Annie

she/her | 24 y.o.

[thalwri]

IN HEAT

synopsis: valko is in deep heat with the supermoon occurring, and he wants a solution that requires restraints, a collar, and you.

warnings: valko is in heat, sub!valko, good boy!valko, collar use, bondage, riding, overstimulation, biting, licking, scent marking, edging, knots, rutting, monsterfucking.

wc: 2,3k

a/n: i love him already, he's such a cutie. he deserves endless cuddles, BE NICE TO HIM! i want to devour him. I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OU– enjoy a pre-release celebration of our handsome wolf, valko!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

He must be in heat. that’s the only way Valko can describe this feeling. The moon has been full for less than an hour, and he’s already twitching. Usually he can handle himself. But that’s not gonna work out well for him if all he can think about is you.

Your scent is delicious, beyond the scented lotions and perfume, he’s talking about your natural aroma, amplified by sweat and other smells your body emits. It draws him in. He can’t help but sniff the air every time you walk past him. His cock won’t stop twitching in his pants, tenting at the sight of you catching his gaze.

Valko wants to bite you. Valko wants to slather you with his saliva until you smell like him. He wants to rut his cock so deep inside you, cuddle you so close and keep you so warm with his hot body that you just have to call him a good boy.

“…ko,” He must be imagining you saying his name so nice and breathless.

“…alko.” There it is again, louder, your nails could drag down his back until he bleeds and he’d thank you.

“Valko!” He blinks, the mirage of a heated embrace disappearing from his perception to be replaced by your fingers snapping very close to his face. Such pretty fingers, he wants to lick—

“Yeah?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, almost like he’s keeping a whimper tight in his throat. His leg bounces as fast as his heart pounds his chest. You’re so pretty, with your pretty parted lips, and how your saliva keeps it just wet enough to shine in the warm lamp light. So plump for him to kiss and bite—

“As I was saying,” You pull your hand away, not hearing the small whine that leaves him from the lack of contact. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable for the next few hours. You said you can get agitated when there’s full moons, right?”

“Mmh.” Better a grunt than a moan. You brush it off assuming the effects of the celestial event are starting to mess with him internally.

Of course, you’re well aware that he’s got an extra pair of fluffy scratchable ears on the top of his head, an even fluffier tail protruding from the base of his spine, and sharper canines. You’re not ignorant. 

What you don’t know is that he’s much more prone to getting heated in these hours. Especially in the presence of someone who his body, mind, and soul are attuned to completely. It’s you. You're that someone.

But he has to behave for your sake. He can’t be bad, he can’t be too rash and aggressive or he might scare you off. You might not like it. But he wants you so damn bad, he can’t even hide it anymore. 

You’re rattling about restraints, something to tie him to incase he goes berserk.

Restraints. Belts. Muzzle. Chair. Tie him to a chair. He wants you to tie him to a chair.

He wants you to restrain him. He wants you to sit on his lap and feel how hard his cock is for you, feel it throb just below your cunt, grind his hips up to you still so retrained and held back that he has to beg you to ride him. He might as well ask for it. 

“…unless that’s too extreme.” You mutter, expecting a response. Nothing. Did he zone out again? What’s going on with Valko to be so distracted? He wasn’t like this last month. “Look, I know the full moon can be a messy time for you, and now that it’s a supermoon it could be worse, but I’d prefer you to actually respond— oh.”

Valko is drooling. Valko’s eyes are glazed over. Valko is blushing beyond relief. And Valko is sporting a rock hard boner.

The silence that stretches between you would have been uncomfortable, it should have been. But you seem to enjoy the rough pants that escape his lips, how his hands are balled into fists to keep himself at bay. How the veins on his neck are far more prominent now. 

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hoping you won’t say anything foolish. 

“Don’t laugh.” Valko grits, his fluffy ears drooping a little. 

“I wasn’t going to.” You say, trying to ignore the fact that your lips are twitching into a smile.

You glance down from his agitated golden eyes to his neck, to his large muscular chest covered by the black tank you always find so attractive on him, to the taper of his waist, to the pulsing print of his cock bulging against his pants.

Now that you think of it, you two haven’t shared the bed recently. You’ve both been so busy with work that neither of you have had time for each other. And you’ve been very wound up these last few days.

“I think we should figure out what restraints will be good for you.” A purr follows your words as you rest your hands on his chest. Muscular, warm, huge chest that you love to sleep on. You’re making this much, much worse and you know it. You can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest. 

“Oh, is it getting worse?” You play an aloof demeanour, reaching to caress the soft ears on his head, making sure to rub on that sensitive spot where his hair is its softest. A soft moan escapes Valko’s lips as his golden eyes flutter closed.

“Please…”

“What do you need me to do, my love?” Your lips ghost the shell of his fleshy ear, tongue peeking out to trace the shell. He shudders, head lowering to give you more access, hips rocking towards you so you can feel just what you need to do. 

You don’t want that, though. He has to say it.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

A pained moan rushes right into your ear as he drops a part of his weight on you. Valko doesn’t want to say it but he also wants to say it. It doesn’t make sense. This heated state is driving him insane, and you’re giving him such a clear path to relief. But what he wants is different from what you usually do… will you agree?

With a shaky breath, Valko nuzzles the side of your neck, mustering the will to confess his desire. “You have to tell me no if you can’t do it.”

“I will.” You reassure him, stroking his soft hair. His arms wrap tight around you, grounding himself in your presence as the words unknot themselves to flow out.

“If you’re grossed out—“

“I won’t be grossed out, Val.” You softly say, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Nothing about you grosses me out. I trust you, so you need to trust that I’ll handle whatever you need and that I’ll tell you if I can’t. Outside of cannibalism, I'm not doing that.”

That makes him chuckle. “You’ll tell me the second you’re uncomfortable?”

“The millisecond.”

His next request comes out more sheepishly. “You’ll tell me I’m doing good?”

“I’ll put a poet to shame.”

“Pull my hair?”

“Put a collar on you too if you’re feeling feisty.”

A sigh of relief escapes Valko’s lips. Oh, he loves you. Finally, he pulls his face away from your neck to level your gaze with fresh determination on his face. “I want you to tie me to the chair, and ride the shit outta me.”

Ask and ye shall receive, as you hear them say.

It was easy to put Valko on a chair especially when he's drunk on your kisses, hungrily biting marks into your bare chest and stomach, gripping your hips so tight you’d think he’s terrified that you’ll run. It was easier to get soaked just from watching him strip for you— that, and having his fingers curl so good inside your cunt as he slurped and lapped at your clit.

The only ‘difficult’ part was restraining him to the chair, legs, arms, and torso roped tight, and that’s just because he’s antsy whenever the full moon happens. 

But something about this supermoon has got him more riled up than usual. Why, you ask?

You’ve been bouncing on the man’s cock for two hours. 

You’re not complaining, you love every second of this. Your walls are fluttering around him as he slides in and out of you so easily, caught by you keeping his fat tip inside leaking all that sticky, hot precum before you drop into his lap again and again and again. 

“Val— ooh, fuck!” Your praise has otherwise become mush, slurred moans of his name and whatever adulation could come to mind. Valko doesn’t mind since he isn't doing any better. If anything, he’s lost the need to think.

“S-So good,” His throat is torn from how loud he’s been, his hips jutting into you even with his thick, corded thighs roped down to the chair. His tail is slapping the floor, his fluffy ears are twitching. He can barely move, limbs strapped down and a collar wrapped around his neck at his own request. And he loves it.

He wants to cum so bad. But then he’d end up swelling so much that he’d be stuck for hours, just grinding and grinding and plugging his seed inside instead of feeling you slap down on him with each rise and fall of your full hips. He wouldn’t have your soft breasts bouncing in his face, or feel your hands scratch his undercut and pull his hair, or hear the hiccups in your voice or the ragged moans in his own.

Why make this pleasure so short-lived when he can prolong it? 

His cock is leaking like a faucet, keeping him smooth and wet for you to use him as you please, pulsing with the desire to just release. His sacks are drawn up tight, literally clenching with enough cum to repopulate a country, and yet he still won’t give in.

Valko drags his tongue up your jaw all the way to your cheekbone. “ ‘m I fuckin’ you good?”

“Hah— mhm. Such a good boy.” You ramble into his lips as you kiss him, slipping your tongue inside to taste him as if he isn’t all that you can sense. “So big and thick and hot… so— Valko— so full ‘f you, want you deeper, you’re so good!”

You’re on orgasm number five by now, gripping onto Valko’s strong shoulders for dear life, back arched, tugging his hair like you want to rip his red locks off. It’s the supermoon, you tell yourself, it must be shooting his stamina through the roof.

It fucking has to be if he’s been rutting into you like a bullet train without cumming even once. His girth twitches with every rock of your plush hips, it leaks and weeps inside you every time you squeeze him hard enough to cut off his blood flow. It has to hurt, prolonging his climax for this long.

Valko likes it that way. He likes the hurt. He likes the way his body just responds to you so well, like you’re made for each other. You have to be.

Your knees are starting to ache. Your thighs are burning from the constant bouncing up and down his thick length but the feeling of him dragging through your walls with each vein pressing against your walls is too good. The overwhelming bump of his cockhead kissing your cervix may just tip you over the edge again. The fucking curve of his cock and the angle just lets him reach the sensitive nerves of your g-spot so good every damn time!

You love these fucking supermoons.

“Valko,” You hum, licking his lips then his chin and jaw, your breath heavy as you maintain your pace. Just a few more and you’ll be in pure bliss. But you need him there with you. “I’m close. I’m so close. Hnn, need you— cum with me.”

“You— oh, you sure?” He whimpers, nuzzling you as you lick the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll—“

“Knot me, mhm.” You nod, rubbing your nose into his cheek, inhaling his scent. This man’s frenzied behaviour has been rubbing off on you too much, not that there’s reason to complain. “You’re gonna swell up so fuckin’ thick, yeah?”

He nods. “Gonna plug all that cum in me, keep it warm inside while you grind ’n rut into me?”

“Yeah,” He affirms, his arms pulling against the restraints. Is this what you want? You want him to bond with you to that much of an intimate extent? You must truly love him. “ ’m gonna stay in you the whole night, snug inside. But I like when you ride me.” You can feel him pouting as he pecks your skin. So cute.

“Then you’ll be a good boy, right?” You coo, your hands cupping his face as you press your thumbs on his lower lip. “Cum with me, and stay inside all night.” You fight every urge to give in to the pleasure when he bites your fingers.

You suck his upper lip, letting your moans vibrate into his. “Can you do that for me?”

Valko’s a simple man. You ask for something and he’ll give it to you with a smile. Like he is now, canines bared, tongue lapping at your fingers before he attacks your lips with a bruising, hot kiss. He pulls away just for a second to mutter against your mouth, “I love you.”

“I know, baby.” You huff, smiling into the kiss as you scratch his fluffy ears. Valko’s hips rut up faster and you can feel his cock swell at the base, almost ready to be plugged into you. Oh, he is so going to eat his cum out of you once he’s soft. “Now be good and cum with me.” 

[woooooya]

My luck so bad, I neeeed somebody, who got the cards to send me the kindleds of whatever they have, cause I am sure as hell ain't getting none 😭😭😭

[woooooya]

SAY WHAT?

[jongst4r]

tipsy and clingy (s. jake)

your cute, sweet boyfriend who gets even clingier while tipsy

pairing: jake x fem!reader || wc: 1.6k || cw: smut! a lot of fluff, mentions of alcohol, tipsy!jake (not drunk, everything is consensual), jake is veeeeery clingy and he can’t stop yapping, subby!jake, kissing, making out, breast/nipple play, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t.), creampie, use of petnames, dirty talk, praise, a tiny bit of overstimulation || warnings: +18 content, mdni!!! || a/n: this is was all thanks to this request right here!!! everybody thank anonie rn

you hear the front door click open a little after midnight, followed by the unmistakable sound of keys clattering to the floor and a soft, giggly “oops.”

jake is home.

you pad out of the bedroom in your oversized sleep shirt, already smiling because you know exactly what kind of state he’s in. he tried to text you earlier — something mostly emojis and the words “home soon” — but the typos gave him away. the boys had gone out for a rare low-key dinner that clearly turned into a couple of drinks. nothing crazy, just enough to make your boyfriend adorably loose and clingy.

“babyyy,” he whines the second he sees you, eyes lighting up like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. he’s leaning against the wall, one shoe already kicked off, the other still stubbornly on. his hair is messy, cheeks flushed pink, and that signature bright smile is a little lopsided. “missed you so much.”

you laugh softly and walk over, sliding an arm around his waist to steady him. “i missed you too, jakey. come on, let’s get you to bed.”

he immediately drapes himself over you like a giant puppy, arms wrapping around your shoulders, face nuzzling into your neck. “you smell so good,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin with every word. “like home. my favorite home.” he takes an exaggerated sniff and sighs happily. “can we just stay like this forever?”

“we can cuddle in bed forever,” you promise, guiding him down the hallway. he keeps stopping every few steps to hug you tighter or plant sloppy kisses on your cheek, your temple, wherever he can reach. “jake, shoes off.”

“help me?” he pouts, lifting one foot dramatically. you kneel down and tug the remaining sneaker off while he balances on you, hands in your hair, playing with the strands like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “you’re so pretty when you’re helping me. the prettiest.”

once both shoes are off, he refuses to let go of your hand, swinging it between you like a little kid as you lead him into the bedroom. the bedside lamp is already on, casting a warm glow. you try to steer him toward the bed, but he pulls you into another full-body hug instead, swaying gently.

“i love you,” he says against your hair, voice soft and earnest in that tipsy way that makes your heart melt. “like, sooooo much. you take such good care of me. best girlfriend ever. wife. future wife. can i call you that tonight?”

you bite back a laugh. “sure, future husband. now sit down so i can get your shirt off.”

he plops onto the edge of the bed obediently, but the second you reach for his buttons he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you between his legs. his face presses into your stomach, nuzzling happily. “soft,” he hums. “my favorite pillow.” he tilts his head up, eyes big and sparkly even when glassy from the alcohol. “kiss?”

you lean down and give him a quick peck, but he chases your lips with a whine when you pull away. “more,” he demands cutely, lips pursed. you give in and kiss him properly, slow and sweet, tasting the faint sweetness of whatever fruity drink he had. he makes a contented little noise and tries to deepen it, hands sliding up under your sleep shirt to rest on your bare back.

“jake,” you murmur against his mouth, half warning, half amused. “bedtime. you need to sleep.”

“but i’m not tired,” he lies, even as he yawns right after. still, he lets you unbutton his shirt and slide it off his shoulders, revealing all that smooth, warm skin and the faint definition of muscle from years of dancing. his hands stay on you the whole time, tracing lazy circles on your hips, thumbs slipping under the waistband of your panties.

you manage to get his jeans off too, leaving him in just his boxers. he looks so cute sitting there — flushed, hair tousled, blinking up at you like you hung the moon. “cuddle now?” he asks hopefully, already scooting back on the bed and lifting the covers for you.

you climb in beside him and he immediately attaches himself to your side like a koala, one leg thrown over yours, arm slung across your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck. his breath is warm and steady, and for a minute you think he’s actually going to fall asleep.

then he shifts.

his hips press against your thigh and you feel it — half-hard already, twitching when he rocks just a little. he lets out a tiny, embarrassed giggle.

“sorry, baby,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. he nuzzles closer, lips brushing your collarbone. “you’re just… really warm. and soft. and you smell nice. it makes me horny.”

you snort. “oh so you’re tipsy and horny? that's a very dangerous combination.”

“not dangerous at all,” he protests, voice turning pouty. he lifts his head, lower lip jutting out with the most lethal puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. his cheeks are still pink. “please? just a little. i’ll be quick. i’ll be so good for you.”

his hand slides under your shirt again, palm warm and a little clumsy as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles. he watches your face with that focused, tipsy intensity, like he’s studying exactly what makes you react.

“jake…” you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one deeper, a little messier, tongue sliding against yours while he presses his growing erection more firmly against your thigh.

“i want you,” he whispers when he pulls back, voice husky now. “been thinking about you all night. kept telling the guys how lucky i am. how pretty my girlfriend is. how good you feel when you’re around me.” his fingers pinch your nipple lightly, drawing a soft gasp from you. “please, baby. i need you. i’ll do all the work. you just lay there and let me love you.”

he’s so earnest, so adorably desperate, that your resolve crumbles fast. you cup his face and kiss him again, slower this time, letting him feel how much you want him too. “okay,” you murmur. “but gentle. you’re drunk, remember?”

“i'm not drunk, just… feeling a bit funny,” he promises, already moving to tug your shirt up and off. the second your breasts are bare he’s on them, mouth hot and eager, sucking one nipple while his hand kneads the other. he’s a little uncoordinated from the alcohol, but it only makes it sweeter — soft, open-mouthed kisses, little whimpers vibrating against your skin.

you slide your hand into his boxers and wrap your fingers around him. he’s fully hard now, hot and heavy, leaking at the tip. jake moans loudly at the first stroke, hips bucking into your fist.

“fuck— yes, like that,” he gasps, switching to your other breast. “your hand feels so good.”

you pump him slowly, thumb swirling over the head, spreading the wetness. he keeps grinding against your palm, panting into your neck, whispering the filthiest sweet nothings.

“i love your tits… love how wet you get for me… i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

eventually he pushes your panties down your legs, kicking his own boxers off in the process. he settles between your thighs, cock nudging against your entrance, but instead of pushing in right away he just rubs the head up and down your folds, coating himself in your slick.

“so wet already,” he marvels, voice awed. “all for me?”

“all for you,” you confirm, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he slides in with one smooth thrust, both of you groaning at the feeling. he’s thick and warm and fills you perfectly, even when he’s a little sloppy from being tipsy. he doesn’t start moving right away — just stays buried deep, grinding in slow circles while he kisses you senseless.

“i love being inside you,” he mumbles against your lips. “it feels like home. a very warm home. the best home ever.”

you can’t help but laugh. then he starts thrusting — deep, lazy rolls of his hips that hit just right every time. he’s clingy even now, chest pressed to yours, arms wrapped around you so there’s no space between you at all. every thrust is accompanied by little kisses to your jaw, your neck, your mouth. he keeps whispering how much he loves you, how perfect you are, how he’s the luckiest guy in the world.

you slide your hands down his back, feeling the muscles shift as he moves, and when you dig your nails in lightly he moans and picks up the pace, hips snapping a little harder.

“close,” he whimpers after a while, voice cracking. “baby, i’m so close— c-can i come inside? please?”

“yes,” you breathe, clenching around him on purpose. “come for me, jakey.”

he buries his face in your neck and comes with a broken moan, hips stuttering as he fills you up, warm and pulsing. the feeling tips you over the edge too, orgasm washing over you in soft, rolling waves while he keeps grinding through it, drawing it out for both of you.

afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. he just collapses on top of you, heavy and warm and still buried inside, pressing lazy kisses wherever he can reach.

“i love you,” he mumbles, already sounding half-asleep again. “best girlfriend. best wife. i'm gonna marry you someday.”

you stroke his hair, smiling into the dark. “i love you too, tipsy boy. now go to sleep.”

he hums happily, nuzzling closer, and within minutes his breathing evens out. you stay like that for a while — his weight comforting, his warmth surrounding you — before carefully slipping out from under him to clean up.

when you come back to bed he immediately reaches for you again in his sleep, pulling you against his chest with a contented sigh.

the thing is, jake is your clingy, cute, horny boyfriend.

and you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

© jongst4r, 2026

taglist: @solonenova, @neabrownn, @drowsypanther, @redessertired, @pinkdazed, @enhypenlvrsstuff, @strwberrylhs, @insignificantlillady, @vanillakirstein, @jaeynslutt, @d2iose, @gchirpy, @k13endall, @unnatrual, @kpopishgirlie, @kaejua, @kookiesnkim, @phjayyy, @ineedjaeyun, @moonchild-31, @cortised, @borderdaytwo, @wondiary, @heartsski

[woooooya]

Sign the Petition

Allow Heeseung to Pursue Solo Activities Without Leaving ENHYPEN

[woooooya]

This ain't fucking normal

I've been thinking the whole day, what could have happened that this shit just got announced so abruptly and even at some point was mad at Heeseung for going through with that, but than remembered what shit of a company we are dealing with and honestly if I could somehow help people with signing petitions or pushing hash tags through on tw and weverse I'd do that

So please, drop any relevant info here or in the reblogs, I wanna help keep our 7

[woooooya]

Why do i only find super good, well-spoken, interesting writers when they're either deactivated or just quit writing at all 😭😭😭

[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ENTANGLEMENT ﹑ jaeyun

爱,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀⠀𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝟭𝟲𝟱𝟲─────nerd! jake x fem! reader ， est relationship fluff ✶ kissing, petnames, skinship ꕀ 𝑉𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ｡

it starts normally— fingers tangled in his hair, breath tangled in his lungs. jake’s hands are everywhere—tentative but hungry, like he’s both terrified and thrilled to be here.

and as if anything about kissing jake can be normal, because he pulls away just as your fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt.

“no but, it’s so cool,” he says breathlessly, licking his lips like he didn’t just ruin the moment. “they don’t cast shadows at all,”

he sounds so amused, like he has discovered a secret. his eyes are bright, flushed cheeks glowing like he’s more excited about this than your mouth.

you can’t let that happen.

hell, you’ve waited an entire semester for this. even though your boyfriend looks like a perfect mess while rambling about physics, you refuse to lose him to surgical lights.

your legs wrap around his torso and he backs you further onto the mattress, his lips have turned into a beautiful mess of your lipstick and gloss— not like your boyfriend really minds.

he whines when you trail your lips over his jaw, down to his neck, loosening the tie you gifted him three days ago for his interview earlier today.

you can feel his trembling hands on you with care and caution. you kiss him deeper, hoping it would shut him up but jake still pulls away, lips swollen from the kiss.

“baby. they’re made with multiple beams. overlapping—shit—” a nip on his skin and jake lets out the prettiest moan, “—optics,”

“jake,” you warn, or perhaps you are begging him to not use his damn mouth for anything except kissing you.

“they’re so cool. even when a surgeon blocks one, the others cancel the shadows,” he continues either way, losing his mind over lights and also the fact that you’re so close to him.

you’re so pretty, he can’t look at you without crashing out, wondering if he should be even allowed to look at you. you’re so amazing, a goddess actually, you let him ramble about his stupid facts— he is so going to marry you.

you turn over swiftly, easily caging him under you and he yelps in surprise. “shut up. please,”

even when you’re looking at him with annoyance, jake thinks this is the best moment of his life.

“i’m sorry, baby. it’s just so cool— so is kissing you, but i have to tell you— don’t get me wrong, i love kissing you—” and he’s rambling again.

actually, jake himself doesn’t understand how he managed to have someone like you as his girlfriend. there’s no way on earth you chose him when you have people pinning after you every day.

you dive right back in, crashing your lips against his and he freaks out, gripping the sheets as if holding you would be a sin.

and it is annoying, really, not because he can’t shut up even when you are on top of him— you’re finding this hot.

he flaunts a stupid grin and bright eyes that brim with excitement every time he wants to tell you another fact, even if it’s in the middle of him ruining you in bed.

he tells you about the quantum entanglement while your limbs are entangled under the blankets. and he does it so hypnotically— thorough with his concepts and gentle with his lips, going over your skin and laws of thermodynamics— you wonder if he knows he has you hooked.

last week, it was laser guided laparoscopy. right now, surgical lights, next— who knows?

he pulls back, almost impatient, speaking in an airy whisper. “also, there’s one more—”

you cut him off with a sigh, half admiration and half annoyance. “are you going to tell me about the principle of superposition next?”

“you know what it is?” he’s excited, hopeful. he is afraid his heart would rip out of his chest with how fast it is beating.

you know about physics, he’s going to tell your kids about this.

“no, but i saw it in one of your books,” you peck him again, his pouty lips looking way too inviting not to.

his heart skips a beat, several, actually. your words sound like wedding bells to him. jake could explode simply because you are aware of a stupid law in physics.

i love yous are overrated— this is true love.

and he stares at you like he’s seconds away from proposing.

you’re still slightly annoyed.

but you do let him talk about the principle of superposition after another kiss, with his shirt off.

◞ ⩊ ◟ — his live had me spiraling and i needed to write this .. i hope the jakeists enjoy this ><

[woooooya]

Reading this on a 3rd day of ovulation is a freaking torture 🫩

[enhaflixer]

bf!Enhypen x f!reader - the faces and sounds they make during sex + pt.2 of pornstar material!Sunghoon

ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI jungwons part has belly bulging so if ur not okay w that dont read it pls. and sunghoons part has filming. yk this ish is nasty so dont expect anyth else tbh

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

At first, Heeseung tries to keep himself together. Tries. His jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and his fingers dig bruises into your hips as if sheer force alone will keep him from falling apart too soon. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, sweat dampening his hair at the edges of his temples, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip, hard, trying to suppress the low, guttural groans that threaten to escape with every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.

But it’s pointless.

The moment you tighten around him, drag your nails down his chest, whisper filth into his ear, he’s done for. His entire body jerks beneath you, a broken gasp leaving his lips as his composure shatters in real time. His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the long line of his throat as his lips finally part, releasing the kind of deep, wrecked moanthat reverberates in his chest, sinful and raw.

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmur against his ear, voice thick with amusement. “Letting me ride you like this, letting me take whatever I want from you.” You bite down on his earlobe, tugging slightly, and his entire body shudders. His grip on your hips tightens reflexively, like he’s trying to take control again, but the moment you slam your hips down on him just right, his breath catches, and his jaw goes slack.

“Fuck—” His voice breaks, deep and rough, his brows furrowing tighter as he drowns in the feeling of you. His hands tremble against your skin, and when you lean in close, pressing your lips right against his ear, you feel the way he physically tenses beneath you, how his body twitches every time you whisper something filthier than the last.

“You hear that, baby?” you tease, rolling your hips in slow, calculated movements that have him gritting his teeth, groaning deep in his throat, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “That filthy sound you’re making? So desperate, so fucking wrecked. I love hearing you like this.”

His eyes squeeze shut, his forehead creasing, his breath coming out in shaky, uneven pants as his self-control slips through his fingers like sand. His lips part, forming your name in a choked, needy groan, his chest rising and falling erratically beneath you. He looks so fucking beautiful like this— strong arms tense, veins prominent, jaw slack, brows still pinched in pure, overwhelmed pleasure.

The closer he gets, the more helplessly filthy his expression becomes. His thighs tremble, his hands dig into your hips so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow, and his mouth hangs open completely, lips swollen and wet from all the times he’s bitten them raw. His breath comes in ragged, wrecked gasps, and every time you drop down onto him, every time your walls squeeze and flutter around him, his moans turn low, deep, nearly feral.

“F-fuck—baby, I’m—” His voice catches, the deepest, filthiest sound leaving his throat as his entire body jerks beneath you, every muscle coiling so tight it’s almost painful. He holds onto you like a lifeline, his face the perfect picture of a man absolutely destroyed by you— jaw clenched, brows furrowed, lips parted in deep, guttural groans as his climax rips through him, violent and all-consuming.

Heeseung doesn’t just come quietly.

He gasps, groans, moans your name like a prayer, head thrown back, mouth wide open as his body trembles beneath you, thick fingers still gripping you tight, holding you close, refusing to let you go. His skin is flushed, glistening, damp with sweat, and even after, even when he’s still struggling to breathe, his lips stay parted, brows still furrowed like he hasn’t come down yet, like he’s still lingering in that wrecked haze of pleasure.

And when he finally opens his eyes again, when he meets your gaze with hooded, fucked-out eyes, his voice comes out gravelly, wrecked, almost teasing despite how completely ruined he is.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, licking his lips, looking you up and down with pure hunger. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay likes to talk. He always has something to say—cocky, teasing, throwing in some smug little remark about how he’s the one wrecking you, the one making you fall apart.

But not right now.

Right now, Jay can’t say a single fucking word.

His head is tipped back against the mattress, jaw slack, lips parted in an utterly ruined, breathless moan. His arms—usually so strong, so in control—are trembling beneath you, hands weakly gripping your waist like he’s barely hanging on.

And his eyes?

They’re shut tight, completely screwed shut, his brows furrowed in pure, overwhelming pleasure. His chest rises and falls erratically, his abs tense and flexing beneath sweat-damp skin, and his lips twitch slightly, trying so hard to form words that just won’t come.

He looks like a man who’s been completely fucked brainless.

But you want more.

“Jay,” you whimper, bouncing on his cock at a filthy, punishing pace, grinding down against him, watching his head loll back further, his mouth falling open as a helpless, deep groan slips from his throat. “Baby, look at me. Open your eyes. Please.”

He makes a wrecked, desperate noise, something between a whimper and a choked curse, his fingers twitching at your hips like he wants to take control but can’t. His lashes flutter, his brows knit together tighter, but he still won’t look at you.

“Jay,” you gasp again, leaning down, lips brushing over his jaw, his cheek, his ear. “Please. Just one look, baby. Let me see you. Let me see how fucking good I’m making you feel.”

A deep, shaky breath leaves his lips, his head rolling to the side, cheeks flushed, jaw tense, but his eyes stay firmly shut. His body shudders as he breathes out a low, broken “fuck”, his voice shaking so much it makes you clench around him even tighter.

That’s what does it.

The moment you squeeze around him, his eyes fly open for half a second before rolling back completely, eyelids fluttering shut again as a deep, wrecked groan rips from his throat. His entire body jerks, his grip tightens painfully around your waist, and his hips snap up into you desperately, helplessly, like he’s chasing a high he can’t handle.

“Angel, I—” His voice is completely fucked, breathless and shaky, words slurring together like he’s lost all motor function. He tries to open his eyes, tries to obey you, but the pleasure is so overwhelming, so brain-melting, that his lids just keep slipping shut over and over again.

“Fuck, I c-can’t,” he stammers, his voice breaking, breath stuttering hard as his body tenses, twitches, spirals closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes, you can,” you whisper, licking into his mouth, moaning softly against his lips as you keep riding him, keep taking him, keep watching him come undone beneath you. “Look at me when you cum, Jay. Let me see you.”

It takes everything in him, every ounce of strength he has left, but his lashes flutter just barely open, and you catch the barest hint of his dark, glossy eyes—glazed, wrecked, overwhelmed—before they roll back again, his mouth falling open in a deep, desperate, completely ruined moan.

His orgasm hits him like a truck, his body jerking up into you, shaking, his breath catching mid-moan as he completely loses control. His fingers dig into your hips so tight it hurts, his abs flexing hard, his head tilted back against the pillows as his jaw drops open, lips forming helpless, broken curses.

He’s gone.

So fucked-out, so utterly wrecked, so deep in pleasure that he can’t even function.

When it’s over, when the last tremors leave his body and you finally let him catch his breath, he still can’t open his eyes. His face is slack, completely blissed-out, his lips still parted, chest heaving, body twitching with the aftershocks.

And when he finally manages to flutter his lashes open, to look at you through half-lidded, exhausted, pleasure-drunk eyes, his voice comes out hoarse, wrecked, and so fucking low it makes you clench again.

“Fuck, angel” he breathes, licking his swollen lips, looking like a man who’s just been destroyed.

Then his eyes flicker shut again, his head tipping back with a weak, blissed-out smirk.

“You almost fucking killed me.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake never stops watching you.

From the moment he sinks inside you, he’s completely fixated, eyes dark, wild, blown-out, lips parted as he gasps, his chest already heaving, sweat already glistening at his temples.

When you start moving, when you grind down slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch him suffer, he whines. Loud.

“Princess, f-fuck—look at me.”

His voice is already shaking, so wrecked, so needy, and it makes you clench down around him just to see what it does to him.

His mouth drops open, his brows scrunch tight, his thighs tremble beneath you as he lets out a desperate, high-pitched moan, fingers digging into your hips, gripping tight like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

But then you close your eyes.

Just for a second, just because the pleasure is so intense, just because it’s too much

Jake fucking breaks.

“No, no, no, no—baby, please—” His hands fly up to your face, cupping your cheeks, desperate, frantic, breathless.“Look at me. Fucking look at me while you use me—please, please, princess, I need to see you.”

You force your eyes open, and the moment your gaze locks onto his, he whimpers so loudly it sounds like a sob. His body twitches violently beneath you, his lips wet and parted, trembling, his expression completely wrecked, helpless, slutty.

“Oh, f-fuck—fuck, that’s it, baby, please, please don’t stop,” His voice catches mid-moan, breaking apart, raw and high-pitched. His stomach flexes hard, his jaw goes completely slack, and he lets out this long, drawn-out, whiny little gasp as you grind down harder.

You lean in close, whispering against his parted lips.

“So needy, Jakey,” you tease, letting your nails drag down his heaving chest, watching as his body jerks violently. “You really wanna watch yourself get fucked that bad?”

Jake nods so fast it’s pathetic, his eyes fluttering, barely able to stay open but still trying.

“Yes, yes, baby—please, fuck, I can’t— I need to see you, need to see your face when you break me,” He gasps again, shaking, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers twitching against your skin.

You start riding him rougher, faster, and he wails.

Loud. Whimpering. So fucking desperate it makes you dizzy.

“O-oh, oh my—f-fuck,” His mouth hangs open, panting, moaning, completely overwhelmed, completely gone. His hips stutter, his thighs shaking uncontrollably, and his voice rises, breaking into a string of whiny, high-pitched moans.

But the moment you start to close your eyes again,

Jake grabs your chin, hard.

“Princess, please—keep looking at me, please, please, please, I need you to see how fucking ruined I am for you.”

His head falls back against the pillows, his jaw dropping, his lips parted so wide in a wrecked moan that it’s almost obscene. His eyes flutter but stay open, his fingers digging into your skin like he can’t handle it.

“F-fuck—oh, God—p-please, princess—” His voice breaks entirely, breath stuttering, body trembling beneath you. “Oh my God—f-fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming—baby, please look at me while I fucking cum.”

The moment your eyes stay locked onto his,

Jake wails.

His entire body tenses, shakes, jerks violently, his chest heaving, abs clenching, his lips forming your name over and over again in breathless, desperate, whimpering moans.

He keeps his eyes on you the whole fucking time.

Even when he’s spilling inside you, even when his voice cracks into gasps and whines and helpless, filthy pleas, even when he looks so utterly fucking ruined that he can’t even function,

He still won’t look away.

Even after, when he’s panting, shaking, body twitching from the aftershocks, he still has the strength to hold your face in his hands, breathing hard, swallowing thickly.

And with his voice raw, hoarse, completely wrecked, he grins up at you, lips swollen, eyes still full of hunger.

“God, princess,” he breathes, licking his lips, sweaty, flushed, still desperate for more.“You almost fucking killed me. But at least,” His voice drops, filthy, teasing, needy .“You looked me in the eyes while you did it.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

You knew Sunghoon would be hot on camera.

But you didn’t know he would look this fucking good.

It starts as a joke, a teasing little comment you make while you’re riding him, slow and deep, dragging it out just to watch him break. His glasses are slightly fogged, his head is tipped back against the pillows, and his lips, God, his lips, are parted, wet and swollen from how often he’s been biting them.

“Let’s make a movie,” you whisper, grinning breathlessly, reaching for your phone.

Sunghoon doesn’t say a word.

He just smirks, but the expression shatters immediately when you start rolling your hips again, taking him deeper, dragging your nails down his abs just to feel how fucking tight they’re pulled. His head lolls back, his jaw going slack, lips parting even wider as a low, shaky groan spills out of his throat.

You aim the camera right at his face.

Fuck, he looks unreal.

His brows are furrowed, tightly drawn together in pure, aching pleasure, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes fluttering shut every time you squeeze around him. His mouth hangs open, but at some points, no sound even comes out—just sharp, shallow breaths, his throat working as he swallows hard, trying to hold himself together.

You bite your lip, watching him through the screen.

“You should see yourself, baby,” you murmur, free hand reaching down to stroke over his jaw, tilting his face toward you. His skin is hot, damp, trembling beneath your fingers. “You look so fucking pretty like this. All ruined for me.”

Sunghoon groans, low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest. His fingers flex against your thighs, like he wants to grab you, take control, flip you over and fuck you senseless.

But the second you start grinding against him harder, faster, making the bed creak beneath you.

He shudders violently, his entire body tensing, his breath catching hard in his throat.

And then he falls completely silent.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t make a single noise.

His head tips all the way back, jaw dropped, brows still furrowed so tight they look painful. His lips part wider, but he’s so fucking lost in it that no sound even comes out anymore, just deep, desperate breaths, shaky and broken.

Then finally a low, guttural groan escapes, long and drawn-out, his abs contracting beneath your hands, his thighs tensing under you. His fingers clutch at your hips, but he’s too fucked-out to even hold on properly, his grip slipping every time you move.

“Doll, fuck,” he gasps, his voice wrecked, completely gone. He still doesn’t lift his head, still doesn’t open his eyes.

But you don’t need him to.

Because the camera is catching all of it.

The way his chest rises and falls unevenly, the way his lips stay wet and parted, the way his throat works every time he swallows around another wrecked, whimpering moan.

And when you tilt the camera slightly, making sure to catch the way his stomach flexes every time he jerks his hips up into you, trying to chase his high,

He completely falls apart.

His breath hitches sharply, his whole body going taut, his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

Then comes the sound.

The deep, gritty, almost pained groan that tears from his throat as his orgasm crashes into him full-force, making his hips stutter, his chest heave, his head tilt back even further.

His lips stay open, still breathing heavily, his lashes fluttering but never fully closing, his brows still furrowed in that agonizingly beautiful look of pleasure-pain. His body shudders uncontrollably, his breath coming out in deep, ragged gasps, his entire expression wrecked beyond belief.

You stop recording.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon still hasn’t moved, hasn’t opened his eyes, his face still frozen in that stunned, pleasure-drunk expression.

But then you press play.

Suddenly, his own moans are echoing back at him.

Sunghoon’s eyes snap open.

His gaze immediately drops to your phone, watching the way his own jaw drops, his own chest heaves, his own body writhes beneath you like he’s completely helpless.

He loses his fucking mind.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, swiping the phone from your hands, sitting up, gripping your ass as he watches himself come undone. His lips are slightly parted, his pupils blown-out, his breathing still uneven, but the way his eyes darken as he watches himself on camera is filthy.

He licks his lips, a slow smirk curling at the edges as he glances up at you.

“You turned me into a fucking slut, doll.”

His grip tightens, and the next thing you know, you’re being flipped onto your back, your knees pushed up to your chest. “You better be ready,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw, his lips still swollen from moaning so much. “Because I’m about to return the fucking favor.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo is so quiet at first.

Not because he’s holding back—he physically can’t make a sound.

The second you sink down onto him, his whole body shudders, his chest stuttering with shallow breaths, his head tilting back against the pillow as his lips part in pure, soundless bliss. His fingers twitch against your waist, like he’s trying to grab onto something, anything, but he’s too weak, too shaky and overwhelmed to do more than let them rest there.

The noises he makes? So fucking pretty.

Soft, breathy little moans, helpless whimpers, tiny gasps that he can’t even hold back.

His eyes don’t meet yours—he’s staring at your body, at the way you move on top of him, completely mesmerized. His brows furrow, his bottom lip trembles, his abs tighten, and when you roll your hips just right, his lips part even wider, his breath catching in his throat like he’s forgotten how to exhale.

You lean down, pressing your lips to his ear, your voice low and sultry as you whisper,

“What’s wrong, baby?” You let your tongue flick against his earlobe, and his whole body twitches violently beneath you. “Too much? Can’t handle how good this pussy feels?”

Sunoo lets out a high, broken gasp, his fingers digging into your thighs, his chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to breathe.

Still, no words.

Just whimpers, breathless and desperate, moans that get higher every time you grind down on him.

“You like watching yourself disappear inside me, don’t you?” you tease, dragging your nails down his stomach, feeling the way his abs clench tight beneath your touch. “You like watching me ride you like this—watching me use you?”

His eyes flicker up to yours, glassy, dazed, ruined, and he looks so fucking gone that your stomach clenches.

But he still doesn’t speak.

Instead, he lets out the prettiest, quietest little moan, his hands twitching against your hips, his thighs shaking as he struggles to stay grounded.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” you murmur, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his throat, feeling the way his pulse is racing beneath your lips. “So fucking desperate, whining for me like this. I bet you don’t even know how wrecked you look right now.”

His breath catches violently.

His body jerks beneath you, his lips falling open in a choked, shuddering moan, his head pressing deeper into the pillow. His eyes roll back for half a second before refocusing on your body again, completely dazed.

Still, he doesn’t speak.

Only moans.

Whines.

Helpless, shaky little sounds, breathless gasps, tiny, needy whimpers that slip out every time you clench around him.

But when you start moving faster, bouncing harder, chasing your own high,

His body locks up beneath you.

His thighs tremble violently, his fingers grip at your waist so tight they shake, and his moans turn into a soft, helpless string of high-pitched gasps, each one getting louder, more desperate.

You lean down, whispering, “Be a good boy and cum for me, baby,”

He completely breaks.

His back arches, his jaw goes slack, his brows draw together painfully tight, his eyes lock onto your body one last time before rolling back as he finally fucking lets go.

He still doesn’t speak.

He just moans through the whole thing, soft, breathy, completely overwhelmed, his breath stuttering violently as his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.

His fingers twitch, his stomach flexes, his legs shake so bad he nearly sobs from overstimulation.

When it’s over—when you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back to look at his wrecked, blissed-out face,

His lashes flutter, his eyes barely opening, and he finally whimpers out one tiny, breathy little word, voice barely above a whisper.

“More.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon is your sweet baby—until he’s balls deep inside you.

Then he’s nothing but a fucking animal.

No hesitation, no restraint—just pure, wanton, gut-wrenching, brain-melting depravity.

And his face when he fucks you?

Fucking disgusting.

His lips are parted, wet and pink and swollen, his teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard it turns red, his entire expression contorted in sheer, unhinged pleasure. His brows furrow painfully tight, his cheeks flush deep pink, his jaw clenches, unclenches, his throat working hard as he gasps for air.

But he doesn’t look at you.

Not at your face.

His eyes are glued to your body—watching your tits bounce every time his cock splits you apart, watching your stomach bulge every time he bottoms out.

“Holy f-fucking shit,” he gasps, voice wrecked, raspy, primal, his fingers digging so hard into your waist you know you’ll bruise. “Look at you, baby—look at this fucking mess.”

Your body shakes, your breath hitches, and when your eyes start to roll back,

Jungwon grins.

It’s filthy.

“There it is.” His voice drips with satisfaction, with something possessive, dark, depraved. “That’s what I fucking wanted. That’s what this pussy’s made for, taking me so deep you can’t even fucking think.”

And he does it again.

Slams his cock into you so deep you feel it in your stomach, presses his palm against the bulge just to make you feel every inch of it, watches the way your tits bounce, the way your entire body convulses beneath him.

“Fucking take it,” he grits out, hips slamming into yours, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest. “Take it. Fucking take it. Let me hear you scream for it.”

You do. You fucking wail.

And it just makes him go harder.

Makes him lose his fucking mind.

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, head falling back for a second, a deep, primal moan ripping from his throat. “Taking me so fucking deep, letting me ruin this fucking pussy.”

And then his eyes drop back down,

Right to your stomach.

Right to the place where he’s stuffed so deep you can see the outline of him.

He presses his palm against it again, harder this time, growling when your walls clamp down around him.

“Oh my f-fucking God—” His breath stutters violently, his abs contracting, his lips parting wider, his voice cracking mid-moan. “You feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am? Feel how I’m wrecking your fucking insides?”

You can’t even speak anymore.

Can’t even breathe.

You’re just writhing beneath him, sobbing, shaking, too fucking gone to do anything but take it.

And he fucking loves it.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he grits out, his pace turning brutal, relentless, obscene. “I can’t stop, baby—I can’t fucking stop. I need this pussy. I need to fuck you like this. I need to keep fucking you until you can’t fucking walk.”

His voice is so raw, so wrecked, so needy it sends you spiraling.

And when you start cumming again, when your body convulses violently, when your walls clench so fucking tight around him that he nearly collapses,

Jungwon loses it.

His moans turn loud, desperate, frantic, his fingers shaking, his thighs trembling, his breath hitching, his stomach flexing so hard he looks like he’s in pain.

His cock throbs, his rhythm breaks, his moans turn ragged and raw as he slams into you one last time, stuffing himself so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking throat.

“Oh f-fuck—fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, f-fuck—”

His entire body locks up.

His back arches, his jaw drops open, his breath catches mid-moan, and then he groans deep from his chest, low and long and so fucking filthy you feel it vibrate through your entire body.

He keeps fucking into you, even as he cums, even as his thighs shake, even as his moans turn into breathless, whimpering gasps, even as his grip on you goes slack.

Even when it’s over, he’s still panting, still groaning softly, his head falling forward, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, his fingers twitching against your waist.

Finally—finally—he lifts his head.

His lips are red and swollen, his brows are still furrowed, his cheeks are flushed, his breath is ragged, and he just looks at you.

He slowly lifts his head.

And smiles.

It’s sweet. Soft. Gentle.

The kind of smile he’d give you in passing, the kind that would make anyone else think he’s just a boy in love.

Then he kisses your forehead, presses his lips to your temple, and murmurs—so lovingly, so tenderly,

“You’re so good for me, baby. I just love making you feel special.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

Sex with Riki never starts serious.

It always starts with smirks, teasing, little half-laughs and cocky remarks that make you want to wipe that stupid fucking grin off his face.

Tonight is no different.

He leans back against the pillows, completely relaxed, arms folded behind his head, legs spread wide, his cock standing hard and flushed between you. His eyes trace your body, lazy and smug, lips curled into that slow, teasing grin.

“You’re taking your sweet time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting his head, watching you hover over him, letting his thick cock drag through your slick folds. “You scared or something?”

You roll your eyes, settling onto his lap, grabbing his cock in your hand just to make him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“You talk so fucking much,” you murmur, dragging the thick, leaking tip against your clit, teasing the both of you.

Riki smirks, watching the way you slide him against your swollen pussy, but his lips part slightly when you start to sink down onto him.

When you take him all at once, no hesitation.

His face completely drops.

The smirk dies.

His lips fall open in a silent, breathless moan, his chest stutters against yours, his fingers fly to your hips, gripping them hard like he just lost control of himself.

“F-fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back against the pillow, throat bobbing, breath shuddering.

His voice?

So soft.

Barely there, a ghost of a whisper, like the pleasure just ripped it straight from his chest.

You can see him trying to fight it—trying to hold onto that cocky confidence.

But the second you grind down onto him, slow and deep, rolling your hips so he’s completely buried inside you—

His breath catches again.

His chest stutters, his lips part even wider, and his voice comes out in the quietest, most trembling little whisper,

“Oh, sweetheart…”

His lashes flutter, his hands squeeze your hips like he doesn’t know if he wants to stop you or pull you down harder, and his head lolls forward slightly, jaw slack, eyes barely open.

“You always get so quiet when you’re about to fall apart,” you murmur, grinning as you reach up, dragging your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

Riki lets out a small, breathy laugh, tilting his head slightly so your fingers drag along his scalp.

“Mm.” He hums, voice airy, distant, still breathless. “Or maybe I’m just enjoying myself, my love.”

Just when you think he’s still in control,

He grabs you.

Pulls you down.

Presses his forehead against yours.

His lips barely brush yours, but he doesn’t kiss you—he just holds you there, his nose nudging against yours, his breath shaky against your mouth.

He whispers again—so soft, so quiet, so fucking intimate.

“Stay right here, sweetheart. Keep your forehead against mine.”

Your breath shudders.

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his damp, sweat-sticky skin, because he’s holding you so close, so tight, so desperate.

Neither of you open your eyes.

Neither of you break apart.

Just forehead to forehead, noses brushing, lips trembling against each other’s breath, completely lost in the feeling.

You move again, when you start fucking him properly.

His moans turn into choked, breathless little gasps.

“F-fuck,” he pants, his voice shaking, breaking apart. His hands twitch at your hips, pressing you down harder, forcing you to take him even deeper.

And then he lets out the softest, most delicate little whimper.

So soft.

So breathless.

So wrecked.

His lips brush against yours as he moans, his eyelashes flutter against your cheek, his breath stutters every time you squeeze around him.

And then, so quiet, so trembling, so completely gone,

“Don’t let go.”

His fingers press deeper into your back, his forehead presses harder against yours, his breath turns shallow and erratic.

The moment you whisper, “I won’t,”

His moans cut off into choked little gasps, body jerking, thighs twitching, stomach flexing as he completely fucking falls apart.

He still doesn’t let go.

Even as he cums, hips stuttering, breath hitching, body writhing beneath you, forehead still glued to yours like he physically can’t pull away.

Even as he whimpers your name, voice shaking, breathless, completely wrecked.

Even as his entire body trembles through the aftershocks, gasping for air, clinging to you like he needs you to keep him alive.

He finally collapses back against the bed, still holding onto you, still breathing hard, still moaning softly against your lips,

You pull back, just a little.

Just enough to see his face—his swollen, parted lips, his flushed cheeks, his dazed, heavy-lidded eyes, completely blissed-out and ruined.

When he finally opens them, finally blinks up at you,

A small, breathless laugh escapes his lips.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, still panting, voice so wrecked and hoarse you barely recognize it.

You grin, teasing. “What happened to being in control?”

Riki lets out another weak, exhausted little laugh, his fingers twitching against your skin as he pulls you back down against him, lips brushing your ear.

Then—so quiet, so soft, so fucking filthy,

“Shut up and keep fucking me.”

-

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @beariegyu @zzhengyu @annybah @seonhoon @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4 @starniras @wonuziex

[woooooya]

I need Jake to rawdog me while looking into my eyes FUCK THAT'S SO HOT ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?

[sincerelyneo]

the giver | s.jy

“ain’t no country boy quitter, i get the job done.”

📀now playing: the giver by chappell roan

❯ summary: Something doesn’t sit right when Jake hears his childhood best friend’s back in town. It’s worse when he finds out your city-boy boyfriend dumped you. But what really sends him over the edge is learning that the asshole never got you off once during your entire relationship. And as a self-proclaimed giver… Jake’s pretty damn set on fixing that himself.

❯ pairings: cowboy!jake x fem!reader

❯ genre: childhood best friends to lovers

❯ words: 6.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, slight jealousy, mentions of a break up, alcohol consumption, oral sex (fem!receiving), male masturbation, praise, pet names, hair pulling, just jake getting the job done yeehaw!

Two years ago, Jake would’ve lit up like a damn Christmas tree at the news that his best friend was back in town. He means, not to be that person, but he did always say city life wasn’t meant for a girl like you.

You. His ranch partner-in-crime. His middle-school mud-pie sous-chef. The girl who beat him in every horseback race. The country ran through your blood. There was no debate. That’s why he can still remember guffawing (and yes, he’s using that word on purpose, because his laugh was that loud and that ugly) the first time you told him you were talking to a guy from the city.

Because come on. This was you. The same girl who once swore you’d marry your horse before marrying any boy in your class. Jake remembers the way his chest went all tight that day. Though he didn’t have a name for that feeling at ten.

But at twenty-four, watching you talk to this city guy for over a year (a guy Jake met once on FaceTime and immediately pegged as a preppy, cologne-wearing asshole), he’s found the word. Irritation. Hot, stupid irritation because there is no punchline.

You and city boy Soobin are not a joke.

Which is ridiculous in his opinion. Truly. Because Jake knows, somewhere deep in that dusty, denim-covered chest of his, that Soobin is not right for you. But how exactly is he supposed to say that without sounding like the jealous cliché from every Hallmark movie you force him to sit through?

“Sorry, Y/N, but a girl like you doesn’t belong with a guy like that”?

Yeah. No. Jake might be a rough around the edges ranch hand with a tractor tan, but he’s not a complete idiot. He did graduate high school—not to brag. And he’s seen enough rom-coms against his will to know that the guy who says something like that is always the villain.

So, he’s kept his mouth shut. Literally. He’s opted to let his jaw tick like a bomb every time you mentioned getting serious with your city-boy fool. His mama always told him that if he didn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say it at all. And Jake has absolutely nothing nice to say about Soobin.

Not even when you said you were moving across city lines to live with the guy. He thought it was ridiculous. Not just because you hadn’t met him properly yet—in person, without a pixelated face and the chance to see if he's a bad kisser—but because you were moving a thousand miles away.

You might as well have said you were relocating to Mars. To Jake, it was all the same distance. Far. Gone. Apart. Because there had never been a version of his life that didn’t include you.

You both grew up in a town so small the high school graduating class barely filled a bus. What was he supposed to do without you—make friends with Jungwon? Please. He’s seen that boy ride a horse. Any kind of race against him would be light work, and Jake’s pride couldn’t take constant pity victories. He needed challenge. He needed you.

How was he supposed to function when you’d always just… been there? Like the creaky front porch. Like the crickets after dark. Like the coffee mug his mother refuses to throw out. You packing up and leaving felt like somebody scooped out a piece of him and mailed it straight to the city.

And now—like he said—two years ago, the news of your return would’ve made him happy. Finally, that missing piece would come back to the sender. But standing on his parents’ front porch, watching you climb out of that little rental car in your city jeans (tight as sin, might he add) with a wine bottle dangling from your fingers, strangely, he doesn’t feel happy.

He feels dread. A deep, gut-twisting kind of dread.

Because whatever brought you back here is bad. He can see it in the wrongness of your smile and your stiff shoulders. In your red, raw eyes that look like they’ve suffered too many sleepless nights.

You’re upset.

And Jake hates seeing you upset. Always has.

“You miss me, Amateur?”

Your voice carries across the gravel drive. Bright. Teasing. Far too sweet for someone who is visibly not okay. It’s the same tone and the same nickname you used to call him when you’d lap him at the summer fair barrel races. He used to hate that voice. But he’s missed it too. Probably more than he should admit.

“Still got that mouth on you, huh?” Jake snorts and drags a hand down his face, stepping down from the porch. 

The board under his boot complains with that long, theatrical creak that’s been threatening to snap since you were kids. His parents really should get it fixed, but he loves that it still sounds the same. Reliable. Like it’s been waiting for the two of you to come back and stomp all over it again.

He stops at the bottom step. “How’ve you been, Hotshot?”

You shrug and walk toward him. When did he get taller? Or broader? Or whatever this new unfair configuration is? Two years shouldn’t make such a difference, but apparently it’s enough time for him to outgrow every mental snapshot you kept of him.

He’s filled out that black t-shirt to an unreasonable degree. The fabric is clinging for dear life, stretching across his chest, and his arms… his arms. His biceps have biceps. Who does he think he is? The Hulk? It’s not even like he runs the ranch full-time. He works part-time. There is absolutely no reasonable explanation for his forearms to look like that!

As if he can feel you staring—and judging—Jake shifts his weight. His mouth twitches into that half smile he does, the one that always looks like he’s trying not to laugh at you. It snaps you back to reality. To where you are. To who he is.

“Meh,” you say finally, lifting the bottle dangling loosely in your hand. “Been better. But I’d much rather talk about it over this.”

“Wine?” Jake raises a brow. “What’s the label—” he leans in, squints, “—Château Margaux? You gone posh on me, Hotshot?”

You scoff. Naturally. Then you shoulder past him and head up his porch steps, push open his front door without pausing, and march straight for his parents’ kitchen.

“If you must know,” you call over your shoulder, hearing him follow, “Gramps turned ninety last month, and this was the only alcohol left that I could find under the sink.”

Jake lets the screen door fall shut behind him. The loud thwap echoes through the empty house. “A birthday gift, huh? Must’ve been from someone who doesn’t know him. Your grandpa only drinks beer.”

You pause, fingers worrying the wine label. “Yeah,” you say after a moment. “But Soobin insisted we send it. Said it was more sophisticated than a six pack of Fosters.”

Continuing, you slip into a perfect city accent. Crisp consonants. Over-enunciated vowels. Jake’s jaw ticks like a clock.

“‘He’s ninety, Y/N. Your grandpa deserves something nice,’” you mimic. “Which is hilarious, because that was months ago and the bottle’s still untouched. My parents probably got a shock and a good laugh when they pulled it out of the gift bag.”

Jake huffs out a quiet laugh. “Bet they did.”

You hum and turn toward the window, starting to tug open his cabinets. You move through the kitchen like you never left. You remember everything: the sugar jar that’s actually filled with sweetener because his dad’s diabetic, the top cupboard with the squeaky hinge, the drawer that only opens if you give it two good tugs. (One tug if you’re built like the cowboy behind you.)

Jake leans a shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you rummage through his parents’ kitchen like it’s a scavenger hunt map. “You’re looking for what exactly?” He asks. 

“Your ma has to have wine glasses somewhere,” you mutter, stretching onto your toes and checking the highest shelf.

Jake blinks. Then, unexpectedly, he breaks into laughter. It rumbles low in his chest, deep and easy. It should coax a smile out of you. But it doesn’t. And when you stay facing the cabinets, opposed to turning around and joining him, Jake frowns.

“Wait. You’re serious?”

Now you twist around, unimpressed. “Does she or not?”

“Y/N.” His voice dips into that familiar drawl. “We’re a beer family. Cans. Not fancy glasses. I don’t think my parents have held a wine glass since their wedding day.”

You sigh dramatically, even though your lips twitch with a nearly-there smile. Because he does have a point. Jake’s family have always been loud, rowdy, and unapologetically themselves. You spent half your childhood here, soaking it all in. Running barefoot in the dirt. Catching fireflies. Watching his parents slow dance on the porch with beer cans in their hands. You’re almost sure that’s where your own wild streak was born.

Though lately, you feel a little disconnected from that older version of yourself.

But even with that disconnected heaviness settling in your chest, you still find yourself cross-legged on his parents’ old, tattered couch. Drinking wine out of his mother’s favourite coffee mug—the one with the chipped handle and faded yellow zigzags—because, as Jake reminded you, country folk are not in the business of wine glasses.

The windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of crickets and the sweet, green scent of freshly cut grass. The TV murmurs in the background with a football game Jake isn’t even pretending to watch. And it’s nice. For the first time in a long while, you feel something you haven’t felt since leaving.

Steady. 

You take your last sip of wine and set the mug on the coffee table. “Your ma should really throw this thing away before someone loses a finger.”

Jake chuckles, reaching for his beer—a can, obviously. “You sound like my dad. He hates that mug.”

You smile. “Where are they anyway?”

Jake’s nose scrunches up like he’s smelled something bad. “I really don’t like to think about it, but it’s their twentieth anniversary.”

You light up. “Shut up. Mr. and Mrs. Sim—twenty years? That’s adorable. Are they on a little romantic retreat?”

“Stop it, Hotshot.” He groans, grabs a throw pillow, and hurls it at your head.

You catch it, laughing as it settles in your lap. “You know, my Nonna always said sex was the greatest foundation for marriage.”

Jake nearly chokes on his beer. “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he sputters, setting the can down before he drops it.

You dissolve into laughter—full-bodied, head-tipped-back laughter—and Jake can’t even pretend to be annoyed. He’s just staring. Watching you like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he blinks. His heart does that stupid teenage thing it’s been doing since he was fifteen, tripping all over itself and beating too fast, too hopeful. Because you’re back. Really back. And for the first time in two long years, the ranch feels like it’s remembered how to breathe.

“I’m serious, though,” you say, still struggling to contain your giggles. A snort slips out, and Jake grins like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear that exact sound again. “She said good sex, like really good, can fix anything.”

“Funny,” Jake mutters, shaking his head. “My Nonna said good communication is what makes a relationship work.”

“Pfttt.” You wave him off. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be back in my childhood bedroom filled with One Direction posters, drinking wine with my best friend to get over my shitty ex.”

Jake’s entire body goes still. And just like that, the air shifts.

This is what he’s been dreading. The reason he hasn’t asked questions, hasn’t pushed, hasn’t even let himself think too hard. He knows you. Knows how quickly you shut down when someone pries. So he’s been waiting, walking on eggshells, pretending not to care, while every part of him has been dying to know what dragged you all the way home.

And now he has his answer. Soobin. That city-boy asshole has made you cry. Jake feels his grip tighten around his beer until the aluminium crumples beneath his fingers.

He clears his throat, nudging the floor with the toe of his boot. “That why you’re back, huh?”

You freeze. Colour blooms across your cheeks like you didn’t even mean to say it. Like you’d give anything to scoop the words out of the air and swallow them back down.

“It’s, uh… well—it’s complicated.”

Jake hums slowly. “Doesn’t have to be.” He tilts his head. “Nothing’s ever been complicated for us. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

Your throat tightens. Because he’s right. He’s always been right. And him—this house, this couch, this quiet—is exactly why you came here first. When you landed and smelt the small town air and wild sage, you didn’t think. You didn’t stop at the corner store to grab his favourite beer. You didn’t even go inside your own house for more than thirty seconds.

You just grabbed a bottle and came straight here.

To your safe place.

To him.

Because even after everything (leaving, Soobin, pretending you’d outgrown this town) you never stopped needing Jake. And sitting here now, barefoot on his mama’s couch, drinking your grandpa’s birthday wine out of a chipped mug, you feel it deep in your bones.

You’re home. You can finally get it off your chest.

You suck in a slow breath, bracing yourself. “We broke up.”

Jake blinks at you, deadpan. “Thanks, Y/N. I had absolutely no idea. Glad you cleared that up.”

“Okay, smartass.” You grab the pillow in your lap—the one he threw earlier—and launch it back at him.

He catches it cockily with one hand before tossing it right back. And just like that, it’s there again. The old, effortless rhythm the two of you fall into like muscle memory. It’s why he’s your best friend. Because even now, with worry tightening his jaw, he’s trying to keep things light. Jake Sim has always hated the sight of you hurting.

“Okay… what I meant was…” You swallow hard. “He—uh. Dumped me.”

Jake’s expression changes instantly. His jaw flexes, muscles tugging tight at the hinge. You hear something suspiciously like “asshole” get muttered under his breath.

“What dumbass reason did he give you?” he finally asks. There’s something protective in the way he says it. 

You hate that you notice it because it only makes this part (the part you’d hoped to avoid) more strenuous. You groan and bury your face in your hands.

“It’s embarrassing.”

The tension snaps right back into his shoulders. “Y/N?”

You peek out between your fingers. “I’m serious. If I tell you, it crosses like… every friendship boundary ever created.”

Jake’s lips twitch. “Even more than when I told you I got soft during my first blow—”

“LALALALALA!” You slap your hands over your ears. “I have that memory blocked out, thank you very much.”

Jake laughs, and then he shifts on the couch—closer, close enough that his knee brushes yours. He reaches out, takes your wrists gently, and pulls your hands away from your ears.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

You look up. He’s closer than you realised—so close you can smell the warm soap on his skin and that faint trace of hay that somehow never leaves him. He wets his lips, eyes softening as he lifts your hand. His fingers brush your palm, then start tracing slow, absentminded circles.

It’s something he used to do when you were kids during sleepovers, whenever nightmares pulled you awake. He’d take your hand, draw lazy circles until you drifted off again. Comfort. Safety. You’d fall asleep on the living room floor, curled side by side, his parents never the wiser. Which, in Jake’s mind, meant success—because it meant you didn’t have to go home.

“Come on, Hotshot,” he says gently. “Talk to me. You know this has always been a judgment-free zone.”

And damn him—because when Jake looks at you like that, pulpy and stable and understanding, you feel your guard buckle. It’s impossible to pretend you’re fine. Not with him.

Exhaling a long and shaky breath, you say: “Itoldhimhecouldn’tmakemecum.”

Jake’s eyes flash before his brows pull together.  “Try again. Slowly this time, Y/N. You and I both know I didn’t catch a single word of… whatever that was.”

You glare. “I said—I told him he couldn’t…” You wave a helpless hand. “Makemecum.”

“Y/N.” His tone drops to a warning. Which is exactly why you blurt:

“For fuck’s sake! I told my boyfriend that in the three years we’ve been dating, he has literally never once made me orgasm. Ever. There. You got all that?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Jake just…stares. Then his eyes flicker. Then he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but instead his brain malfunctions before words can properly form. Like a fish. It would be funny if you weren’t currently dying of mortification. 

You reach for your mug out of sheer uncomfortable desperation, only to remember it’s empty—because obviously the universe hates you. You set it back down and force your spine straight, trying to reclaim what is left of your dignity with your chin lifted.

“He—uh—” Jake clears his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not once?”

You shake your head. “Not unless I, you know…” You make a vague gesture between your thighs. “Played with myself a little too…while he was—”

“Yeah. I understand what you mean,” Jake cuts you off, voice suddenly rough. He shifts in his seat, rubbing his palms on his jeans—nervous, restless. It’s strange. Jake Sim does not fidget. At least, the Jake you knew didn’t.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “So what—he just… broke up with you after that? Didn’t take it as constructive feedback?”

You bark out a humourless laugh. “Obviously not. You men and your fragile egos—you're all so damn sensitive.”

“No,” Jake cuts in. “Not men, Hotshot. City boys.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Do not make this a city boy thing right now.”

“Fine,” he shrugs. “I’ll make it a ‘you have terrible taste in men’ thing instead.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” you sputter. “How is this my fault? I was trying to be honest. Communicative. Isn’t that what everyone says? ‘Use your words,’ ‘share your needs,’ blah blah blah.” You throw your hands up. “You know, as much as I adore your Nonna, she can shove her advice up her—”

“Easy,” Jake’s laugh interrupts you. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

He’s smiling, but there’s something concerned underneath it.

“Look, I hear you, Hotshot. You were being a good communicator. That asshole just didn’t deserve the conversation because he wasn’t willing to listen.” His gaze lingers on your mouth for half a second too long. “Put it this way, if my girl told me I wasn’t getting her off…”

He pauses. Swallows hard. The air thickens.

“…I’d stay between her legs until we got it right.”

You freeze. The world tilts a little.

There’s so much to unpack in that single sentence, you don’t even know where to begin.

My girl hits first—warm, fuzzy, loving. Then the image—the idea of him being that focused, that attentive—with someone else. Someone not you? That thought stings. More than it should, probably. But naturally, your brain chooses the least helpful detail to respond to.

“Yeah, well,” you blurt, “Soobin never wanted to go down on me.”

Jake goes very, very still.

His eyes narrow—not confused. Angry. “What?”

You wince. “Heneverwentdownonme.”

In an instant, Jake’s hand is under your chin, tilting your face up. “We’re not playing that game, Y/N.” His voice is low. “Repeat what you just said.”

Your throat goes dry. He’s too close to your face. You see the tiny scar on his jaw, the one he got from falling off his horse at fifteen. The reason you call him amateur. You can feel his warm breath ghost against your cheek. And his eyes—those deep, warm, stupidly pretty brown eyes—pin you in place. It’s disarming to be seen like this. Really seen. 

So you lie. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Really?” His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Because I could’ve sworn you said your boyfriend of three years never ate your pussy.”

You choke on air.

[Okay. Slightly mortifying to admit, but hearing him say that—in that low, velvety drawl—nearly gives you your first orgasm from another man in three years.]

“Nope,” you squeak. “Didn’t say that. Must’ve been the wind.”

He tuts. “Stop trying to be cute, Hotshot.”

“I’m serious.” You straighten. “You still go to Chenle’s dive bar? The music was always loud. Maybe you’re going deaf.”

Jake’s patience finally snaps. His fingers slide from your chin to your wrist, snapping your attention to his face. To his eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, thumb brushing along your pulse point. “My hearing’s fine. And so far tonight, I’ve heard you loud and clear.”

You swallow hard. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

He leans closer. “That your ex is a pathetic man who doesn’t know a damn thing about your body.”

Your mouth opens. “Well, I didn’t exactly phrase it like that.”

“It was implied.”

“Well,” you pout, arms crossing in a flimsy attempt at self-protection. “It’s not like I asked him to go down on me.”

Jake scoffs. “Ask?” He shakes his head, muttering, “I think you just helped me develop my own marriage advice.”

“You’re not married,” you remind him. “Or… in a relationship?”

[Okay. That last part wasn’t technically necessary. But you’re just a girl drowning in selfish curiosity. Because, hello—he’s a cowboy with stupidly broad shoulders, workman hands, and a clear enthusiasm for oral sex. You’re only human.]

“No,” he says finally. “But if you have to ask your boyfriend to eat you out, he’s not the one.”

Your body goes genuinely, clinically warm.

Jake leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “That shit’s not a chore, Y/N. At least it shouldn’t be. A real man—someone worth keeping—wants to. Because he fucking enjoys it.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You’re melting. Absolutely liquefying. He’s not even touching you anymore, and still—every word feels like it lands on your skin. So you try and deflect with humour. Because that’s what you do when your insides are starting to dissolve.

“Do you even meet the requirements of your own standards, Jake?”

Something flickers in his eyes. “You asking me if I like eating pussy, Hotshot?”

The words hit you like a jolt. He has to be teasing. He has to be. Except… he doesn’t sound like he is.

“It was implied that you do,” you mumble, throwing his earlier line back at him.

“Not necessarily.” His lips curl and he leans back. “Ask me.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“Ask me what you actually wanna know, Y/N,”

The words hang between you because you both know what he means. You both know what you want to ask.

But—God. He’s your best friend. Asking that would cross a line you’re not sure either of you could come back from. And you’ve already smudged so many boundaries tonight. So you pivot, trying to act casual. 

“Do you meet your own—”

He shakes his head before you can finish. “Wrong question.”

Your heart stumbles. “Jake—”

“Try again,” he murmurs.

“Do you…” You inhale, panic and want tangling in your throat. The rest comes out as a single mortifying syllable. “Eatpussy?”

This time, he doesn’t make you repeat it. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t smirk. He just… looks at you, long and steady and measured, like he’s peeling you open. 

Then, softly: “Do you want me to?”

Your stomach plummets. “What?”

“I said,” his fingers circle your wrist again, voice dropping an octave, “do you want me to eat your pussy, Y/N?”

Those boundaries you thought were blurred? Yeah. They don’t fucking exist anymore.

You stare at him, pulse thundering in your ears. You must’ve misheard him. Or you’re delirious. Or you’ve fallen into some kind of cowboy-flavoured fever dream where your best friend suddenly talks like this.

“Jake,” you whisper, and it comes out embarrassingly breathless.

“Yeah?” 

“This is… this is insane,” you say, except it sounds more like a confession than an objection. “We’re best friends.”

He nods. “I know.”

“And this is…” You wave your free hand between you, trying to motion at the tension, the heat, the gravitational pull. “…whatever this is.”

“I know,” he says again, lips twitching.

“You can’t just—just offer something like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you hiss, cheeks flaming, “you’re not supposed to… want that with me.”

That gets him.

“Hotshot,” he murmurs, leaning in until your noses almost brush, “you have no idea what I want with you.”

When you don’t respond, Jake tips his head, his expression gentling. “You’re shaking.”

You are. God, you are. Not from fear—at least not the bad kind—but from the dizzying realisation that this is happening. That he’s being serious.

“And you’re—”

You cut yourself off, because the alternative is blurting you’re looking at me like you’re going to eat me alive, and yes, you could mean that figuratively, but also… not figuratively.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says. “Not with me.”

You snort, high-strung. “Right. Because my best friend offering to go down on me is a totally normal, nerve-free scenario.”

“You think this is a joke?” he asks, softer than before.

“I—I don’t know.”

Jake leans in, slow enough that you could pull back, but you don’t. You can’t. His forehead nearly touches yours.

“No jokes,” he murmurs. “Not about this. Not about you. I’m offering because you deserve to feel good after three years of abysmal sex—”

“Hey!” you sputter, and he has the audacity—the absolute audacity—to smirk. 

Then he bites his bottom lip like he’s trying not to laugh, like he knows exactly how much that expression is turning your bones to soup.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Mediocre sex.”

You swat at his shoulder, but he catches your hand midair, fingers sliding between yours with ease. His thumb brushes the side of your index finger in a way that should not feel as intimate as it does.

“But if you don’t want that,” he goes on, voice lowering again, “that’s fine, Y/N. I’m a big boy. I can handle rejection, or feedback.”

The casual tone is at odds with everything simmering in his eyes. Heat. Intent. Restraint stretched thin.

“But…” His fingers tighten around yours. “I want to do this. I want,” he says slowly, like he needs you to absorb each word, “to eat you out.”

You swear the room tilts. Your heart, your ribs, your entire sense of self collapses into a singular point of focus: his mouth. The softness of his lips. The way his jaw flexes as he speaks. The way he’s looking at you like he’s imagining every sound he could pull from you.

“Jake…” His name comes out broken. Too thin. Too wanting.

“I need you to know that I’m not offering out of pity. I’m offering because I want to taste you. Because I’ve thought about it more times than I should. Because I know I can make you feel good.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily, and his gaze drops before snapping back to your face like he’s restraining himself with both hands.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’ve… thought about it?”

He lets out a breath that sounds like a confession. “You have no idea.”

Heat crashes through you, hot and whirling.

“Say something,” he murmurs. “Or I’m going to start assuming the answer’s yes.”

You swallow hard, pulse kicking so fast you can feel it in your fingertips. In your mouth. Between your legs.

“I…” You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t look away from him.

Jake leans in, lips almost grazing your cheekbone as he whispers, “Do you want me on my knees for you, Hotshot?”

You do. God, you do. And Jake doesn’t wait for permission in the form of words—he just understands. Something in your breath, in the way you’re holding yourself with aching stillness, has him sinking to his knees anyway. Like kneeling for you isn’t a decision at all, but an instinct buried in his bones. 

And the sight of him there—eager, focused, devoted in this quiet, devastating way—knocks the air from your lungs. Because it feels like he was made for this moment. Being on his knees for a woman is just in his nature.

His hands rise to your hips, fingers brushing the waistband of your jeans. There’s a low exhale from him, almost a laugh, almost a groan—because this feels like an odd victory. Getting to peel off these snug painted-on jeans that have been taunting him since you showed up on his front porch. His thumbs press into the button and zipper, tugging slowly. 

When he finally works the denim loose around your ankles, he helps you step out of them, and you swear you feel each brush of his fingers in places far from where he’s touching. He rests his palms on your thighs, thumbs tracing idle paths along the soft skin just inside them. Then he looks up with those big, earnest puppy dog eyes full of a question he refuses to assume the answer to.

Is this okay? Are you okay?

And the sight of him kneeling on the worn rug of his parents’ living room, shoulders broad, chest rising and falling steadily, eyes molten, knocks the breath out of you.

Your voice has clearly abandoned you, so you nod. Hard.

Relief flickers across his features. “Good,” he murmurs, “Because I’m not stopping until you cum all over my face, baby.”

You actually cannot breathe. You’ve always been Hotshot, Y/N—never anything softer. Never baby. But the new term of endearment he uses goes straight to the centre of your body. It makes heat bloom low in your stomach in a way you can’t hide.

Jake’s lips curve, noting your reaction. He leans in, breath edging over your inner thigh, light and pleasant. But when he presses a slow kiss to the sensitive skin there, your legs instantly tense.

“Relax,” he whispers against you, another kiss trailing closer, “you don’t have to hold still for me. I need all your reactions to know I’m doing a good job for you, Y/N.”

Your fingers curl into the couch cushion behind you as he nudges your legs wider with his big hands. You let him. You open for him like it’s your own nature to be bare for him. His nose grazes the edge of your underwear, and he fucking inhales. Actually inhales you, until his throat pushes out a sound so low and guttural. 

“Jesus, Hotshot…” His voice roughens. “You smell… fuck.”

Your thighs twitch, and he smiles against your skin. 

“Lift your hips for me.”

You do—immediately, embarrassingly—because his voice leaves no room for anything else. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down with agonising care, like he’s unwrapping a present. When they’re gone, he sits back on his heels for a moment.

He takes you in. Slowly. Thoroughly. Almost like just getting to look is a privilege. Almost like he’s getting off on it—which would have been unbelievable if his pupils weren’t dilating as he traces his eyes over you. 

Eventually, his hands slide back up your thighs, thumbs brushing the inner edges again, and his breath hits your bare skin. 

“Look at me,” he says softly.

You do, and his eyes are black, blown wide with hunger. He leans in, the tip of his nose grazing just above where you’re aching. 

Quietly, he says: “I want you watching when I taste you for the first time.”

Your breath stutters.

Jake settles in between your legs, fingers spreading you for him, his thumbs opening you gently until he lowers his head and gives you one torturous, deliberate lick. His tongue drags from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. 

Your entire body jolts—knees buckling as a sound you’ve never heard yourself make stutters out of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, one hand flying to his hair before you can even think.

He smiles against you—actually smiles—before he does it again. Slower this time. Deeper. His tongue presses, tastes, claims. And god—god—he’s not fumbling, not figuring you out, not guessing. Other boys might need a map, but he doesn’t. He licks you like he’s known your body forever.

When he reaches your clit again, he closes his lips around it softly and gives the tiniest, most perfect pull. Your hips jerk, which makes his grip on you tighten instantly, keeping you right where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your pussy. “So fucking responsive for me.”

He drags his tongue through you again, savouring every twitch of your thighs, every shaky breath, every sound you’re too overwhelmed to swallow.

“Jake—” you gasp as a jolt cuts through your spine. 

He groans when you tug on his hair. Not in pain. Not even in surprise. But like you just rewarded him. He noses lower, mouth opening fully against you, and he gives you a broader, wetter lick. 

Your hips try to lurch away. You don’t mean to, it’s completely out of your control because it’s all too much, too good, too new. But none of that matters because Jake clamps his hands around your thighs. 

“Don’t run from it,” he commands. “You’ve gone your whole life without anyone doing this right. Let me fix that.”

“I—I’m not—”

“Used to it?” he finishes, licking another slow stripe that makes your vision white at the edges. “I know. But you will be.” He lifts his eyes. “Because I’m not a country boy quitter, Hotshot. I finish what I start.”

Then his tongue pushes into you. A hot, thick glide that steals the air from your lungs. Your knees actually start to slide apart, chasing the pressure that pleases him. 

“That’s it,” he mutters, fucking you with his tongue. “That’s how I want you. Open for me.”

You fist your hand in his hair so hard he groans again into your body. His tongue pushes harder. His nose nudges your clit. Your thighs close around his ears before you can stop yourself—but he only groans louder, hands sliding up to grip your hips and keep them apart again. 

“Jake—fuck—Jake—”

He’s got you wrapped around his finger, and he knows it. Nothing about him is amateur at this. And with the sudden clarity of hindsight, the nickname you gave him as kids feels oh so stupid. Because whatever you thought you knew, whatever you thought oral was supposed to feel like… you were wrong.

It was never like this. It was never even close.

Heat floods your face, your chest, your entire body. You’re overwhelmed, undone, strung tight on a sensation you didn’t think you could want this much. And Jake doesn’t tease you for your reaction. He pulls back just long enough to speak, lips slick from you. 

“Can’t believe that asshole didn’t want to do this to you.” His thumb strokes your hip. “You taste too fucking good to not have one good memory of someone’s mouth on you.”

Before you can respond, he dives back in—more eager, more urget. His tongue thrusts into you again, and the sound you make is so raw you slap a hand over your mouth.

Jake instantly reaches up and pulls your hand away.

“Don’t you dare hide those sounds from me,” he growls softly. “I want to hear what I’m doing to you. Those sounds are fucking mine, Y/N. Give them to me.”

You have no choice but to do just that when his mouth seals around your clit and sucks slowly, deeply, and devastatingly. Your back arches so hard you almost lift off the couch. Jake moans into you. You feel the vibration and then—

You hear it.

A faint, wet sound.

You look down, dazed, and your breath catches in your throat. Jake’s free hand is in his jeans, stroking himself, his knuckles brushing against the denim rhythmically as he eats you like he’s starving.

“Jake—” you choke out, heat flooding your face.

He lifts his mouth a fraction, panting against you.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “This is for you. Just you. Just take.”

“But you—”

He shakes his head and drags his tongue up your slit in one fluid, hungry stroke. His pace around his own cock doesn’t falter at all. There’s no shame in his voice, in his eyes, just pure unadulterated lust. 

“Just let me get you there,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you cum on my tongue. That’s all I need. Please, baby.”

That has your thighs shaking around his shoulders. He notices. He loves it.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Just be so fucking pretty for me and take it.”

Then he latches back onto your clit, sucking harder now, tongue teasing in perfect circles as his fingers slide beneath you and lift your hips into his mouth. You cry out, and Jake’s rhythm on himself quickens.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your clit. “Take it, Hotshot. Take every damn thing I give you.”

Your hand tightens painfully in his hair. He loves that too.

His tongue returns to thrusting into you matching the pressure on your clit, building you up to a euphoric edge. Each flick of his tongue hits a spot you didn’t even know you had. Your thighs shake. Your stomach tightens. Your breath comes in wild, uneven bursts.

“Jake—oh my God—Jake, I’m—”

His hands grip your hips hard, pulling you tighter against his mouth.

“Yeah?” He pulls you tighter against his mouth. “Give it to me. Cum on my tongue.”

And when he sucks again, the world explodes. Your orgasm tears through you so sharply, so powerfully, you can’t even form his name. Your body convulses, thrashing against him, and Jake moans—loud, broken, filthy—like the feel of you climaxing on his tongue is undoing him.

Because it is. Sucking you through orgasm, has his balls tightening. Flicking his tongue and drawing every pulse out of you until you’re shaking uncontrollably and collapsing back onto the couch, has him cumming in his pants like a teenager. 

And he has no shame about it. Because you—his best fucking friend—have just cum all over his face. Only then does he ease up, barely kissing your inner thigh as you tremble.

“Good girl,” he pants. “I told you. I finish what I start. And I always get the job done.”

[woooooya]

I am so not normal about this pic like, I absolutely do not have it as a wallpaper on all my devices and socials like yeah, absolutely fine about that 😃

[woooooya]

I don't know about you all guys, but Phainon calling reader "Dawnlight" is peak pornographic to me (continue please, I beg)

[cal-ca1ico]

First post, hello Tumblr.com

[woooooya]

Damn how i love it when people draw so real

[sunsetagain]

LADS x Leon the Professional

"Wake up. Someone's here to kill you. You have ten minutes to pack your things and go downstairs."

[woooooya]

My jaw hit the floor right when I scrolled to this masterpiece

[woooooya]

Yall please do mind the angles, I took my sweet time for them

Anyway, I see a pattern here y'know? 😏😏

Little prompt here for the writing girlies 👇

Imagine, you go to the gym with Caleb and you work out together all fine, but then you kinda get a peak at his sweaty defined muscles (specifically legs, I'll die on that hill) and he notices, so he goes (pic 1), and then it's your turn to the the move and girl you just had to do some booty pumping shit or something and he goes (pic 2)

Happy thinking to you all 🙂‍↕️

[baobei-bu]

man with horns >>>>>>

[woooooya]

Well fuck

[woooooya]

No context, just Zayne literally having lines like "this should be the spot" and "this spot is..." 🤭