the stretch is delicious and his mouth falls open.
"holy shit," he breathes. "you feel good."
you start moving, rolling your hips, finding your rhythm. his hands guide you, thumbs stroking your hipbones.
"that's it," he encourages. "take your time. wanna watch you."
you brace your hands on his chest, riding him steadily, and his gaze stays locked on your face. "so pretty," he murmurs. "love watching you like this."
"yeah? tell me. wanna hear it."
"so deep," you manage. "filling me up so perfect."
he groans, hips bucking up to meet yours.
you lean forward, changing the angle, and he curses. "right there," you breathe. "please don't stop."
his hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "could watch you all night. so gorgeous when you're taking me."
the praise makes you clench around him and he gasps. "do that again," he pleads. "please, felt so good."
you do, deliberately, and his control wavers. "gonna make me lose it," he warns. "you're too much. too perfect."
"touch me please," you say, and one of his hands immediately drops between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.
"like this?" he circles it gently and you cry out. "yeah, like that. wanna feel you come. been dreaming about it."
the combination of his cock inside you and his fingers on your clit is overwhelming. you ride him harder, chasing your release.
"that's it, pretty. you're doing so well. look so incredible like this."
his words push you over the edge. you come with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he follows immediately, spilling inside you with your name on his lips.
you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing hard. his arms come around you, holding you close.
"so," he says after a moment, voice rough. "that was—"
"wanna stay? i make really good breakfast."
you lift your head to look at him. he's smiling, warm and genuine, and your chest feels full.
"yeah," you say. "i'd like that."
"you're scared of horses," he said, grinning at you across the fence.
"i'm not scared. i just don't trust them."
"same thing." he vaulted over the fence with an easy grace that made it look effortless. "come on. i'll teach you."
"yeah, you do. can't live out here and not know how to ride." he was already walking toward the barn, clearly expecting you to follow.
you did, because of course you did.
the horse he brought out was smaller than the others, a pretty palomino mare with a sweet face. "this is butter," he said. "she's the chillest horse we've got. if you can't handle her, you can't handle any of them."
"my sister named her when she was like six. don't judge." he handed you the reins. "here. just hold these while i get her saddled up."
you watched as he worked, efficient and confident, talking to the horse in a low voice. he made it look so simple, and when he finished, he turned to you with that cocky smile.
"alright. left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn, and swing yourself up."
"just like that. i'll help." he laced his fingers together, making a step for you. "come on, i won't let you fall."
it took three tries, and by the third one you were laughing and he was too, his hands steadying you as you finally managed to get yourself into the saddle.
"there you go," he said, looking up at you. "see? not so bad."
"i'm like ten feet off the ground."
"you're dramatic." he swung himself up behind you in one smooth motion, settling into the saddle and reaching around you for the reins. "relax. i've got you."
his chest was warm against your back, his arms bracketing you in. you could smell his cologne, something clean and musky, and feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"okay," he said, voice close to your ear. "we're just gonna walk. nice and easy."
he clicked his tongue and the horse started moving, a gentle swaying gait that wasn't as scary as you'd expected. his thighs were pressed against yours, his body moving with the horse like it was second nature.
"you do this a lot?" you asked.
"teaching people to ride? no. but i've been on horses since i could walk, so." you could hear the smile in his voice. "why, you nervous?"
"maybe." his hand slid from the reins to rest on your thigh, just for a second, before moving back. "depends on how much you trust me."
your heart kicked up. "is that supposed to be a line?"
you turned your head to look at him and found his face inches from yours, eyes dancing with amusement. "you're trouble."
"yeah," he agreed easily. "but you like it."
by the time you made it back to the barn, the sun was starting to set, painting everything gold and orange. he dismounted first, then helped you down, his hands firm on your waist.
"see?" he said. "not so bad."
"i guess you're an okay teacher."
"okay?" he looked offended. "i'm a great teacher. admit it."
the words hung in the air between you, and his expression shifted, something heated flickering in his eyes. "yeah?"
he kissed you first, backing you up against the barn wall with an eagerness that made you dizzy. his hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, sliding up under your shirt.
"been wanting to do this," he muttered against your mouth. "you have no idea."
he groaned, deepening the kiss, and then his hands dropped to your ass, squeezing appreciatively. "fuck. you're killing me."
"love when you say my name like that." he nipped at your bottom lip. "say it again."
"yeah. just like that." he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the wall, his body hot against your back.
his hands worked at your jeans, shoving them down along with your underwear, and then his palm connected with your ass in a sharp smack that made you gasp.
"been staring at this all day," he said, voice rough. "driving me crazy. wanted to bend you over so bad."
"bossy." but he sounded delighted. you heard the clink of his belt, the rustle of fabric, and then he was lining himself up, teasing you with shallow thrusts that weren't nearly enough.
"what's the rush?" he sounded smug. "thought you didn't trust me."
he pushed in all at once and you both groaned. "fuck," he breathed.
"please move," you demanded, and he laughed, breathless.
"so demanding." but he did, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a rhythm that had you bracing yourself against the wall.
"that good?" he asked, and you could hear the cockiness in his voice. "yeah, i can tell. squeezing me so tight."
"make me." he smacked your ass again and you clenched around him, making him curse. "okay, that's not fair."
"all's fair," you managed, pushing back against him.
"oh, you wanna play?" he gripped your hips harder, changing the angle, and you saw stars. "how's that? that working for you?"
"yeah, i know." so smug. "told you i was a good teacher."
you would've said something back but he reached around to touch you, fingers moving in quick circles, and your brain short-circuited.
"come on," he coaxed. "let me feel it. wanna feel you lose it."
"that's it. just like that. so hot. you're so hot." his rhythm was getting erratic, his breathing harsh. "not gonna last. you feel too good."
he groaned, hips stuttering, and the sound pushed you over the edge. you came with his name on your lips, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later with a broken curse.
for a moment you just stood there, both trying to catch your breath, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
"so," he said eventually, voice still rough. "still think i'm just an okay teacher?"
you laughed, breathless. "you're the worst."
"yeah, but you like it." he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, surprisingly sweet. "come on. let's get cleaned up before someone comes looking for us."
"your concern is very touching."
"hey, i'm a gentleman." he was grinning as he helped you pull your clothes back on. "a gentleman who just fucked you in a barn, but still."
"and you're into it." he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "same time next week? i think you need more lessons."
"is that what we're calling it?"
"unless you've got a better idea."
you didn't. and honestly, you weren't complaining.
