#it did but that m&m kind of topped it off for me

[seungsluv]

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮��˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom — but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Nick shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Nick nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

[lemon-wedges]

Some King and His Advisor Type Shit

[gutsby]

Father Figure

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while he’s kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.

Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.

Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).

Word count: 19.0k

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Freud would’ve had a field day with this shit.

Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parents’ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.

“Would, would, would, and would,” Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path

“That one could get it.” Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: “Look.”

And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazine—as were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your school—you were hungry as fuck. You’d agreed to join your roommate’s family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, you’d sworn off middle-aged men forever.

Aly and her brother didn’t know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.

“Oh, he wanted me bad,” she hissed once safely inside.

“Looks a bit like Rob Lowe,” you offered noncommittally.

“What about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?”

That last fragment of conversation had come from Aly’s brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then he’d wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and you’d had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.

“My dad’s at home with a broken femur, so…no,” you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Aly’s lead as you did, “Probably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.”

You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.

“Yeah? Desperate, too?” he challenged.

“Pathetic, really,” you replied.

For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldn’t deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how he’d boned your mom’s best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistress’s brains out on the reg to this day.

You’d done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.

Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.

“Our parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.” She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.

And you would’ve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a moment—the next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.

Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, ‘Oh, you must be Aly’s roommate!’ and ‘We’re sorry you got stuck with our shithead kid’ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.

You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.

“Dallas, honey, I love you,” the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, “I love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?”

That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Aly’s brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. He’d been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didn’t have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.

“Fuck you guys, I’m hungry,” he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.

Just as fast as he’d picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.

“Not yet,” she chided.

“Why? We’re all here,” Dallas groaned.

“Because,” his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. See?”

With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you would’ve liked as you piped up and told them—assured them all, rather:

“My dad’s not coming. He got a little, uh…hurt at work.”

And you were certain that would be the end of it. You’d just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.

She was staring, silent—totally unlike herself.

Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.

While the last of the three clearly wasn’t an option to use around her parents, you at least would’ve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.

You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.

With a startled gasp and a ‘Christ!’, your eyes widened to find a man who wasn’t your father at all—just his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.

It was a sight you weren’t prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parents’ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldn’t speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.

From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.

Joel’s here.

Joel’s here, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-up.

Joel’s wearing business casual, and he’s walking over.

Who the fuck does this man even think he’s trying to—

“Sorry I’m late,” Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:

“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?”

He kissed the top of your head.

The tone sealed his fate completely.

Joel was pretending to be your father.

This wasn’t his brightest idea.

Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, you’d left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved him—in the middle of climax, but aloud, no less—and the month before that, you’d left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didn’t exist.

Tonight, he wasn’t letting that happen. This weekend, Parents’ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasn’t coming. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since you’d taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt he’d had no choice.

You couldn’t stay closed off like this forever.

Eventually, you’d both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.

Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, he’d get the answers he needed this weekend.

You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.

He’d take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father you’d never asked for. Maybe you’d hate him for it.

As he’d squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldn’t help but hope you might still love him after.

“Scott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.” The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, “So you’re dad?”

“Stepdad, yeah.” Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before he’d made his formal introduction.

Then he’d met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what they’d just been told, but willing to go on anyway.

“Old and pathetic my ass,” Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.

“So glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?”

Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.

“Oh, my— yeah. Just…peachy. Yeah. All healed up.”

He didn’t flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadn’t bothered to hide your frown when he’d referenced the leg he’d never broken. The way you could’ve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fist—you didn’t like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didn’t miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldn’t deny this one was eye-catching.

Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know he’d make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him

“Oh, my, my, oh hell YES—”

The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.

“—honey put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!”

It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasn’t mad to see that happen.

“You a Tom Petty fan?” Scott jerked his chin up to him.

Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:

“I’d say he’s more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.

“Mom, Dad. Please stop,” Aly moaned.

“Seriously.” Dallas’s mouth was full.

And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food he’d just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.

“No, I know it! You’re a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.”

Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadn’t even noticed you’d chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputtering—choking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or something—and he didn’t think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.

“Hey, you OK?”

Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.

“I’m fine,” you answered, tone clipped.

You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, ‘I told you, Michelle.’

“Everybody likes Billy Joel, dad.” Aly rolled her eyes.

And Joel would’ve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinner—how they’d make the very most of Parents’ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldn’t meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadn’t meant to.

It hadn’t been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.

It hadn’t been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.

“Sweetheart—”

You’d filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as he’d said that word, ‘sweetheart,’ you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.

Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.

At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ call me that,” you growled.

Then, shortly: “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Honestly, he didn’t know. He opened his eyes.

And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.

“You’re sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn da—”

“I know. I know,” Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You weren’t happy to see him in the slightest. “I know it’s fucked up. I just…needed to talk to you, hon.”

“About what?!”

He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you weren’t letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, “There’s just so much—”

Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.

“It’s all settled now,” Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, “Pregame at Dallas’. Seven Oaks after. Lucky’s after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if you’re up for it. Afters at A.J.’s, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.”

Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.

Then Aly’s eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.

“You got a little…drinking problem there, Joel?”

He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.

“Oh, uh—”

“Dad’s real smooth with it,” you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didn’t look back, “I’m fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?”

Aly’s grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.

“They wouldn’t miss this bingefest for the world.”

At just the intonation of those words, Joel’s pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.

He really shouldn’t be drinking tonight.

A hundred shots probably wouldn’t have been enough to kill it—this ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.

Joel wanted to talk.

Of course he wanted to talk.

Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.

Because that made a lot of fucking sense.

You’d meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallas’ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.

Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.

You’d enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then you’d wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided you’d just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.

When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, you’d been hesitant to go back. Then, when he’d promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.

“My lady.” He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.

The bottle was half empty. You’d been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.

“Been sayin’ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.” His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.

“You are not General Acacius, brother,” Cory’s teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.

You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called ‘pregame’ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, you’d managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck he’d gotten it from.

“I like to pretend,” Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once you’d taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: “My parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.”

Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.

‘Yessir’ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered off—likely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.

“Gavin.” Dallas’ tone was a warning.

At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.

“Hang on, it looks like this guy, uh…” Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driver’s license. “Looks like he called dibs on next round…Joel Miller.”

Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dude’s the spittin’ fuckin’ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.

Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.

Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.

Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.

Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.

Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadn’t even said it.

When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.

Apparently.

And was he—well shit, were they trying to strip him?

One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joel’s shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the ‘V’ in the fabric. He’d been working up a sweat downstairs.

A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“You are so lying!” she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.

What was worse, you couldn’t even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadn’t it?

Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: “Show ussss!”

Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.

“Real hot commodity with the girls, isn’t he?” It was soft.

She was right.

You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.

“Yup. Real ladies’ man,” you answered quietly. Strained.

“They’re convinced he’s got some ink hidden under his shirt. That’s a creative way to get a man topless if I’ve ever seen one.” Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.

Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at all—but that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldn’t give to him.

Maybe that was for the best.

Joel deserved a woman he didn’t have to love in secret.

“OK, who’s up—Joel or mom and dad?” Dallas asked.

“I’m out. Joel can take my place. And don’t we—”

Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.

“We forgot to grab the other keg, didn’t we?”

“Fuck me.”

“Let’s go.”

They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.

“Who’s gonna be Joel’s partn—”

“ME!”

That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.

They’d dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.

One of them giggled and nudged her friend: “Maya can!”

The girl who’d just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joel’s button up waved her hand in mock indignation.

“I suck at pong. You go, Claire,” she crooned.

It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusing—what with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldn’t possibly play, even though they’d like to, but maybe…

Your skull started ringing again.

You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:

“Sorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.”

Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach could’ve plunged to that floor you’d just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.

Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.

“No, Dallas. I’m not playing again.”

You tried to avoid grinding your molars.

This time, the tone he heard wasn’t one of a thinly veiled acceptance—something begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offer—but instead an emphatic ‘no.’

No way were you playing another game with this man.

Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?

Yeah, but no.

Hard fucking pass.

You didn’t care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.

That should make your old man happy enough.

It wasn’t like he could do anything here with you.

And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldn’t come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you weren’t about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.

A few lines wouldn’t be the worst way to start the night.

Joel wasn’t drunk.

He wasn’t tipsy, either.

And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard she’d jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadn’t been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. He’d claimed that he needed some air.

The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldn’t exactly complain.

He’d asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.

Well. He hadn’t asked for that last thing.

Thirty years ago, he might’ve found it cute—what Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat weren’t yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.

And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?

Would you be back soon?

And why had you taken that kid with you?

Joel’s palms were sweaty by his sides. He didn’t like being kept in the dark—didn’t think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.

Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.

The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.

When he stepped inside, he had to stop.

It was too much to process and walk at once.

For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.

You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something back—probably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around him—and then tilting your head up.

Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.

“What the fuck are you DOING?!” he bellowed out.

The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.

He wasn’t thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike who’d just had his dick down his stepdaughter’s throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He might’ve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him again—and reared back to punch him square in the face.

That blow never landed.

In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyes—wide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.

“JOEL.”

Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.

Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.

“J— Dad. Dad. Stop. Please don’t hit him.”

Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You must’ve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it might’ve been too much for him to control—but of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.

He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.

“How the fuck could you even—” he started again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” you broke in, words sounding like a sob, “It’s not his fault. Really. I— I didn’t mean for you to see.”

Sucking some other guy’s cock. Yeah, of course not.

Joel’s face flared with an anger unlike anything he’d felt in years, and if it weren’t for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he would’ve liked to knock him out.

He might’ve, if the kid hadn’t run out of the room.

If you hadn’t turned slightly, he might’ve yelled again.

And then he saw it, from where you’d pivoted—the toilet.

Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.

He wasn’t sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.

You’d been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.

He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.

When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didn’t feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadn’t been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.

“What the hell was that all about, Joel?!” you snapped.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:

“Sorry, sorry—I mean ‘dad.’ You fucking asshole.”

“And this is why you up and left?” Joel hissed.

“I just—”

“Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“I didn’t—”

“What that could’ve been laced with?”

He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toilet—apparently there hadn’t been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your lines—and at the same time, to Joel’s amazement, you sank to your knees.

“Well, I don’t know, dad, why don’t we test some out?”

And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.

“Don’t,” he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. “Put that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.”

That didn’t seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.

Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.

He shut it.

And when he returned, you hadn’t moved from where you’d been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasn’t recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.

His voice was lower when he spoke again:

“What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.

“You thought—” you started, soft.

“I thought you were in here blowin’ that little shit.”

Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.

“Is that so?”

Joel didn’t have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.

“You and me,” he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, “We’re gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?”

And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but he’d say it.

Soon.

Eventually.

Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.

With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity weren’t all milling about around this house. When he hadn’t almost decked a kid for giving you coke.

When you weren’t shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.

“Will this ‘chat’ come before or after you fuck Maya?”

That was it.

Joel seized hold of your head again—this time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.

Like having your mouth right now.

Taking from you here what he thought he’d almost lost.

The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another man’s crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though he’d known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didn’t care if it felt wrong.

“You know what girls like Maya can do for me?” he said.

He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didn’t let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.

“That’s right,” Joel went on as if you’d just responded, “Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Open your mouth.”

And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.

Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obscene—Joel couldn’t ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.

Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?

Of course it was. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t do that.

But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldn’t resist the smallest impulse to wonder—what if he showed you?

What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldn’t say it outright in words, he could guide you.

Teach you.

Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.

“Damn near gave your old man a stroke, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said softly. Kindly, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.

His hands couldn’t help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.

“And what was that prick’s name?” Joel grumbled.

“Gavin.”

Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.

When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.

Swiftly, Joel’s hand on your head halted the movement.

“Gavin, huh,” he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. “This what you’d do for him?”

You whimpered.

“No, daddy. No, just— just you.”

Joel hummed his approval but didn’t let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. You’d get positive reinforcement.

He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didn’t want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.

The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.

He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.

You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.

“That’s it, honey,” he told you, “Suck on daddy.”

His hips hadn’t meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant ‘o’ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.

You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didn’t need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.

You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.

He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.

You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.”

Feel you deeper, he should’ve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongue—sensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way in—and at the stretch, you gagged a bit.

Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.

“You wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you might’ve guessed there was more to it, but you weren’t exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.

In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joel’s member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.

“Good girl. You’re doin’ so good for daddy,” he praised.

And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.

Joel could’ve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something else—a familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.

You’d just started. He’d barely got an inch down your—

“Fuck,” he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. You’d taken him deep before—at your father’s birthday bash last month, actually—but then you’d been blowing him under a table. He couldn’t hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldn’t see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didn’t slow down.

With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.

Your body below him responded in sharp protest.

‘Daddy, no’ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.

Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.

He couldn’t help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.

And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.

Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldn’t think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didn’t fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.

You hardly had to swallow at all—hardly could swallow, with how deep he’d gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a moment’s hitch of resistance.

Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.

Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didn’t fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.

In between movements against your body, he mumbled:

“I’m sick of missin’ you all the damn time, sweet pea.”

He wasn’t sure where it came from. It just came.

Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as he’d spoken it you.

Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.

Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” you returned in a whisper.

You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.

Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.

He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:

“I wish you could…be here. I wish we didn’t have to…”

Hide.

Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thought—

“We’re leeeeeeeeav—OH! Shit!”

Aly Ingram’s sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. She’d thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joel’s undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.

Or jumped, really.

She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.

“I didn’t see that! I did not seeee—”

“Aly!” you half-hissed, half-groaned.

“I literally didn’t see shit. You’re all g—”

Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because she’d just tripped over a trash can backing out. She’d only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:

“Have fun, be safe! Don’t make babies!!”

Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.

As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.

Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and she’d probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.

But your goal tonight hadn’t been to convince her of a lie—it was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that you’d been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.

Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfather’s jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasn’t a story you’d wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.

Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.

Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar you’d just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing she’d ever heard, and why don’t you write her a How-To? She’d love some tips on boning old men.

“He’s not that old!” you’d protested over your beverage.

She’d bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldn’t deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.

In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that could’ve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your ass—if a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, she’d tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, she’d been keen to see you close…though not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.

“I think you two would make a damn cute couple.”

“Huh?” You had to shout over the music to be heard.

“A cute couple!”

“Come again?”

You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.

“YOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!”

And, as if on cue, Joel and Aly’s father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks they’d left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in this bar—the next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,

“Aly sure likes to stare, doesn’t she?”

Followed shortly by:

“Wanna give her somethin’ to watch?”

He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that could’ve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joel’s face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.

“You ask her yet?!” he bellowed.

He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.

“He’s drunk as shit,” Dallas observed idly.

“Well, what’s he—” you began to say.

Before you’d even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.

“Scott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.”

“He loves planning trips drunk,” Michelle added.

“Like they’re best friends,” Dallas chuckled.

You ignored Aly’s half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead serious—like he’d agreed to this.

Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.

“Is that something you’d wanna do, hon?” he asked.

You might’ve liked to warn him that he was drawing too close—that his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harder—but anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.

Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the ‘70s and ‘80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didn’t give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.

Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldn’t help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.

Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him there—that Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.

It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasn’t too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.

But Joel hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.

You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasn’t the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?

Clearly Joel wasn’t all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after you’d nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.

“And if I made a joke about father-daughter dances—”

“I would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.”

Your backside glanced off his front. It wasn’t so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your direction—

“Joel!”

Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what you’d just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.

Joel’s lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, and the fingers that he’d eased around your waist were turning you back.

Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldn’t be helped—that was what you kept telling yourself, anyway—when your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.

That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didn’t give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.

You were drifting further out. This didn’t matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joel’s, and Joel’s was yours—if only for now.

Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.

No fucking way.

An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.

It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joel’s hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.

You hoped like hell he didn’t know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.

When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you weren’t left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.

Of course he did.

What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking ‘Father Figure’ of all the throwbacks?

Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.

‘For one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.’

Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasn’t, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his body’s movements.

‘Sometimes I think that you’ll never understand me.’

Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.

‘But something tells me together we’d be happy.’

Well…as long as your father didn’t kill him first.

Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.

When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.

‘I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.’

This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You might’ve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.

Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.

Joel’s other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.

“You can’t…”

When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.

As much as you would’ve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.

Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.

You nodded but were quick to add: “Joel, we can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…”

You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joel’s erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenor’s voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didn’t blink when you met his gaze.

Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. You’d strayed far. And now, away from all the people that you’d come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than you’d ever been expecting to find. Joel’s kiss was rough.

It was open and aching—a wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didn’t let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.

You pulled away.

Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.

While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joel’s shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.

What you needed to do was leave. What you couldn’t stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldn’t take to it as kindly as Aly had.

But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.

Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.

On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside should’ve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You could’ve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.

You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as much—and was preparing to object—when you swiftly cut him off again.

It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.

He reached out; you winced. You shouldn’t say it.

“Let’s go home, Joel.”

You were running again.

You’d nearly knocked him to the floor the second he’d turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to see—part of why he’d booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms again—but as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.

You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasn’t the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasn’t what he usually did.

The ache unfurling in his chest wasn’t the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.

Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.

“Joel.”

“You didn’t want me kissin’ you at all back there.”

In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. You’d scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.

Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.

You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.

“Yeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?”

And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didn’t follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.

He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.

Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.

“I said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.”

He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.

Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldn’t.

Joel made sure that you wouldn’t when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.

“Honey,” he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.

You’d almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joel’s grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.

If he could just control himself and play things right…

“Listen, I’m not trying to be your father.”

Wait. No. That came out wrong.

Your eyes widened some.

“Oh, really, daddy?”

Well, shit.

Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was useless—everything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.

He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.

“I love you, you know that, right?” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.

“Christ, Joel.”

You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasn’t happening.

“We’re not doing this again,” you added in a grave voice.

Joel was already making his way up after you—again, like a fucking moron, he felt—crawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.

“‘S’alright if you don’t wanna say it back, I just—”

“I didn’t mean to say it in the first place, Joel!”

But there was a strain in your words. Denial.

You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didn’t stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.

He was hovering, almost.

Just as he’d been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk town—at Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge, where you’d been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that night—he pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.

It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.

As if you couldn’t stand to be under him, you slid back.

“Joel, please…don’t,” you murmured hoarsely.

“Don’t what?” His stomach dropped.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

That he loved you?

Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.

This was what he’d come this whole way to tell you.

The man could handle rejection; that wasn’t the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasn’t all hurt—it was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.

He didn’t reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.

“Why won’t you believe me?” This time pleading.

“It’s not that I won’t—I just can’t, Joel. I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasn’t meant to be directed at you—it was only meant for himself, why wasn’t he enough—and he spit the words like venom.

“Haven’t I shown you that I mean it? That I— I— I care? I’m here. I came to see you. I’m telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you won’t let me in an inch, except when—”

“Except when you’re seven deep in me?” you scoffed.

It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.

“For Christ’s sake,” Joel gritted through his teeth.

He didn’t even wait for you to interject, as he came back: “Is that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?”

His voice was loud, and he hadn’t meant for it to be.

He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.

“I just think it’s real convenient,” you snapped again, “Betraying my trust by not telling me about dad’s affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you don’t have to deal with this…this…guilt.”

Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I did all of this out of pity?”

“I think you’re trying to be a—”

“That I would lie about it?”

His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.

“Joel, I—”

“No.” He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for ‘hot-headed, explosively angry father,’ but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.

“I have—” he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.

His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.

“I have been in love with you this whole fuckin’ time!”

His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldn’t contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.

He couldn’t stand the way you wouldn’t believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You don’t mean—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!”

He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.

“I do. I can. You’re— you’re full of shit.”

Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.

“Am I?!” he bellowed.

“Yes!” you spat.

“How can you say that?!”

And, without meaning to, Joel’s knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from him—“You—you don’t mean it, Joel.”

“I do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.”

That sound from his chest could’ve been half a sob.

He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joel’s stopped.

He couldn’t see it without a wince—your hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.

His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.

“You can’t…you can’t mean it if I’m just a secret to you.” Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, “You can’t say you love me if…if you’re just gonna leave.”

By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.

Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for it—could see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tears—but no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.

The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:

“You’re gonna leave me, Joel.”

The hurt wouldn’t stop.

“You don’t love me.”

Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.

“You can’t.”

In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasn’t all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before he’d ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.

Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bare—that you didn’t deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.

“No, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ain’t leavin’.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.

He already knew you wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t stop him from saying the words all the same.

“I— I said it first,” he went on, words tumbling out.

You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.

“At the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.”

That was the truth.

If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.

“I already knew I loved you before that. I would’ve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all that…that stuff I knew.”

He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasn’t right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadn’t wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.

That didn’t excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.

Knowing you’d trusted him not to hurt you—and he had.

If you didn’t accept what he told you now, he wouldn’t fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.

Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:

“Baby.”

You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.

“Sweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.”

A beat.

“I’m not leavin’. I want more—need more.”

And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than he’d even thought possible. He wasn’t good at this.

He wasn’t quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feeling—that of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.

You sniffled between his two broad palms.

“I want you to stay,” you said softly.

Joel’s heart hammered at that.

He couldn’t hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, he’d already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.

He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it out—the thing he’d wanted to show you.

When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what he’d lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.

Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didn’t seem keen to judge.

“They’re…they’re tickets,” he started. Stupid.

You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:

“Billy Joel’s got a show comin’ up in Austin this June. I…I thought— well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we could…”

Spit it out, Miller.

Spit. It. Out.

He frowned.

“I’m no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to go…together.”

And then…

“And I want your dad to know about us before then.”

There it is.

The last lynchpin in the man’s resolve was gone. He’d said it. There was no turning back from what he’d offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.

Terrifying.

Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you might’ve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you weren’t quite sure how to answer.

Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhale—Or was it an exhale? He couldn’t tell—and before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.

You’d moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.

Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didn’t think you’d ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.

It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.

“You…you want to?” Your voice was tiny against him.

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” Joel answered in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, “Of course I do.”

Then, because the impulse struck again: “I love you.”

He didn’t need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.

And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didn’t protest. He kissed you back. Joel didn’t have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when you’d stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.

Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadn’t had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldn’t have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.

“I love you.”

It slipped out again, and Joel didn’t care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.

While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last he’d seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if he’d had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasn’t enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.

You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beat—your sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest bite—and then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.

There was no other logical route for him to go.

You’d just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.

“I love you,” he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.

Your grip grew tighter.

“Joel, please.”

His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.

Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.

Don’t get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots of—

“Joel,” you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. “Come— come here.”

He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.

“Yeah? Every—” To the side of your mouth. “Everything OK, sweet pea?” Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. “Too fast?” Another to your cheek.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a reset—had to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.

He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.

Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.

Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.

“Here,” you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. “Stay here, please.”

It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea

Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didn’t need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.

Dry humping.

Whining at the friction.

“Feels…feels so good, Joel,” you told him breathlessly.

“You like that?” His lower half mimicked the motions.

Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meant—a thrust, like he was fucking you into the bed—shook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.

You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as if—

You were already expecting this to end.

You didn’t think that he would stay.

“Baby,” Joel panted again.

By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.

Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.

Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.

Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.

“Joel,” you panted back.

Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.

His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.

He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.

Then you kissed him.

Joel’s lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.

Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.

He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speak—to reassure you that he wasn’t leaving.

“Joel—”

“I know, I know. Baby, I—fuck.” His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.

With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty ‘O’s, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:

“I love you, Joel.”

It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.

One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.

“I— I love you. I love you so much,” you murmured, low.

His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldn’t stop it.

Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants since…he couldn’t remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.

His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietly—‘I love you, too.’

Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.

Seconds stretched; he didn’t feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.

As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. He’d jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadn’t been doing either when he came; you’d told him you loved him, and that was enough.

Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.

Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.

He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he could’ve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. He’d cum an absurd amount.

Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.

“Joel?”

Your voice was soft. Sometime since he’d unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, you’d appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.

You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.

If Joel didn’t know you better, and he wasn’t already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he might’ve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.

It wasn’t like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.

He flinched when you reached out instead.

Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twice—gently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him wince—and then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.

When you peered up at him, Joel couldn’t find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.

“It’ll be easier if we wash it off in there.”

You nodded to the shower behind him.

Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.

“Alright,” he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, “That’s fine.”

He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.

Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit in here.”

Then, as though to emphasize his point:

“I can wash off by myself. It’s…fine.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.

Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.

“Just get in, Miller. Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off.”

And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.

Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grin—‘You do know I’ve seen you naked before, right?’—and that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.

“So you remember that I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadn’t seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.

You’d seen him hard, soft, and everything in between—mostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.

That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.

“Looks like your old man’s stamina has taken a hit, too.”

Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.

He might’ve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughts—and his breath—out of his body.

Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.

Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.

He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.

“Baby,” Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.

“My old man,” you repeated affectionately.

It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time he’d been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurt—and not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.

His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.

His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.

“You alright with this?” he muttered.

“With what?” you mumbled back.

Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.

“My body ain’t what it was—”

“And it’s more than enough.”

Suddenly, your eyes weren’t just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.

You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel should’ve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.

“You could have your pick of any guy—”

“Good thing I only want you.”

Your grip tightened too. Now that you’d scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.

“That so?” His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.

Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the shower’s spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.

You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.

“I— I mean it, Joel,” you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. “I want you.”

Joel’s hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.

And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.

“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmured.

In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.

“Right…here.”

“Right here?”

Joel hadn’t meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:

“You want daddy in here, pretty girl?”

Your whine was all he needed to hear.

And perhaps it would’ve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.

In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasn’t swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around him—how rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.

“Sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “Easy. Easy.”

You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.

The pretty, slick ‘o’ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your body’s wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.

Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.

It wasn’t working.

You were just so. fucking. tight.

“I— you gotta slow down, sweet pea,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.

“But I need you, daddy,” you whined, “Need you inside.”

Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.

“I’m gonna blow if we don’t slow down some, honey.”

It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldn’t seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.

Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.

“That’s OK. You…you can— oh.”

Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.

Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.

“I can what, honey? What can daddy do?”

Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.

Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.

Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.

Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.

“Daddy, I— I want you to cum inside me.”

Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in place—so taken aback by what you’d just said—but then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.

“Oh, honey…”

“Please.”

He’d finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?

“I’m about to start my period. It’ll be fine.”

The half-starved look in your eyes said you’d been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.

Joel’s good sense was shot. He knew it was wrong. He was assured beyond a shadow of a doubt that if your dad ever learned he’d deliberately painted your insides white—or worse yet, knocked you up—his best friend would personally sever his dick and sauté it for lunch. Still, the urge to be joined with you in this brand new way was damn near debilitating. He couldn’t tell you no. So instead of doing what he should’ve done, he simply said:

“OK.”

For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.

His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.

“‘M’so full. Feels so, so good, daddy,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. “I fit so nice, don’t I, baby?”

“You— you do, daddy. You do.”

“Can I fit a little more in?”

Your eyes widened.

As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besides—at just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.

Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.

Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: “I’m yours, baby. I’m all yours.”

His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.

The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.

With you underneath him, in his arms, it didn’t matter.

“I love you, Joel,” you whispered again, smiling.

He grinned and kissed you, “I love you more.”

And he’d meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, he’d spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didn’t care how long it would take to prove it.

For once, he didn’t care what your dad would have to say

[talaok]

Give up

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.

Warnings: big ass unspecified age gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie and he's nervous and he's not so very sure about this bc of how old he is + he's out of practice. smut| oral (m and f receiving) and swallowing you know what. sub!Joel vibez all around

Pt. 2

This wasn't anything new.

The fact that he was coming over wasn't at all surprising to either of you.

You always found a way to be around him, and no matter how he ignored your every attempt at flirting- he never said no.

It had taken all of two minutes.

You'd knocked on his door, your best little skirt and tight little top on, and faked a pout as you told him:

"There's something wrong with the shower again Mr. Miller"

To his defense, Joel really tried not to stare at your ass as you walked right in front of him to guide him to your house, but that fucking skirt seemed more of a joke than anything.

You both knew there was nothing wrong with your shower, the switch that granted the hot water had just mysteriously turned itself off once again.

This had been going on for months now, since he first arrived in Jackson... since you knocked at his door that one chilly morning to introduce yourself to your new neighbor-

All it took was one look, and you were hooked.

He was gonna be yours.

"there- 's hot" he nodded, shutting the water off once he'd made sure it worked properly again, before drying his hands on his pants.

"thank you so much Joel" you smiled wider than necessary "What can I do to thank you?"

And no, you didn't even try to make your words not sound dirty, quite the opposite actually.

He cleared his throat, his eyes breaking from yours in a nervous shift.

You always did that- had this annoying effect on him.

"'s nothing darlin'" he shook his head, "didn't even take five minutes"

"Still- I feel like I owe you," you said, biting down a smirk

Shitshitshit

"How 'bout some cake?" you suggested just as he was about to have a stroke.

"sounds good"

__ __ __

"'s real good darlin'"

"thank you" you smiled happily, watching him clear his plate in under a minute

Yeah... you were a great baker, what can I say

"you want another slice?"

"You spoil me sugar," he laughed, patting his belly "I can't"

"alright" You couldn't help but softly laugh as you placed his plate in the sink.

You caught him looking away just as you turned around, which made you smile to yourself, a smile that only widened when you noticed the chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

"Oh Joel"

"Mh?"

You sat beside him at the table, your legs brushing against one another as you leaned closer.

"You've got something... right here"

You swiped the chocolate off with your pointer finger, making a show of popping it into your mouth to clean it.

His eyes remained transfixed on you as your tongue licked your digit clean until you were finally done with a loud pop.

"Jesus"

"What?" you smirked, knowing exactly what  "that gave you some ideas?"

"babygirl-" he stopped you immediately, shaking his head

"Oh c'mon Joel" you pouted, your hand going to rest on his forearm "What's a girl gotta do to get you to give up?"

He blinked, looking at you intently and nervously altogether.

"Why do ya even care about an old man like me sweetie?"

You couldn't help but laugh "Have you ever looked in a mirror, Joel?"

You swore you saw pink flood his cheeks- the man was blushing.

"Plus you're kind... and funny when you want to.... and you make me feel-" you bit your lip, trying to find the right word "safe... you make me feel safe"

He scratched his beard, but you couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the arm your hand was still on.

"'m sure there's boys here that are funnier and kinder and make you feel even safer babygirl" he spoke gently "Pretty sure most of them are prayin' you give 'em a chance actually"

You hummed, raising a brow

"but what if I don't want them?"

"You want an old man instead?" he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.

You rolled your eyes "How old even are you?"

"old enough to be your father darlin'"

God, maybe there was something wrong with you, but those words only made your need for him burn harder.

"so?"

"so I ain't even supposed to look your way babygirl- it ain't right"

"But why?" you pouted "Shouldn't I get to have a say in what's right and wrong for me?"

He sighed, not really knowing what to answer to that.

"What if I don't care?" you spoke softly, your pointer finger on his chest, circling his pec "What if I like you, Joel? what if I wanted to show you just how much right now?"

"sweetheart" he started, shaking his head

"You'd stop me?"

And there it was, the pause... your way in.

"Joel?" you called for him, your voice sickly sweet "Would you?"

He couldn't do anything but tell the truth when you were looking at him like that.

"I don't think any man in his right mind could or would ever stop you darlin'"

Satisfaction took over your whole body.

"no?" you teased, grinning like a cat "Not even if he's old enough to be my father?"

He sighed, what looked like resignation in his eyes.

"I'm just a man sweetheart"

And that- that got him the biggest smirk ever known to man.

There was no sound, it was like the word got quiet as you stood up, placed your hands on his thighs, and slowly kneeled between his legs.

He didn't know what to do, he was genuinely frozen, torn between guilt and attraction, the need to let go, to finally do this- that his brain was short-circuiting.

You took advantage of his silence, making quick work of his zipper, and pulling down his boxers just enough to free his cock...

All your speculations got proven right there- he was huge.

"oh wow," you bit down a grin as you watched your fingers struggle to wrap around his whole base.

You gave him a tentative squeeze, and the strained groan rumbling from his chest was just about the hottest thing you'd ever heard.

"y-you- f-fuck"

You stopped him before he could start protesting, your tongue sliding slowly on his tip before leaving a little kiss right on top.

"You're so big" you hummed, your tongue licking him up from base to head, feeling every vein and twitch of his member.

He was looking down at you just as you looked at him, and he seemed... mesmerized, like he couldn't believe this was really happening, that this wasn't another one of the dreams he'd get about you at night, and that it was really your lips wrapping around him.

Goddamnit

You had barely a little more than his tip in your mouth and he was already gone- and I mean gone gone.

He couldn't even remember why he'd spent so long ignoring your not-so-subtle hints-

Just a minute ago he wanted to tell you that no, you don't gotta do that, and ask you sure about this? - But now... now all he could do was throw his head back as he realized that his lack of practice these past few years had really gotten to him, and that he already had to grab at the chair beneath him with all his strength as he tried not to come embarrassingly fast.

You hummed around his cock, and he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting upwards, a small choking sound fleeing your throat.

"goddamnit, 'm sorry baby-"

But the moment he looked down at you, he saw everything but anger... you seemed happy- you were begging him to do it again with your eyes.

But he couldn't, and part of you already knew that.

He shook his head slowly, still trying to think as straight as he could given the situation, but while he was busy with that... you settled for the next best thing... you forced his manhood down your throat all on your own.

The groan he let out was damn near feral.

You couldn't actually get all of it down there, it was the biggest dick you'd ever seen in your life after all, but you swore that with a little bit of practice (that he'd hopefully grant you), you'd get there.

Still, he didn't really seem bothered or in any way disappointed by your inability.

It was an indescribable feeling seeing this tough, rugged man shiver with pleasure before you, his eyes shut and knuckles white with the effort of gripping onto something.

"I- fuck"

He didn't even know what he wanted to say, he just... it felt so fucking good

Your head was back on bobbing up and down his length, and what used to be groans had turned to moans coming out of his mouth.

"Y-you've gotta-" he swallowed, his sentence interrupted by the feeling of your fingers playing with his balls.

"Y-you've got t-" to stop

But you were choking on his girth again

"I-'m gonna-" come

You watched him struggle with his words, his breathing, and his self-control with what would have been a huge smirk on your face if your mouth hadn't been so preoccupied.

You knew he was about to come already, it really wasn't hard to understand,

You also knew that if you stopped now there was a chance you'd get to do more later- but really, this was something too perfect to leave halfway done, and besides... you feared that if you went with your initial plan of straddling his lap and riding the man to heaven, you'd leave him traumatized.

So you didn't stop, you kept massaging his balls as you worked his dick in and out your mouth, ever so often forcing him as deep as you could and choking while drool and saliva dripped down your chin.

"J-Jesus, sweetheart- I-"

All his words came out in rugged breaths, barely coherent- his eyes were back on you, shadows of lust and need darkening his iris as his right hand went to your cheek, a gesture almost too sweet considering what you were doing.

"F-fuck"

And that was it.

He groaned so loud you probably could hear him from outside the house as he reached his climax, rope after rope of his come filling your mouth and throat.

Joel Miller had come in your mouth... and it couldn't have been any more perfect.

You didn't take your eyes off him for one second. You greedily swallowed all his spent as he breathed heavily, eyes still closed.

His dick was softening in your hand as you pulled his boxers back on top of it, a little wave of disappointment washing over your gut.

It's ok, I'll see it again soon

Just as you were plotting exactly how you were gonna get in his pants in the future, his voice startled you

"I-I don't know what to say"

A soft smile pulled at your lips

"You don't have to say anything" you reassured him as you sat back on your chair, your eyes inevitably falling back to where his boxers peeked from the unfasted fly.

"now- I won't keep you hostage any longer, 'm sure you have important stuff to do back at your house"

The frowns on his forehead deepened as his eyebrows came together in confusion.

"What?"

Now you were confused.

"I'm just saying- thank you for... this" You bit down a smile "You know how long I've been wanting it- and you can bet your ass we're doing it and more, again and again, and again" his eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount and you had to stifle a laugh "but... I'm letting you free for tonight"

He took his time to say something.

Silence wrapped around you for a good minute before he was able to mumble something.

"sweetheart-" he cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts "I-I dunno how you're used to... bein' treated, but this ain't over"

A spark of excitement ignited in your belly

He couldn't mean...

"unless you want it to be, of course"

Oh my

"I definitely don't want it to be" you hastily spoke, almost breathless "but I would like to know what you... mean"

I mean, not to be prejudiced, but you very much doubted he could get it up again so quickly given his... well, age.

He cleared his throat again and you finally realized it was just a nervous tic and he didn't actually feel the need to.

"You should be on a bed" he avoided your question

You couldn't help but smile as you got up

"Such a gentleman"

"that's the last word that comes to mind right now" was all he grumbled

__ __ __

"sit"

that's all he said, and now there you were, sitting on your bed as he looked at you with a mix of lust and uncertainty.

Until he finally did it- he crouched between your legs.

He cleared his throat again, and you felt on the urge of cumbusting.

he was gonna eat you out

You'd only ever done this once, and even then you had to basically beg the guy, just for him to be god-awful at it.

Somehow you had a feeling Joel wasn't gonna be bad at all.

"You sure about this, yeah?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

He could probably ask you to put it up your ass and you'd say yes.

"Yes Joel, I'm 100% positive"

He gave you a little nod, and his hands- his big, strong hands- went to your thighs.

You watched him as if he'd disappear at any moment as he slowly- oh so very slowly- took your skirt off.

He swallowed tightly as his eyes fell on your clothed cunt.

If you didn't know any better you would have guessed he was holding his breath as he got rid of your panties.

"Jesus Christ"

I shouldn't be doing this- I really shouldn't be fucking doing this.

She's not even half my age- she's a kid for god's sake- I'm fucking disgustin-

Every single thought in his mind turned to dust the moment you spread your legs- the moment your wet, drenched, pussy came fully into view.

"Y-you-"

he didn't even remember what he wanted to say- and he didn't remember when his thumb had decided to find your folds, but it had.

He heard a whimper leave your mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening again.

It usually took him a whole fucking hour to get hard again

He looked up at you, and you looked hotter than ever before.

Your cheeks were flushed, your bottom lip was between your teeth, and you looked so... perfect.

"I haven't done this in a- while"

As he spoke those words he hoped you'd think he only meant this... as if you'd actually care about how he hadn't gotten laid in years.

"'s ok Joel" you nodded, smiling encouragingly.

He swallowed again, his gaze slowly lowering.

He couldn't believe you were this wet for him- a pretty thing like you.

His thumb moved, gently sliding up and up and up, until he found your clit, earning another little moan.

Fuck

He circled the little bud, and your cries got a little higher and he swore- he swore going to hell was worth it, worth this.

He had to taste you- fuck, he'd been dreaming about the taste of you since he first saw you- So with all the carefulness in the word, he bent down, his lips finding your soft thighs.

He could see your belly inflate and deflate with your exited breaths as he kissed his way closer and closer to your heat, until he was right there, and he couldn't help but leave a kiss on your mound, on the hair covering it so very nicely.

"Joel-" your voice was strangled "please"

If it had been twenty years ago he would have said something cocky like "'s ok baby, it's coming", his whole demeanor would have been very different too. He used to be in charge in the bedroom, always- he used to feel smug and sure of himself, but now... now he was old and out of practice, and he was... he was nervous.

But all it took was to look up at you, at those beautiful pleading eyes, to find the courage.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

And you tasted better than he could have ever fucking imagined.

A deep, feral groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue passed between your folds, as he gathered all your slickness on his taste buds, all that sweet sweet juice that felt like fucking heaven.

Yeah, now I remember why I used to love this so much

You were moaning like a desperate little thing above him, your thighs squeezing his face as your feet clung to his torso.

And he was gripping the outside of your legs, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible, his face as deep in your core as it would go.

His nose was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you see stars, and he was still lapping, not focusing on anywhere in particular, just aimlessly and desperately feeding off of you.

"Oh my god Joel-" you gasped as two of his fingers found their way inside of you.

His movements were slow, he didn't wanna hurt you, and he wanted to find what made you feel good, which is why he kept exploring until his digits curled up into that sweet cushy part of you, and he felt you squeeze him as you threw your head back.

"f-fuck!"

Your left hand had traveled to his locks, gripping them tightly as your hips frantically moved against his face to try and seek more.

His mouth was focusing only on your clit now, thoroughly sucking on it- and just when you thought this couldn't get any better, that this was the most pleasure you'd ever experienced and there was no way he would be able to top this- another one of his big, thick fingers pushed into you.

The cry you let out was something Joel would be thinking of until he was six feet under.

Three of his fingers were so much more than what you were used to.

"J-Joel" you whimpered actual tears staining your vision as you looked down at him "Oh my fucking g-god Joel"

Your gut had been right. He was really fucking good at this

He was watching you, studying every little face you made as the squelching of his fingers moving inside of you filled the room together with your moans.

"I-I'm coming"

You could barely finish the sentence that the world went bright, and the purest pleasure you'd ever felt erupted in your body with a million different blasts.

For a whole minute, you were in another universe- and Joel eagerly enjoyed the show, not stopping his movements for even a fraction of a second.

You feared the moment you opened your eyes you'd wake up in your bed after yet another dream about this man- and yet he was still here, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

He couldn't help but steal another little kiss on your core before he leaned away.

"well... wow" you smiled like an idiot, your breathing still a little labored "You know what you're doing Mr. Miller"

He didn't say anything, but you saw pink flush his cheeks again as he let your legs go, robbing you of his touch.

You would have been disappointed if it wasn't for the fact he was very clearly having trouble not having his gaze fall down to your heat.

You smiled to yourself as you accepted the skirt he quietly handed you.

Seeing you standing before him with it on when he knew you were bare and wet underneath made Joel's brain freeze for a moment, but that was of course, until you stood on your tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"thank you for this Joel"

Your voice was so sweet it sounded angelic to his ears- but the sweetness was replaced by something very different very quickly.

As you stood back down to your normal height, your body, being flushed against Joel's, came in contact with something that very much piqued your interest.

he was hard- very fucking hard

"no babygirl"

he was already shaking his head, crushing all your dreams

"but-"

"I can't" his tone was firm, although you could still hear restraint behind his words, like it was costing him a lot to say no.

"It feels to me like you very much can" you rebutted, smirking softly.

"I- it ain't right"

Oh my god

It took a lot not to roll your eyes "I thought we were past that whole thing" you said, cocking an eyebrow "Do I need to remind you what you were doing just a minute ago?"

"that's different"

"How?"

"it just is"

"what if I beg you Joel?" you purred, your best doe eyes looking up at him "What if I told you about how much I'd like to feel your cock inside of me? How desperate I am for it, Joel- how much I need it"

He was gonna go home and punch himself in the face for what he was about to say.

But it was true, he couldn't. It wasn't right- he needed... to think about it at least

"darlin'" he spoke softly "I can't... not right now"

there it is

The smirk that pulled at your lips was the most mischievous thing in the world.

"right now" you repeated his words, biting your lip as you played with the hem of his flannel "I can live with that- but Joel...don't even think this is over"

[neimaami]

6 AM (M)

SYNOPSIS: Jungkook wakes you up at 6AM for more than just morning cuddles

WARNINGS : SMUT, protected sex, dirty talk, mention of oral sex (f), rough sex, missionary, Jk kind of a freak, soft kook, first time writing smut! (constructive criticism is very much condoned), established relationship, spit kink, eye-contact kink (is that a thing?)

word count: 4.0k

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

If Jeonguk wasn’t the love of your life, you swear you would have killed him. 

If there is one thing you hate more in this world than rude, snobby rich kids, it’s being woken up in the crack ass of dawn. Seriously, your alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—that’s supposed to be an obvious universal sign for “wake me up, and I’ll end you.” But Jeonguk? He thrives on pushing your limits, of testing your patience to heights no one has ever dared to cross. If you had known moving in with Jeonguk would result in sleepless nights and early awakenings, you would have reconsidered. 

“Stop.” A sleepy mumble escapes your lips, your voice sounding ragged and throat raspy - your eyes remaining closed in your half-asleep state. The persistent finger poking against your cheek over and over again only served to agitate you even further as it dragged you back to reality from the comfort of dreamland. “Guk seriously…” An exasperated sigh fell from your lips as you lazily raised an arm to swat his hand away. 

A deep, throaty chuckle escaped him, sending shivers down your spine. You inwardly curse your body for the way it reacts to the sound of his voice. Your nipples harden embarrassingly against the thin fabric of your tank top. The wooden bed creaks softly as you shift, turning your back to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the reaction he effortlessly draws from your body. The white sheets of your shared comforter were a wrinkled mess that reached just below your knees - it had been a warm, sticky night that left you both no choice but to kick the sheets off your bodies. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” The smug tone in his voice was apparent as you felt the bed dip even further, his chest now pressing against your back. He leaned down, mouth inches away from the shell of your ear, his breath fanning over your skin, sending yet another wave of shivers down your spine. “Did I wake you up?” He whispered, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk.

The pillow beneath your head bunches as your fingers tighten around the fabric, gripping it in your palm. “Don’t act innocent, you know for a fact you woke me up on purpose with your constant poking.” You turn your body even further away from him in retaliation. 

You heard a scoff falling from his lips. “It’s not my fault your lazy ass takes ages to wake up.” You felt his hand coming down to rest on your bare hip from where your tank top had ridden up. Leaning down, his lips dragged softly against the back of your neck. 

“No one else in the world wakes up at 6 AM on a weekend but you, Guk.” You shot back, which only earns you a snort from him. He trails soft kisses up the side of your neck, a light featherly touch that has you craving for more. 

“Who said anything about 6AM?” He presses one last kiss against your flushed cheek before pulling back. “I knew you had no sense of time, but this is just a whole new level.” He smiled that stupid smug grin of his that made you want to do nothing else but wipe it off. 

“What are you talking about?” You grumble in annoyance, not bothering to open your eyes. This was one of the rare mornings you didn’t have to drag yourself out of bed for your dreaded university lectures. Not to mention, the campus itself was a nightmare to navigate—always loud and irritating. Especially in the mornings, when all you wanted to do was to sink back into the  comfort of your warm bed.

“It’s 4PM, baby” His voice lowered to a soft rumble. Your eyes snap open. Yes you were lazy, yes you loved sleeping above anything else, but you hated being unproductive, of feeling as if you wasted an entire day lazing around in bed. As fast as lightning you’re sitting up, causing the wooden bed to creak under your added pressure. Jungkook could only smile in amusement from beside you, no doubt taking in your disheveled appearance - hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, eyes puffy from sleep. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner!” You whine, reaching out for your phone on the nightstand, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the screen. The bold letters ‘6:15AM’ flash on the homescreen of your phone. Your mind dawns in realization, your head snaps towards Jungkook who lays against the wooden headboard smugly. His arms resting behind his head, sheets pooling against his waist - leaving his toned chest and delicious abs to view. If you weren’t so irritated you would have jumped his bones no doubt.

“Oh whoops, I must’ve read the time wrong.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. You launched yourself onto him in an instant, causing him to let out a ‘yelp’ in surprise. You knew his weakness, knew it like the back of your hand - tickles. It was a very effective method if you do say so yourself. 

He let out a strained, breathless laugh as your fingers mercilessly danced against the sides of his bare torso, the bed thrashed and creaked from the movements of his attempts at escape. “Stop, Stop, I’m sorry!” He chanted as he tried to get ahold of your wrists. Through many months of perfecting Jungkook’s weakness, you had become quite the expert on dodging his attempts to stop your tickling. 

“This is what you get!” Your eyes crinkled at the corners, a wide smile you made no effort to hide, appearing on your lips. To get a better angle, you swung a leg over his torso, successfully straddling his hips, your fingers never haltering their torturous movements against the sides of his ribs. He was laughing so hard you could see a vein popping out from the side of his neck from the strain. “Now you’ll know to never disrupt my sleep!” 

In a moment of distraction, he got a hold of your wrists, turning the both of you around in an instant. You let out an ‘oof’ sound as your back hit the mattress with more force than he had probably intended. The grip of his hands on your wrists only tightened as he forced them above your head, keeping them steady against the pillow. 

“Woah, whoah, whoa there, calm down pretty lady” His voice came out in a breathless chuckle, you felt a pang of pride in your chest for reducing him to such a state - even if it was just from a tickle attack. 

“Shut up Jungkook, you lied to me and made me miss on my precious and very much needed beauty sleep!” you ramble, struggling against his hold as he tightened his hands around your wrists.

“I had to get you up somehow, knowing you, nothing else would have worked.” He leaned down to start pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, his warm tongue darting out to taste your skin. The feeling made you shiver against him.

“T-that’s not an excuse!” You weakly argue, feeling the way his bare chest pressed you down against the mattress even further. His mouth continued its assault on your senses, trailing up further against the side of your neck before his breath fanned against the shell of your ear.

“Shhh” He whispered, his hand coming up to cup one of your breasts in his warm hand, thumb brushing over one of your hard nipples and feeling it pebble even further. A small gasp escapes your lips as he starts to grind his very clear and persistent bulge against your clothed core. 

You can’t help but scoff “I can’t believe my tickles got you horny…they were supposed to be the ultimate weapon again-” Your voice was cut short when his lips pressed against yours in a sudden frenzied kiss. They were warm and soft as they moved in accordance with yours. His teeth sunk down against your bottom lip, to which you gasp at the feeling. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into the wet cavern of your mouth, tongue intertwining with yours. 

“Guk…” You moan softly against his lips, your legs parting instinctively to feel the straining erection pressing directly against your clothed clit. You let out a breathless moan, bucking your hips up towards his, grinding yourself against him in hopes of finding much needed friction. He groaned against your lips, pushing his own hips against yours. The both of you gasp at the feeling. He pulled away from the kiss with your bottom lip caught between his teeth. He watches as it falls back into place when he lets go. He leans down to pepper kisses over your collarbone. 

You let out a strangled moan when he hooks a finger to the hem of your tank top and raises it up enough to reveal your bare breasts to his gaze, your already hardened nipples exposed to the warm air of the room. It was still early morning, the birds chirped outside and the hallways of the apartment were quiet. He wastes no time in leaning down and taking one of your rosy peaks into his mouth, his tongue lavishing over the sensitive peak, teeth grazing against your skin. “Jungkook!” Your back arches off the mattress of the bed, your hips grinding sloppily against his even faster. “P-please” You whimper, hands Intertwining between his brown locks.

He released your nipple with a soft ‘pop’ watching attentively as the skin around it reddens from his ministrations. “Please what, baby?” He mumbles lazily, leaning down to dart his tongue out and flicking it against the nub. Your toes curl into the mattress as his other hand comes up to tug and twist at your other nipple. 

“P-Please…I need you” You gasp in pleasure, in other circumstances you would’ve felt embarrassed as you felt his smirk against the valley of your breasts - but not today, not when you were this horny, not when he manages to reduce you to such a state. 

He looks up at you through hooded eyes. He shakes his head, his thumb and pointer finger pinches and tugs at your nipple even harder, causing you to whimper. “Need what? Use your words, princess. I’m not a fucking mind reader” You shiver at the authoritative tone in his voice, under other conditions you would have slapped his head upside down if he talked to you that way - today you relished in it. 

“M-mouth” your words were choppy, hoping to get away with saying the minimal possible thing. Your cheeks were already burning in embarrassment and lust. Jungkook shook his head once more, the smirk that once adorned his face was replaced by a deep scowl. 

“Are you trying to get on my nerves?” With narrowed eyes he drank in your rosy cheeks and the way your mouth was slightly parted. He sat back on his haunches, eyes trailing down the expanse of your body as he rested his hands on your hips, his thumb stroking the skin underneath the waistband of your pyjama shorts. “I’ll ask you one more time. What do you want? Tell what it is you need from me, baby”

“I need your mouth! your tongue, cock, anything!” You gasp out in desperation, only serving to deepen the red on your cheeks. You could see the way a triumphant, smug, grin broke out on his face. He wasted no time gripping the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down and off your legs - the fabric falling carelessly onto the floor. 

“Such a good girl” He cooed, leaning in to press a deep, filthy kiss against your lips - all tongue and spit. His fingers reached down between your legs to graze dangerously low on your inner thigh. Your moans were muffled by his lips against yours before he broke the kiss.

“Stop teasing me” You buck your hips up, breath catching in your throat as he shifts his thigh to rest between your legs. The added pressure to your clothed clit fueled your desires even further, hips grinding against the straining muscle with no ounce of shame. He flexed the muscle of his thigh, watching transfixed as you pleasured yourself.

“Fuck baby, look at you” He slurred with lust, his eyes darkening at the sight “So wet and needy” He chuckled when he saw a wet spot forming onto his grey sweatpants. He removed his thigh from between your legs, causing you to whine in annoyance - your protest doesn’t last long as he hooks a finger to the waistband of your soaked panties and tugs them all the way down your legs. 

He lets out a low whistle at the sight, reaching down to grip the back of your thighs and parting your legs to reveal your soaked puffy folds. You prop up on your forearms as he adjusts his head between your legs, guiding your thighs to rest over his shoulders. “So fucking wet…” His breath fanned over your glistening folds causing your hands to fist the sheets beneath you.

“Oh kookie…” You whimper softly, your eyebrows furrowed and lips parted as you watched his every movement in anticipation. He brought one of his fingers to slide up your slit, gathering the wetness onto his digit. He parts your wet folds with his pointer and middle finger, groaning at the sight before him as he eyes your pussy like a starved man. He leaned in to take a deep, eye-rolling sniff at your pussy. Your cheeks burst into literal flames. “That’s so dirty…” You whisper, biting your lip.

“What is?” He raised a brow, his hooded eyes landing on yours as he lifted his head up slightly. “Can’t a guy appreciate his woman’s pussy? Especially if it’s as sexy as yours, pink and wet…and oh so fucking deliscious…” 

He leans in and licks a bold, wet strip against your folds from your entrance all the way up your clit. You gasp at the sensation, your hand shooting out to grip his hair. He hums against your pussy, eyes closing in concentration as his tongue lavishes against your folds. You could only throw your head back in ecstasy, your mind hazy and eyes blurry. When he plops off your pussy, you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and slight annoyance. That is, until you see him gather saliva into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he spits onto your folds.

Your mouth fell open at his action, feeling even more turned on. You buck your hips up against his mouth, curling your toes as his lips circled around your clit and gave the bundle of nerves a hard suck. Your body fell limp against the mattress. The room filled with the lewd sounds of his mouth against your wet folds. “M-more” You whimper as you felt the tip of his middle finger circle against your entrance, he then released your clit with a ‘pop’

“Look at me.” His voice booms against the walls of the fairly quiet bedroom. Your eyes snap to his at his command, biting your lip as his finger slips all the way inside you. “If you look away I’ll stop.” He promised, slowly thrusting his finger in and out of your velvety walls. Leaning down, his nose nuzzled against your clit as his tongue drew shapes against your slit, oozing out more wetness from you. 

“Oh guk…” You moan, as you tug at his hair, bucking your hips up against his fingers as he adds a second, then a third. His eyes remained locked on yours at all times, hooded and filled with unmistaken lust. “I love the way you look at me.” You say breathlessly, tightening your thighs around his head. He hums against your folds, his tongue darting out to flick against your clit before taking it into his mouth and sucking harshly onto the nub, his teeth grazing against the sensitive area. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spongey, soft area where he begins to concentrate all his efforts on, his fingers thrusting against it over and over again until you’re a moaning mess beneath him. 

“Fuck! Right there…oh Guk, don’t stop!” You moan repeatedly with no real consciousness of what you were saying - too far gone for coherent thoughts. His fingers set a fast, rough pace, causing the room to echo with the sounds of your wetness, meanwhile his mouth sucks harshly against your clit. It was more than enough to push you over the edge, your thighs trembling between his head as your orgasm washed over you. 

“Oh my god-” You choke out, your eyes rolling back in your head, hips bucking frantically against his face, riding out your mind-blowing orgasm. You fall limp against the mattress when the feeling starts to subside. Jungkook releases your clit with a last suck and slowly extracts his fingers from your soaked pussy. He brings his fingers coated with your arousal into his mouth, tongue darting out for a taste. Your cheeks burn at the sight of him humming in pleasure. 

“So deliscious…sweetest pussy ever.” His voice was thick and laced with lust, smiling down at you as he leans down to brace his forearms on either side of your head. He captures your lips with his, humming when you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands disappears into the waistband of his sweatpants, taking out his painfully hard cock from the confines of his boxers. Breaking the kiss, your mouth salivates at the sight, thick droplets of pre-cum sliding down his cock from the slit at the tip of his puffy cockhead. “Eyes on me.”

Your eyes snap back to him as he slowly gives his cock a couple of lazy strokes. “C-condom…” You remind him when you feel the tip of his cock slide against your folds to collect your wetness. You can feel him groan in annoyance at your reminder, a petulant pout forming on his lips. It amazed you how quick he could go from a sexy, dominant man to a cute, doe-eyed boy. 

“I thought you were on birth control.” He says as he continues to rub his cock against your slick folds - your breath coming out slightly ragged.

“I am…but you know it’s not 100% effective, it’s better safe than sorry.” You reach out towards the night stand and fish blindly for the half-empty box of condoms. It was standard procedure at this point as he takes the condom from your hand with much reluctance. 

“This is stupid…” He complains as he rips the packet open with his fingers, grabbing the rubber and placing it against his cock, rolling out the material so it fits snugly against his hard cock. He hissed at the feeling. “I hate wearing this shit” 

Before you could educate him on the importance of protection, his cock was already nudging instantly against your entrance. “Please don’t talk. It’ll ruin the mood.” you would’ve gotten offended if it weren’t for the delicious stretch of his cock sliding inside you, inch by torturous inch. You whimper at the feeling, reaching out to press his chest against yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. You both moan in unison. Your back arches as he easily slides the rest of the way inside you, his hips resting snuggly against yours.

“Shit” He curses under his breath, leaning down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You could only whimper at the feeling of being so utterly full, stretched out by the man on top of you - your Jungkook. “You feel so fucking good…” He slurs with lust, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck.

“P-please move kook…” At your breathy whisper Jungkook shudders, hips pulling back just enough to leave the tip inside you before slamming back down against you. The both of you let out a strangled moan at the feeling. He sets a fast, rough pace, his cock sliding in and out of you at a steady rhythm, one that has the whole bed rocking and headboard slamming against the wall.

“That’s it…take my cock…” He throws his head back in a prolonged, deep groan, his eyes shuddering closed. You were a whimpering mess beneath him, your tits bouncing with each harsh thrust - feeling every inch of his hard cock inside you. He grips the back of your thighs and presses them down towards your chest, folding you nearly in half. This allows his cock to find that perfect spot inside you. His cock pounds into you even harder as he sits back on his haunches, using his thigh muscles to help thrust even deeper inside you, the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot over and over again.

You were a babbling mess beneath him, making no coherent sentences and letting out drawled out moans that had Jungkook hypnotised. He re-doubled his efforts, slamming into you with renowned vigour. He leaned down to catch one of your bouncing tits into his mouth. The feeling of his lips around your sensitive nipple was enough to leave you in a stuttering mess.

He plops off your nipple and leans down to press his forehead against yours, his hips never faltering their rhythm as his eyes bore into yours. “ohhh my- god,” you cry, he was fucking you so good it was turning your brain into mush. He opens his mouth to let a droplet of his sticky spit land against your cheek.

“hnngh…love this pussy” He slurs incoherently, throwing his head back once more as his rhythm starts to become sloppy and uncoordinated. With a last shuddering whimper, the second orgasm of the morning washed over you. Your whole body convulsing as you drag your nails down the expanse of his back, his name falling from your lips in a never ending mantra. 

It didn’t take much long after that Jungkook was spilling himself into the condom, your name falling from his lips in a deep rumble. His thrusts were shallow and slow, riding out both your orgasms. He released his grip on your thighs and gently cradled your body against his chest. His weight pushed you against the mattress as his cock softened inside you.

“Holy shit” He panted against the side of your neck “I should wake you up at 6AM everyday if this is the type of sex we’ll have.” That earns him a pinch to the side by your fingers, he yelps at the feeling, reaching out to hold your hand in his. “Hey, no need to get violent…I was only joking…” The feeling of his lips curling into a smirk had you thinking otherwise. 

You roll your eyes and slowly turn your head to capture his gaze with yours. “As much as I’m enjoying this moment, I really, really need to pee.”

He lets out an incredulous scoff “Hold it in. I need affection and love, woman” He nuzzled his nose onto the side of your neck once again.

“Baby please, I’m dying here!” You wiggled in discomfort, already feeling the pressure in your lower abdomen, you hadn’t peed all night, it was only fair that he let you now. With a drawn out sigh he starts to slide his softening cock out of you, hissing as it makes contact with the cool air of the room. He collapsed next to you on the bed. You quickly slide out off the mattress and pad towards the bathroom. 

Jungkook can’t help but marvel at the sight of your bare body, the way your ass bounced with each step you took. He could already feel his cock starting to harden at the sight. “Fuck…hurry up babe! We’re far from done.”

[2cupids]

warnings. popular!reader, oral (m. receiving), tittyfucking, tiny bit of degradation, cüm eating. mdni (17+).

wc. 1.9k… read part 1 here!

weeks had passed and a new semester had begun since that encounter with nerd!choso and it was a nearly forgotten memory in your head.

but for choso?

he thought about it everyday. it was like a driving force that helped him push through each day and he could only dream of getting so lucky again.

so the moment he saw you walking towards him as class was being dismissed, your ridiculously short skirt swaying as you moved, he knew his prayers had been answered.

“you busy? i need you to write that research paper for me.” you ask nonchalantly as you swipe the wand of your lipgloss across your bottom lip, reapplying it.

choso’s in a trance as he watches you put your gloss on your pretty lips. you were so alluring, so gorgeous. seconds pass and still no answer. you sigh and roll your eyes, looking down at choso and making contact with his bright eyes as he stares at you.

“well?” you furrow your eyebrows as your patience grows shorter and the nerdy boy has yet to answer. choso’s heart flutters at your harsh tone and he swallows the lump in his throat before he finally answers.

“n-no, i’m not busy. i could have it done by saturday.”

your hardened expression instantly softens at his words and you give him one of your sweet smiles. “good. i’ll pick it up on sunday.”

as you turn to walk away, choso stops you. “wait! um.. wh-what do i get for helping you?” choso asks quietly, averting his eyes down to look at your legs. he can’t look you in the eyes.

you turn to him, eyeing him up and down. “and who the hell are you to ask me that?” you smirk at him, but your tone is condescending. you’re offended he would even ask that. “you don’t need to worry about that, i’ll figure out it. just get my paper done.”

and with that, you’re walking up the stairs of the lecture hall and exiting the classroom. choso sits there for a moment, replaying what just happened and taking a moment to collect himself. he finally stands up and adjusts his pants, pulling his hoodie down to cover his boner before he leaves.

the days seem to pass by much slower than he would’ve liked until the long awaited day finally rolls around. choso’s mind is flooded with the multiple different scenarios that could play out, but hell, he would take anything you give him. and that’s only if you decide to pay him back for his kindness again this time.

he’s lost in thought when there’s a knock at his door and he rushes to open it, letting you in. his hands immediately reach for the paper and you quickly skim through it, slipping it inside your bag and setting it down on his desk.

“what should i do with you?..” you cross your arms and let your eyes trail down his figure before letting them rest on his face again. “i could make you put your mouth to use. i want my pussy ate, but i know someone like you doesn’t know how to eat it. and i don’t feel like teaching you either. just go sit on the bed.”

you wonder what you can do and that’s when an idea comes to you. you walk over to him and kneel down in front of him. “so where’s your bottle of lube?”

choso’s taken back. how did you know he even had some? probably just a lucky guess, but then again you are much more experienced than him. “i..um.. it’s in the desk drawer over there. the first one.”

a faint smirk plays on your lips as you roll your eyes and stand up to go get the lube. you pull your top off and throw it on the floor, revealing the lacy pattern of your bra underneath as you sit back on your knees in front of choso again. your eyes catch sight of choso’s face and you laugh, it doesn’t take much to get him worked up. being the tease you are, you give your boobs a nice squeeze. why not give him a little show?

your hands rub his thighs, slowly making their way up to unbuckle his belt and take off his pants. choso eagerly lifts his hips to let you pull his pants and boxers down his legs, and it’s laughable how excited he is.

you take his cock in your hand, quietly admiring the length and girth. it’s almost like he grew from the last time you saw him. you always heard about how nerds like him were packing, but you just thought it was a joke.. that was til choso proved you wrong of course.

his clear arousal leaks from the head of his dick and you can’t pull yourself to look away. without another thought, you lean forward and stick your tongue out, licking the precum that slid down his shaft and up towards the tip, swiping your tongue across the opening, collecting the salty liquid straight from the source. your pretty lips wrap around it and your cheeks hollow slightly while you circle your tongue around his tip.

choso groans and instinctively bucks his hips up. never did he think the guys he saw in porn were exaggerating when he watched a girl give them head, but he never expected it to feel so good. or maybe it just feels so good because the pretty girl he’s crushing on is the one who’s on her knees doing it to him.

you pull off his cock and lick the corners of your mouth as you eye the glistening head of his dick. your hands reach back and undo the clasps of your bra, letting your heavy breasts free as you pull the bra straps down.

choso’s eyes are locked on your every move and his lips part slightly as he watches you reveal your breasts to him. he’s never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“… so pretty.” he whispers more to himself, but it’s loud enough for you to hear.

the corner of your lips curl yet again as you glance up at him. “of course they are, dummy.”

you toss your bra onto the bed and reach for the bottle of lubricant, spreading the lube along his dick before taking one breast in each hand and nestling choso’s cock in between your chest.

choso nearly melts from the warmth that your boobs bring, then you start moving them up and down his length and it feels like heaven.

like the first encounter with you did. a pretty girl with her tits wrapped around his cock.. damn. not to mention the occasional moments when your tongue comes out and flicks over the opening. he can’t help but feel truly blessed.

you can’t miss the way choso’s face twists in pleasure with each drag of your breasts up and down his length even if you wanted to. the soft pants and groans that leave his parted lips have caused a sticky mess in between your legs, making your panties latch onto your wet cunt.

it’s not a surprise to you that choso busts quick, someone like him obviously would. his face is a dead giveaway, and so are his mannerisms and how his knuckles are white from gripping his comforter. he came fast the last time and in a way you find it oddly charming how quickly this nerd cums. what does surprise you though, is when he opens his mouth and starts to beg.

“please… please. can i t-touch them?” he whimpers, the desperation in his voice is clear. “i-i won’t ask for anything else.. just please.”

he looks down through his heavy eyelids, silently pleading with you, and you’ve got to admit that it’s hot. you bite your lip and make a small noise of approval, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for his hands to put them on your breasts.

his large hands squeeze the soft flesh, really feeling and savoring what it’s like to have a nice pair of tits beneath his palms before his hips jerk as he holds your boobs, fucking your chest.

“ohhh.” choso whines, “can i please cum? need... need your permission.” he doesn’t care how vulnerable he sounds, he just wants to hear you give him your approval.

and here you are again, finding yourself so turned on by his words that they’ve got your pussy clenching. you can’t let on that you’re having a change of heart towards him though, so you scoff. “what the fuck are you asking me for you fucking freak? of course you can.”

leaning back on your hands slightly so you have a better view, you watch choso start to come undone right in front of you. his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth hangs open, letting the whiniest sounds tumble out of his mouth that you’ve ever heard from a man. you can feel his trembling body come to pause as he halts his movements, a second later your tits are covered in his hot cum.

his limp body continues to lay against the bed and when he opens his eyes again, he finds you still on your knees in front of him. one of your hands is holding your chest while you pick up some of his cum on your finger with your other hand, sucking it into your mouth.

you feel his eyes on you and you repeat the action with a grin. his heart skips a beat and he fears you might be the death of him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

after getting off the floor and back on your feet you grab a few tissues and wipe your face and tits before you make a random, split second decision. “keep the bra.”

choso almost chokes when he hears you say that. he opens his mouth to protest but he decides against it, knowing that whatever sharp response you say will get him hard again. you rummage around your bag before you pull out the spare bra you always carry. after all, a girl like you never knows what trouble she might get herself into.

choso watches you fix your appearance in the mirror and you catch his eye in the reflection, holding his gaze. “you know.. you’d look fine as hell if you got rid of those things.”

what ‘things’ do you mean?

choso is very obviously confused and you walk over to him with a smirk, yanking his glasses off his face and waving them in front of him. “these things, dumbass.”

you move closer to him and stand in between his legs, running a hand through his thick, dark locks. “you might actually be able to pick up bitches then.”

for some reason, you find yourself standing there staring at him for longer than you’d like to. you eventually let go of his hair and sigh, taking a step back and walking over to grab your bag, preparing to leave.

“what a shame.” you say quietly as you open the door to leave, and you truly do think it is a shame.

you’ll never admit it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to find that stupid little loser cute.

taglist — @cheezemanz @tojicvmslut

cleo’s note — i know some people are probably gonna ask for a part 3, but idk if i’ll keep this going so don’t get your hopes up 🥲. thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated!

[ninisdollie]

diet pepsi - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

"In which reader films a hot, sexy music video with the world’s favorite supermodel, but the tension between them is so palpable that it ends up exploding"

content: +18MDNI fem! reader x ni-ki, popstar x supermodel, usage of both riki and ni-ki, drinking (wine), sexual tension, explicit sex, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, riding, unprotected sex.

i love addison rae and i love diet pepsi so this was slightly inspired by it.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! <3

There was something about the air of a freshly built set, the warm lights already buzzing overhead, and the distant rustle of crew members preparing for chaos, that made your heart race every single time.

You stepped onto the soundstage in platform heels and a silk robe, a Diet Pepsi can in hand (prop or not, you actually liked the taste). The soft curve of a smile found your lips as you took in the glossy tiled floor, the velvet chaise, the retro signs glowing like neon halos. The whole set screamed glamour. Over-the-top. Effortlessly iconic.

Very you.

At your age, you were pop music’s favorite contradiction. Sweet as sugar off-stage, barefoot in studios, always bringing snacks to rehearsals, thanking every crew member like it was second nature. But the moment a camera turned on, something inside you clicked. Your voice dropped, your stare sharpened, and your body moved like it was fluent in seduction.

Soft. Wildhearted. But when it was go time? You locked in.

That’s how you made it here, headlining your own tour, pulling millions of views in a matter of hours, and now, filming the summer's most anticipated music video.

And it was exactly how you pictured it.

Every shot, every frame, it started in your head. You’d pitched the concept to your label yourself. You wanted soft-focus lights and a sultry track that felt like summer sweat and silk sheets. You wanted that old-Hollywood-meets-modern-muse vibe. You even storyboarded scenes on your iPad at 3 a.m, manicured fingers swiping through reference photos and aesthetic inspo like your life depended on it.

Because in some ways, it did.

This wasn’t just another video. This was you, your vision, your control, your era. You fought for this.

What you didn’t fight for was Riki Nishimura.

That part was your manager’s idea. “Trust me,” he’d said. “The chemistry will be insane. He’s got the look. The mystery. The fanbase.”

You knew who Riki was before the meeting even ended. Everyone did. He was fashion’s crown jewel, elusive, unreadable, and unfairly beautiful. The kind of guy who didn’t chase cameras; they chased him. Long, tall body, not so muscular but somehow ripped, gorgeous face decorated with moles, plump, thick lips that glistened in every shot, and a perfect, almost jaw dropping smile.

You hadn’t worked with him before. But you’d seen him. On runways, in perfume ads, in magazine spreads where his gaze practically peeled skin. He had that thing, the kind that couldn’t be taught.

Still, when they told you he’d agreed to do the video, your first thought wasn’t excitement.

It was wariness.

Because something about him felt dangerous. Not in the way guys tried to be dangerous, loud, flashy, fake, but in the quiet way. The way that creeps under your skin and settles there. The kind of danger you don’t notice until it’s too late and he’s already in your bloodstream.

You handed off your empty can and settled into the glam chair, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror.

Eyes sharp. Lips glossy. Pulse steady… enough.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

Riki arrived on set like he always did, silent, sharp, unbothered.

He didn’t need to announce himself. People just knew when he entered a room. Maybe it was the height, or the face, or the way he moved like time bent around him. Smooth, slow, unrushed, like he was already in the center of the frame.

The stylists barely looked up as he passed by, just nodded, eyes wide, like they were seeing a deity in the flesh. He was used to that by now. The stares, the whispering, the cameras pretending not to follow his every breath.

Riki Nishimura wasn’t born a model, but the world acted like it.

He started when he was fifteen, walked for a niche Tokyo brand no one cared about, except someone did. Someone important. The next season, he was in Paris. By seventeen, he was on the cover of GQ. By eighteen, he had his pick of luxury campaigns. Runway, editorial, billboards. He became the face of mystery. The body of fantasy.

Now he was unstoppable, but he was ambitious, he wanted to reach peak iconography.

So when they first called him, asking for him to do a music video, he hesitated at first. That was something he'd never done before.

Then he heard your name.

Y/N.

The popstar with the velvet voice and the lightning eyes. The girl who wore glitter like armor and moved like she was born to ruin people. He’d seen you before, on award show stages, in commercials, in paparazzi clips where you laughed with your whole chest like you didn’t care who was watching.

You were different. Not because you were pretty, they were all pretty. But because you meant it.

Every look, every note, every time you walked into a room like you owned it and yet somehow still made people feel welcome. He respected that, maybe even admired it. He was a full believer of work ethics and safe environments in an industry where he started so young.

So he said yes.

Now, as he stepped onto set, he saw you before you saw him.

Sitting in the glam chair, head tilted back, lips parted slightly as someone lined them with gloss. A robe slipping off one shoulder. That same energy curling around you like perfume, soft, sweet, dangerous.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t let the flicker of heat show on his face. But inside?

He felt it. That flicker of something he couldn’t control.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

A chrome convertible gleamed under heavy rig lights, surrounded by buzzing PAs, cables curling across the floor like snakes, a faint haze from the fog machine made the air feel thick, almost humid.

You tugged down the hem of your barely-there silk dress, heels clicking against the concrete, your lips already glossed and your heart drumming way too fast beneath your ribcage. You’d been on hundreds of sets, you were used to eyes on you, used to being the moment, the vision, the concept. But today, it wasn’t just your concept anymore.

Because he was here.

Your manager’s voice echoed in your head. “He’s a little quiet, but he gets it, he has the look, the edge. You two will kill this if the chemistry’s there.”

You hadn’t seen him yet, not in person.

But the moment you turned the corner and caught sight of the figure getting inside the car? You knew.

He was taller than you expected, dressed simply in black jeans, a snug white tee, silver rings on his fingers, hair slightly tousled like he hadn't even tried. Ni-ki's features were even more enchancing in person, he didn't even look real. You had to swallow, breathing hard as you approached him.

He didn’t look nervous, or excited. He looked like he belonged.

Riki didn’t see you at first, his gaze was low, focused on something in his hands, maybe a ring he was fidgeting with, maybe nothing. The jeans sticked to his legs so perfectly his muscles were visible through the fabric, he was so tall he couldn't even sit straight inside the car.

Then his eyes flicked up, and locked onto yours, you didn't know why, but your stomach dropped.

There was no smile, no wave, just a stillness in the way he watched you walk toward him. Eyes steady, almost unreadable. But there was something under it, curiosity, heat, something you couldn’t name yet.

“Hi,” you said first, voice sweet, casual smile on your lips, stopping a foot away from him. “So you’re the mysterious co-star.”

His lips quirked, just barely. “And you’re the reason everyone’s pretending they’re not watching.”

His voice was smooth, low, deep, didn't match with his face at all, in a good way. Then you smiled softly, tilting your head, hair falling down your shoulders.

"You rehearsed that one?" there was tease in your voice, friendly, of course.

He scoffed, knees parted as he fixed his composure a bit, lazily, natural. Your eyes drifted for just a small second. Then he smirked, because he noticed.

"Maybe. Did it work?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, and you laughed again under your breath.

You didn't respond.

The director clapped nearby. “Places! We’re starting with the car scene. Y/N on his lap. Close. Intimate. You’re just back from some chaotic night out, everything’s charged."

Riki let out a sound, staring at you a little amused.

"Starting strong, huh?"

"I like strong starts."

You opened the car door, palm resting against the frame, took a deep breath, your face changing as you slipped into the character mode. You stared at the passenger seat, then him, relaxed, body resting on the driver's seat, like it was his own car, his own set.

Then you stepped forward, and carefully, climbed into his lap. Your bare thigh brushed his jeans, his hand steadied you, fingertips on your waist, featherlight but very real. The movement was awkward for half a second, your knee slipping against the console, your hand pressing into his shoulder to balance, the unfamiliar weight beneath you. After a few seconds, you settled, straddling him. Face inches from his, chest to chest, you could smell his scent, you recognised it without problem, Luna Rossa Black, Prada. Clean, a little smoky, expensive.

Ni-ki didn't even move.

"Is this okay?" you asked quietly, more out of professionalism, but for some reason your voice sounded breathless.

His gaze dropped to your glossy lips, just half-second, you still caught it. A shiver went down your spine.

"Yeah, you?"

"I've had worse monday mornings." You joked, and he laughed, quiet and short.

The director's voice crackled again. “Y/N, lean in. Let your hand trail down his collar like you’re teasing him. Riki, rest your hands on her thighs. We want electricity, not fire. Not yet.”

You sighed deeply, your fingers moved up, tracing the collar of his shirt, brushing lightly over the edge of his throat, your knuckles grazed skin. He inhaled through his nose. His hands came up, one landed on your thigh, then the other. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t drag, just rested them there. Warm, steady, too much. You looked down at him, eyes sharp, lips parted like you were about to say something, his gaze flicked between your eyes, your mouth. Again.

"Action."

The camera slid in close, tracking the curve of your jaw as you leaned in just slightly, you moved your hips an inch forward to adjust, purely for comfort.

He exhaled through his nose, barely. But you felt it.

The whole world narrowed to this, your thighs pressed against him, the heat of his breath, the way his fingers twitched on your skin like he was deciding if he should stay still… or not. Your voice played in the background, slow, sultry, the lyrics dripping with tension. The timing was perfect, the mood was perfect. You slid forward in his lap, slowly, feeling the heat between your bodies grow unbearable in a blink. His hands tightened instinctively, you pretended not to notice, but you felt it.

The director's voice echoed from somewhere in the background “Perfect, perfect, just like that, don’t blink, don’t move.”

So you didn’t. You leaned in, your mouth a breath from his, your palm dragged from his jaw to the nape of his neck, you felt his pulse there, rapid and betraying him. He tilted his head, slightly, as if expecting a kiss. It was all supposed to be pretending, but for some reason, it didn't feel like that.

Ni-ki’s hands slid higher on your thighs. His thumbs grazed your skin, barely brushing the edge of your dress, tingles, all over your body. You sucked in a quiet breath, but your face stayed composed.

You wanted to stay in control, but he was peeling it away, inch by inch, with nothing but touch and breath and timing. He was too good at this.

“Cut!” the director finally said. “That’s it. That’s the shot.”

The crew broke into applause, and you sat perfectly still. Ni-ki didn’t move either, you were still in his lap, still breathing the same air, still buzzing from the high of pretending to be something you weren’t.

Long seconds passed, and you finally climbed off his lap, too carefully, too slow. And as you stepped out of the car, your heart beating through your dress, you felt his eyes on your back.

Watching, burning.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

The second set was darker.

Low, red-tinted lights, velvet curtains, a red chaise lounge that looked like it belonged in a 90s R&B music video. You recognized the mood instantly, it was the “after” scene. The one where you weren’t just lovers, you were drunk on each other. The energy that simmered after the chase, heavy with implication.

You stood near the monitor, adjusting the strap of your dress, watching crew members adjust cameras and angles, you knew this scene would be riskier. Not explicit, not technically. But the subtext?

Oh, it was loud.

And for some reason it made you nervous, because you already knew how good Riki was at this, how he pretended with so much ease, as if he'd been doing it his whole life. But was he pretending? The way he touched you before, the way he looked at you, they way his dark gaze kept wandering down your face, your lips, your body.

The concept was simple: you on your back, legs draped over the edge of the lounge, Ni-ki kneeling between them. No kisses, no touches beyond the waist. But all closeness, all suggestion, a game of restraint. Timing was perfect, of course.

You felt him before you saw him.

His presence was becoming familiar, like the storm air before thunder, that heavy awareness your body picked up before your brain could name it.

“You ready?” he asked from behind.

You turned.

He stood close, too close. His shirt was now half unbuttoned, part of the look, apparently, his collarbones sharp, skin dewy under the glow of the set lights, his lips were glossed, hair slightly messier. He looked so good, so dangerous. You were sure he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.

“I should be asking you that.”

Ni-ki’s mouth twitched into something small, dangerous. “I’ve been ready.”

Your stomach flipped, but you turned away before you let it show.

“Places!” someone called. “Quiet on set!”

You exhaled once and moved to the chaise, the silk of your dress whispering as you lowered yourself onto it. You leaned back, one leg bent at the knee, the other draped lazily to the floor. A little slutty, a little powerful.

Ni-ki took his mark, kneeling between your legs like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But there was nothing casual about it.

His hands rested on either side of your thighs. Not touching. Just hovering. The space between you felt electric.

“Okay,” the director said. “Ni-ki, lean in. Get close like you’re listening to her heartbeat. Y/N, you’re still, unmoving. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand. This is control. Seduction. Don’t blink. Don’t flinch.”

“Action.”

The music kicked in—low, bass-heavy, slow. Your voice cooing something breathy and loaded through the speakers. Ni-ki moved, he leaned forward, head low, jaw brushing just shy of your knee. He didn’t touch, not at first. But he looked up, eyes trailing along your body, then locking with yours. And he smirked.

It was small, barely there, but it was cocky, confident. A secret he wasn’t sharing.

Your heartbeat spiked.

Then, slowly, so slowly, his hand crept up the inside of your thigh. Your body lit up, it was such a subtle touch, but it was enough for you to almost flinch, for the skin on your legs start to jump, shivering, down your spine and settling beneath your legs because you were wearing only underwear under the dress. And god, he looked at you as if he'd noticed, his pinky brushing the silk fabric of your clothes, his breath crashing between your legs, and your thighs almost twitched.

It wasn’t in the script.

But he didn’t go far, just enough, just inside the line. Was he being professional? Or was he holding himself back?

You didn’t stop him. His head dipped, lips close to your skin now, his breath hit your inner thigh, and you nearly lost it.

He was testing you. You raised one hand and brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw, light, teasing.

“You’re supposed to look like you’re worshipping me,” you whispered low, just for him.

“I am,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes never leaving yours. “You just don’t realize yet.”

Oh.

Your breath caught, but you turned it into a sigh, letting your head tilt back, you closed your eyes for just a second. When you opened them, he was closer. One hand pressed just above your knee now, thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. The camera was still rolling. Nobody stopped you, nobody noticed. But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he said back. “But I’m starting to like it.”

You let your hand trail down his neck, your nails grazing lightly. He shivered, just a little.

“Cut!” the director finally called. “That’s it. That was perfect.”

The crew clapped, but Ni-ki didn’t move right away, his hand slid just a little higher, fingertips brushing the lace of your underwear, and you had to stop yourself from spreading your legs.

And then he looked up at you, mouth right at the edge of your thigh, and said:

“Tell me when I go too far.”

You swallowed, then, very quietly, you whispered:

“You haven’t yet.”

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him, not for one goddamn second.

It was like your body hadn’t left the set even after the cameras stopped rolling, the velvet, the heat of his hands, the way he whispered things no one else could hear. You were back in your hotel room, alone, trying to move on, but your fingers still remembered the curve of his jaw.

This was weird for you, you'd always been so professional, your work and your career meant everything to you, you were used to work with gorgeous people, gorgeous men. No one like him, though. Everytime your mind wandered and remembered the look in his eyes, you felt it, it was like your whole body knew, how much you wanted him.

And he wanted you too, you knew that. It didn't matter how good he was at his job, he wasn't even an actor. The look in his eyes was real, the heat, the fire. The music video wrapped three days ago, the press was already talking, chemistry, sparks, rumors. You were supposed to be ignoring it, letting it die out, being above it all.

You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, the night quiet, it was only you and these unholy thoughts. Then your eyes landed on the mini-bar, a full, brand new bottle of Amelia Chardonnay looking straight at you, like trying to tempt you.

Your hands reached for your phone before you could even stop yourself. Then you clicked on his name, and stared at the last exchange of messages. Casual thank yous, post-shoot “you did amazings.” All polite, all surface.

Then you typed:

hey do you wanna celebrate tonight?

You stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again.

just me, nothing big i have a bottle of wine in my room no pressure :)

The seconds stretched.

You told yourself it was fine. If he said no, you’d move on. No harm done. You’d drink the wine yourself and call it a night.

Your phone buzzed.

what room number?

Your breath caught.

He was coming.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You changed outfits twice. Ended up in a silk slip dress that felt just casual enough to pass, but it was short, and soft, and clung in places you knew would betray you if the night went sideways. Heart was racing in your chest, you were feeling like a teenager about to see her crush for the first date, and you slapped yourself mentally. You were a powerful, famous, millionare pop star, who everybody adored, you were a sex symbol, a bombshell.

And yet, your knees weakened when the door knocked.

You had to recompose yourself before opening, stared at yourself through the mirror, hair down, looking casual, no make up on, you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard, but you also wanted to look good for him, to see if it was real, if he truly was holding himself back.

Your hand reached the door, and you opened.

Ni-ki, in all black, a hoodie half-zipped, chain peeking out from underneath, eyes locked on yours like he’d been thinking about this for days too. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered. He looked so good, and your chest tightened, your mind going circles at his damn smell. Manly, strong, elegant.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“Come in,” you said, stepping back, trying not to think about how clean your room suddenly looked. How the dim lamp made everything feel more intimate.

He walked in, looking around. “Nice view.”

You grabbed the bottle of wine from the counter. “It’s overpriced. But it works.”

He smirked, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a chair. Underneath, a fitted black tee clung to his chest. Arms long, veins popping under his skin.

You swallowed and handed him a glass.

“To... successful collaborations?” you offered.

He clinked his glass with yours, smirk in his thick lips, a little low chuckle leaving his throat, then he took a sip from his glass, and his eyes wandered, slow, intentional, over your body, there was no way to hide it now.

The night went away, and you both had your second glass before the conversation started drifting. At first, it was surface-level: tour schedules, brand campaigns, a horror story about a malfunctioning fog machine mid-shoot. But the wine was working fast. Not enough to slur. Just enough to slow the world down, to take the edge off your restraint.

You leaned back on the couch, leg curled under you, facing him.

“Do you ever wish you’d picked something else?”

Ni-ki blinked at the question. “Like… not modeling?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re good. Stupid good. But do you like it?”

He tilted his head, swirling the dark red liquid in his glass. “Sometimes. Not always.”

You waited.

“There’s something lonely about it,” he admitted. “People see the pictures, but they don’t know you. They just… project onto you.”

You hummed. “Yeah. Pop music isn’t that different.”

Ni-ki glanced sideways at you. “Except you write your own songs. That’s real. Vulnerable.”

You sipped. “It can be. But sometimes I wonder if anyone hears what I’m actually trying to say. Or if they just hear the beat and move on.”

“Isn’t that what art is though?” he asked. “Hiding in plain sight?”

That made you laugh, a soft, surprised sound. “Okay, philosopher Riki.”

He grinned. “Shut up.”

“No, really. I didn’t think you were this deep.”

“You didn’t think I was anything,” he said, and something flickered behind his eyes. “Before the shoot.”

You hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you couldn’t, he wasn’t wrong.

“I thought you were gonna be arrogant,” you admitted. “A pain in the ass. And okay, you kind of are.”

He smirked.

“But then you surprised me.”

His smile faded, he tilted his head, his eyes were already lazy, because of the alcohol in his system. “How?”

You looked at him, really looked. His hair was a little messier than before, cheeks slightly red from the wine, lips wet because he kept running his tongue over them. He was so handsome, so effortlessly tempting.

“At first I thought you were just good at pretending. The way you got so close to me, like it was nothing. But then… you kept listening. You never broke character, but your eyes? They didn’t lie.”

Ni-ki’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and your eyes followed the movement.

The silence after that was heavier. Not awkward, just pulsing, charged, like the air had thickened between you and was now buzzing with every unsaid thing. You both reached for your glasses at the same time, your fingers brushed. And neither of you moved away.

“You keep doing that,” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You exhaled. “Like you’re going to ruin me.”

He stared for a beat. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he said: “Maybe I will.”

Your breath caught.

He set his glass down slowly, deliberately. And then leaned in, not all the way, not enough to touch.

“You invited me here,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. “Did you think we were just gonna talk about work and drink wine?”

“I didn’t...” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“You do now?” he asked as if he was desperate for your answer, desperate for you.

Your pulse was loud in your ears. Your body was already answering before your mouth could, the space between you practically begged to be closed.

And then you whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His hand cupped your jaw, gentle but firm, and he kissed you.

Soft at first, testing, tasting. But the moment your lips parted, it shifted. You moved at the same time, like something snapped. You were suddenly straddling him, the wine long forgotten, your hands in his hair, his mouth on your throat. It was messy, hot, desperate. And yet, still controlled. His hands slid down your sides, slow, like he wanted to memorise the shape of you. You gasped when his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you against him, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been holding that in for days.

Ni-ki's hands then traveled down your thighs, grabbing, squeezing just a bit, not too hard, but enough to make you sigh in his mouth and unintentionally rock your hips against him, while pulling strands of his dark hair, tangling your fingers, lips crashing, tongues against each other, hot, warm, wet. Just like your underwear was now, you felt it, pooled against the thin fabric. Your dress was lifted up, showing more, the lace of your panties showing up, but you didn't care, you wanted it like this, because he kept touching you. Warm fingers ended up in your asscheeks, squeezing again, and you rubbed yourself against his crotch again, he moaned deep, hot breath colliding with yours, hard beneath his pants.

Then a knock on the door, and you separated from the kiss, breathing heavily, but he didn't stop, trailing with his soaked lips along your jawline, down to your neck, tongue licking, sucking, but not marking. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered.

"Don't answer."

You don’t even remember how you end up horizontal, just the feel of his hands under your thighs, lifting, the soft thud of your back hitting the plush hotel bed, the silk of your slip bunching under your hip, his shirt forgotten on the floor, his lips on your collarbone.

Underwear was the only thing covering you know, after he lifted your dress and helped you slip out of it, throwing it across the room like a hungry man, like he couldn't wait any longer to have you.

He stared like he’d never seen anything more devastating.

And when he leaned in again, this time with no hesitation, no restraint, you knew you were gone. You weren't the popstar. He wasn't the model. You were just you, and he was just Ni-ki, and this was the crash you both saw coming from a mile away. Your lips crashed again, messier now, hotter, you traded kisses like secrets, like confessions, like sins you both wanted to keep making. He grabbed your throat, but didn't choke, just held, not wanting to let go of your mouth, and you moaned softly, sucking his tongue as his hand now traveled between your legs, above your underwear, he touched you, slow, like teasing, your arousal soaking a spot in your panties, and he moaned against your mouth.

"Can i take this off?" he asked, voice weak, breathless, forehead against yours, his fingers rubbing slow circles in your clothed clit.

You just nodded, you couldn't talk, you just wanted him right there.

So he smirked, pecking your lips before sliding your underwear out of you, and his eyes sparkled, he bit his lip, hands on your knees so you could be spread open for him. He wasted no time, fingers between your folds as he soaked them in your arousal, glistening, thick wetness that made him inhale through his nose and hiss between his teeth, and you arched your back lightly, sensual, one of his hands squeezed your breast.

"You're soaked. Dripping." You tried to smile, but a whimper left your lips when he slid a finger in.

"You like it." a breathless chuckle came from your throat, and he smirked again, sliding a second finger, curling them inside of you, stretching you, so good.

"I love it."

Then he started thrusting them, in and out of you, fast, with skill, his palm crashing with your clit, and you moaned again, closing your eyes and letting your head fall on the pillow, your thighs twitching, but he kept you spread, not wanting to miss how his fingers disappeared inside your tight walls. His other hand kept groping your breasts, pinching your hardened nipples, and a jolt of pleasure washed you completely. He chuckled, but not making fun of you, just amused, lustful.

"You're sensitive." he bit his lip again, fingers still curling inside of you "Fierce, hot, bombshell popstar is sensitive, right here." He pinched your nipple again and you trembled, high pitch moan leaving your throat, he smiled when he felt how your pussy clenched around his digits. "Cute."

He kissed you again, tongue and spit in your mouth, and you whined when he added a third finger, your wetness now dripping between your thighs and soaking the silk bed sheets beneath your body, he reached your g-spot and teased it with the tip of his fingers, and you arched your back again, biting his lip and pulling it which made him hiss, your legs trembling when his thumb rubbed your aching clit.

Then he removed them, catching his breath, straightening on the bed, knees against the mattress, his weight heavy, his body hot. He slid out of his pants and underwear in one movement, and you looked up at him, devastated, eyes teary, shiny, full with lust and need. His length was thick, hard and veiny, dripping from his red tip, throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself just a little.

You moved before even saying anything, lifting your torso and replacing his hand with yours, rubbing your palm against his throbbing member, and he groaned low, placing a hand on your head, softly, gentle, but it made you shiver anyways. Then you licked, long, slow, wet, from the base to the dripping tip, and he hissed louder, now pulling your hair just a bit, thrusting his hips forward to meet with your mouth. Your lips wrapped around him, and you relaxed your jaw, taking him deep, until he touched the back of your throat and you had to suppress a gag, eyes watering, vision hazy, head spinning, the room hot around you.

"S-Shit." Ni-ki groaned, letting his head fall backwards, his adams apple moving up and down as he breathed hard, and you bobbed your head, tracing with your tongue the veins on his cock, tasting him, swallowing him. You pulled back and repeated the process, until spit and tears were dripping, until he had to make you stop because he didn't want to cum yet.

Your back touched the mattress again, and he placed himself between your legs, kissing you, tasting himself in your soaked mouth, and then pushed your legs against your chest, forcing you spread open just for him. He then grabbed the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your soaked slit, up and down, side to side, slow, and you whined at the anticipation, at the tease, your pussy pulsing, aching, needy and wet, his precum dripping against your folds.

He slid inside of you, arms above your head, heavy on you, slowly, but his gaze was sharp, dark and full of lust, and he groaned your name as he stretched you, soaked walls swallowing his length so good, so tight, and he felt so thick inside of you that you had to reach for his shoulders, eyes shut and lips parted trying to breath. His hips met yours, your pussy clenched tight around him. He stayed still for a few seconds, dropping his forehead against yours, sweaty, sticky, your nails digging against the soft skin of his shoulders. Your vision was blurry, your body completely clenched, as if it had been waiting for this too.

"I’ve thought about this since the first take,” he admitted, voice wrecked “When you climbed into my lap in that car.”

And you whimpered as his hips pulled back a little, you felt his stretch leaving your insides, your walls fluttered, clencing around nothing for a few seconds, but he pulled in again, skin against skin. You moaned breathless, your bare breasts against his chest.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby." his breath was hot against your face, and you arched your back, hot and sweaty bodies just so close to each other.

Then he started moving, setting a rhythm that was just so perfect, not so fast, not so rough, but deep, you could feel him in every inch of you, stretching you, shaping you, your pussy clenched around him in every thrust, soaked, dripping, creating a slick sound everytime his hips crashed against the skin of your entrance. And you could only whimper, combining the sound of your weak voice with his long and low groans.

"Ni-ki..." you cried his name, lips parted, eyes sticked to his.

"I'm right here, baby." his voice was raw, he talked through his teeth, his strokes growing a little rougher.

He was stroking, not too fast, but forceful, every thrust forcing moans out of your chests, and the bed creaked beneath both of you, his rhythm perfect, hard, persistent. Ni-ki's lips found your neck again, and he dragged them along your skin.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin. “You feel so good...”

“I know, baby,” he grunted again, voice breaking around the words. His hand slipped under your thigh, now lifting it higher around his waist, and suddenly he hit a spot that had your back arching off the mattress, a sharp cry ripping from your throat.“There?” he panted, smirking despite the sweat at his temple. “Right fucking there?”

You nodded frantically, too gone to speak, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming heat between your legs and the maddening pace he kept. His mouth was everywhere, your shoulder, the swell of your chest, your jaw, littering kisses and bruises, like he wanted to mark you, leave proof that this happened.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “So fuckin’ perfect, taking me so well.”

His thrust were steady, perfect hips rolling over you, breaking you, wrecking your body just how you needed, his lips never leaving your skin, as if he couldn't keep them off of you, as if he was trying to devour you and never forget you.

Suddenly, something shifted.

Your hand moved to his chest, pressing just hard enough to make him pause. He blinked up at you, chest heaving, confused for half a second, until you leaned in, kissed him slow and deep, and whispered against his mouth:

“My turn.”

Ni-ki didn't argue, a soft grin in the corner of his swollen, red lips. He let you push him back, his head falling against the pillows, lips parted as you swinged your leg over him and straddled his waist in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands automatically landing on your hips. “You look..."

You rolled your hips once, teasing him, wet folds against his thick hard cock, and his words dissolved into a moan. You lined yourself up again and sunk down slowly, inch by inch. His head dropped back with a curse, hands gripping your thighs so tightly they might bruise. You started slow. Rolling your hips just enough to make him twitch beneath you, your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging down his skin. He watched you like he was in a trance, eyes glued to the way you rode him, mouth open, completely undone.

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back. “So fucking deep.”

His hands slid up your body, one gripping your waist while the other palmed your breast, thumb circling lazily over your nipple. You leaned down, mouths meeting in a messy kiss, your movements never faltering. His abs tensed under your touch, hips bucking instinctively, trying to meet you thrust for thrust, but you pinned him down with a smirk.

And the rhythm built again, faster, sharper. The air was thick with moans, sweat, skin. Your name tumbled from his lips again and again, until his grip tightened, your breasts bouncing against his face, skins crashing, you jumping up and down on his length until your thighs felt like burning, but it felt so good, he was so deep, so thick inside of you, so meant to be. Ni-ki's hand stretched, and he circled your clit, at the pace of your bounces, and you whined his name and moved erratically, wetness dripping until his pelvis was soaked.

Your body started trembling over him, that familiar wave building fast, too fast. You slowed down for just a second, rocked into him deeper, his thumb dragging down to press right where you needed it most.

“I-I’m close,” you choked out, voice shaky.

“Then come,” he whispered, almost pleading. “Come with me.”

And then you fell.

Head thrown back, mouth open, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body convulsed from the force of it. The climax crashed through you, white-hot and blinding. You fell forward, shaking, mouth pressed to his shoulder as your body pulsed around him. He was not far behind, watching you unravel completely, eyes dark and wild, as he thrusted once, twice, then buried himself deep with a strangled moan. He let go seconds later, hips jerking, hands clawing at your back as he spilled into you with a broken groan of your name.

The world blurred.

Silence followed, heavy and satisfied.

You stayed on top of him, both of you breathless, sweaty, clinging like the high might never fade. And then, quietly, he whispered, voice hoarse:

“I don’t think I can ever look at you the same way again.”

You smirked against his skin. “Good.”

thank you so much for reading <3 i hope you enjoyed this and you understand my vision damn i love addison rae so much she’s so iconic to me

anyways, i really like this one <3

hope you guys love it !!

[urcoolgf]

can you do rafe still wants you but you’re barry’s gf

this is so good yesssss

OFF LIMITS?

pairing. boyfriend’s bsf¡rafe && reader

content. 18+. smut. cheating (not on reader). unprotected sex. breeding kink(ig?). language. mention of drugs.

he couldn’t believe you were with barry.

you were everything he wasn’t; kind, smart, well-mannered, innocent.

God, you were so fucking innocent—not in the ‘never been kissed way’ just the way you looked at him, eyes wide like you’d let him do anything to you. it drove him crazy. rafe couldn’t help but think about ruining you. you were so delicate, so breakable. and rafe—he wanted to break you in. it was all he thought about; at night with his dick in his hand, at dinner when he was supposed to be partaking in family conversation, when he woke up in the morning, every. single. shower. you were every thought—even his dreams had you in them.

and you were with barry? what did he do to deserve you?

he was a drug dealer—a bad guy. he was an asshole with no morals, a guy who’d do anything for a stack of cash, or a bag of coke. rafe liked to tell himself that you were only doing it to prove a point, maybe fuck with your parents or friends, freak them out by dating ‘the drug dealer’. that was the only thing that kept him sane—not that he was. he was far from it when it came to you.

so, it was inconvenient that every time he needed his next fix, he had to see you.

—

rafe’s fist banged against the metal door of barry’s trailer. he didn’t bother to wait for him to open it—his pounding was a warning rather than a request.

he walked into the trailer only to find barry sitting on the couch… with you in his lap. barry played with the hem of your shorts with one hand, the other occupied with a beer bottle. your tiny tank top left little to the imagination, and your shorts had the same effect. the ‘B’ necklace hanging from your neck made rafe’s skin crawl. he hated it, hated you for wearing it, hated barry the most. your dark hair fell perfectly against your flawless skin, and your perfect legs were on full display across the couch.

this sight should be considered a form of torture.

“ayo country club! what’s goin’ on my man,” barry greeted rafe with a faux level of enthusiasm… and you just sat there, all pretty and perfect and fuckable and rafe was losing his damn mind. your big doe eyes looking up at rafe when he entered had blood rushing to his crotch. it was pathetic, and he hated it (he loved it).

you climbed off barry’s lap so he could retrieve rafe’s coke. you knew how this worked—not only with barry, but with rafe. he was a loyal customer. you sat yourself back down on the lumpy couch, the tv playing something on a low volume. you pretended to watch, but all you could focus on was rafe’s gaze burning into you. you shifted uncomfortably—mainly because the couch was uncomfortable, but rafe’s eyes didn’t help either.

barry came back with a bag of cocaine, exchanging it with rafe for some cash the blonde pulled out of his pocket. a sudden ring was heard through the trailer, barry reaching into his pocket to pull out a phone.

“yeah? … shit! a’ight, a’ight. … CALM DOWN. fuck ‘m on my way,” he hung up without another word.

“yo rafe, imma need ya to stay here with y/n. i gotta go handle somethin’,” he said frantically, grabbing the keys to his bike and something else before heading toward the door.

“wait! barry where–?!,” you started, you weren’t necessarily worried about him leaving—more worried about him leaving rafe alone with you.

“i’ll be back, princess. just gotta handle business. y’know how it is. stay here a’ight?,” and he was out the door without another protest from you or rafe—not that rafe had any protest.

“okay, bye…,” you muttered to yourself as you heard the bike starting, and sputtering off. rafe couldn’t help the smirk spreading across his face as he plopped down on the couch next to you.

“looks like it’s just me and you ‘princess’,” he mocked barry’s nickname for you (even though rafe would love to call you it at any given chance).

“looks like it,” you responded, bringing your knees to your chest. you didn’t mind rafe, but he had a tendency to ‘flip switches’, and you would be lying if you said that didn’t scare you… just a bit.

“c’mon doll… ‘m not gonna bite,” he taunted quietly. he scooched just a little closer to you. he leaned over so his mouth was right next to your ear, “unless you want me to,” he whispered. you would be lying if you said that didn’t send chills down your spine.

the next thing you felt were his fingers pushing strands of your hair out of your face. he peered down at that awful necklace, reaching out to toy with it. you couldn’t move—you should have, should have gotten up and walked to the other side of the trailer—but you were stuck. not physically—mentally. you didn’t know why, but your brain didn’t even want you to move. told you to ‘stay put. let him do it’.

he released the necklace, letting the metal fall back against your chest. his fingers trailed around your collarbone, featherlight like you would crack if he was too rough. your breathing was uneven and shallow, and rafe was thriving off it.

“haven’t pushed me away, sweetheart,” his low tone aggravated you. not because he was annoying, just because he was so smug. he knew what he was doing to you right now, and he was enjoying it.

“y’know you’re too good f’r him, baby,” he was whispering as if he had to keep it a secret, as if barry was on the other side of the wall. you were frustrated with your speechless-ness, frustrated with the way your thighs clenched together at his words, at his touch. your knees were starting to hurt from being pressed together so hard.

you finally looked toward him, met his lust-filled eyes. his pupils were so blown that his eyes barely looked blue anymore. your breath hitched, plump, glossed lips parting ever so slightly. rafe could feel your warm, unsteady breaths against his face, and his mind went foggy.

he closed the space between you like if he didn’t kiss you now barry might come back before he could—like he had to seize the moment.

you wished you had pulled away, slapped him right across his face, told him how wrong it was—how messed up he was, and kicked him out… but, you didn’t. you couldn’t.

—

“shit, doll… so fuckin’ tight f’r me. barry not big enough f’r ya?,” he said breathlessly as he pumped in and out of you. your naked body was caged against the couch, rafe’s equally naked body moving above you. all you could do was whimper in response. you didn’t know how long barry had been gone at this point, and shamefully… you didn’t care. if he walked in right now while rafe’s dick was making imprints on you, you don’t think you’d even want him to stop. you felt shitty, but rafe quickly distracted you.

"answer me,” he demanded, moving his hand to grasp your throat just enough to grab your attention, and knock the wind out of you.

“fuck! no– no rafe,” you responded. you couldn’t even think—the way his dick was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed was making your head spin.

“say it,” he spat at you—not in a mean way, he was being cocky. he wanted you to say he was better, say barry couldn’t compare… unfortunately, you were too cock drunk to protest.

“barry’s– not… he’s not big– enough. shit!,” your words were broken by moans and sobs—and the pressure rafe had on your throat right now. your back arched off the couch after a particularly deep thrust, sending your eyes to the back of your head.

“yeah… ‘nd fuckin’ remember it, too,” he was putting his all into fucking you. he would make sure he got this opportunity again, but he didn’t know when. he was going to make the absolute best of this. make the best of his best friend’s girlfriend opened on his dick, mascara running down your face, hair messy, totally gone.

his hand left your neck, moving both hands to squeeze your tits—stabilizing him in a way—as he continued moving in and out of you. he looked back at the ‘B’ resting on your chest. you noticed a smirk spread across his face, but you were too blissed out to say anything.

he wrapped his hand around the metal, ripping it from your neck forcefully. you shrieked from the sudden movement, the back of your neck stinging from the action.

“open up, baby,” he cooed. your lips parted instantly, he smiled at your obedience, placing the ‘B’ between your lips, instructing you to bite down on it.

“let barry hear your moans, princess. let him hear how good i make you feel,” the smug look on his face drove you insane—not in the way it did not even 30 minutes ago—in a way that had you clenching around him.

“fuck– jus’ like that… holy shit, pussy’s fuckin’ perfect,” his jaw tensed at the sensation. your arms were hooked around his neck, but when you felt your orgasm approaching, your manicured hands mindlessly raked down his back. a hiss could be heard from the man above you.

"there ya go… cum on this dick, sweetheart. make a mess f’r me,” his hand moved down to rub circles into your clit, and that was all you needed. you were convulsing around him, shaking beneath him, and coming undone with a loud moan that was barely muted by the metal in your mouth.

“want me to cum in ya? get ya all fat with my babies? let barry see you carryin’ my kid? fuck you’d look so hot all plump f’r me,” his words came out in breaths. you could tell he was close.

“mhm! fuck– please ray,” you looked up at him, innocent, big, doe eyes staring right at him, and he was done for. he came in you with a shattered moan, painting your walls white. he pulled out slowly, watching his release drip out of you, and onto barry’s couch. he groaned at the sight, quickly pulling out his phone, taking a picture of your current state—he got all of you, from your messy hair, fucked out expression and glossy eyes, to the mess between your thighs. the ‘B’ still sticking out of your mouth in a sinful way.

you didn’t care. you never let barry take pictures of you—said it was ‘creepy’ and ‘borderline sadistic’, but for some reason when rafe did it… it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

"hope you can keep a secret, doll… because this cannot be the last time i fuck you.”

an: i’m working my way thru some more reqs, so if you sent something i promise it’s in my drafts.ᐟ this was a super fun one to write tho, so thank you to whoever sent this :)

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[rafesangelita]

♡ standing in front of rafe’s door after everything that transpired was the last thing you thought you’d do.. yet here you were. luckily for you, rafe has no intentions of ever letting you leave him again.

warnings: enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, rough sex, marathon sex (these two have a lot to catch up on), oral (m. and f. receiving), fingering, choking, face fucking, cum eating, cum play (they are sooo gross), multiple orgasms, rough handling, hair pulling, biting, slapping, overstimulation, crying, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation kink (?), praise, fluff, soft aftercare

a/n: aaaand this is the end ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ this series was something i thought of on a whim, and i couldn’t be any more happier with the way everything came out. to everyone who showed sm love and gave me your thoughts and feedback, thank you so much!! reading your comments and your theories made me smile <3 wrote this while listening to ‘hotel’ by montell fish, i highly recommend listening to it, it’s what inspired this chapter!!

links: previous | mini series masterlist

wc: 3.8k

it’s been four days since rafe’s been blowing up your phone with every second he could spare, all of his calls and messages being either dismissed or ignored. you had fabricated a lie the next morning and told chanel that you and rafe just weren’t compatible with each other, and even though she could see the solemn look on your face, she knew not to dig any further. “you call me if you need anything, okay?” she hugged you tightly before leaving, using her own key to lock the door to your house as you stayed laying in bed.

as much as you wanted to give in to rafe, you just couldn’t find it in you to overlook the fact that he held back from telling you what he knew. sure, now that you look back on it, it was obvious, but to continue feeding into your fantasies, receiving your pictures, and talking to you on the phone as if he didn’t know who you were made you feel like you had been played in a way. since that night, you went to your tumblr and deleted everything, along with deactivating your account and uninstalling the app as a whole.

once rafe saw that your blog was gone, he went ahead and decided to delete his as well. it was pointless for him to be active if you were no longer on there anymore. he had been checking his phone religiously, hoping for any kind of reply, but each time his phone screen illuminated with a notification that wasn’t from you it was just a blow to his chest. he hated not hearing from you, especially because he had grown so used to listening to your voice everyday. now that was all gone. he no longer had that balance that he needed to keep him from going insane.

rafe didn’t view you any differently once he found out his dream girl behind the screen was you. if anything, it just made him want you even more. to know that the same girl that never put up with anyone’s shit was the same girl that wanted to be told what to do was nothing short of gratifying. he loved being the man that did that for you. both of you needed each other, and that was something you were slowly starting to realize as the days went on. finally folding, you had turned your read receipts off so rafe wouldn’t know that you opened up the plethora of paragraphs he had been sending you.

you scrolled down from the very top, only reading the messages that stuck out to you the most.

[Sunday - 10:11 AM] rafe: i just checked into my room, please text me back.

[Sunday - 11:00 AM] rafe: i don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me but we’re gonna have to settle this now or when i get home. either way, you’re still mine. whether you like it or not.

[Sunday - 11:09 AM] rafe: has it ever occurred to you that you know things about me that nobody else knows either? i knew who you were and i still didn’t hold back from being vulnerable with you. i care about you y/n, i think about you all the fucking time. after opening up to me last night, i really just want to make sure that you never feel alone again. let me be there. please.

[Sunday - 10:17 PM] rafe: this is the first night in months that i’m going to bed without hearing your voice. please consider talking to me again.

[Monday - 8:20 PM] rafe: not that it matters anymore but for the entire time that we were texting each other, i never saw anyone else. i wasn’t interested in anybody and then once i found out that you were closer than i thought, you’re the only thing that i could think about. phone sex aside, i truly believe that we see each other and understand one another— at least for me, you do. this isn’t a sunken ship, and i won’t let you turn it into one.

[Monday - 8:27 PM] rafe: i’ll do whatever it takes to be back in your good graces, but leaving you alone isn’t an option. i don’t think it ever was.

[Tuesday - 3:55 PM] rafe: well i finished up all the deals i needed to make, but i want to give you the time that you need, so i’ll be staying here for the rest of the week. i’ve put your name on the visitor’s list for my room number, i know it’s far fetched to think you’ll show up, but i’ll be here.

and then the most recent ones from this afternoon..

[Today - 1:09 PM] rafe: #501

[Today - 1:10 PM] rafe: that’s my room number.

you bit your lip. you couldn’t believe you were really considering going over there. you spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the halls, trying to come up with excuses as to why you shouldn’t pack a bag and give in to the man that undeniably has you in a chokehold. by the sounds of his texts, it’s not like you can just get out of not communicating with him, he has made that abundantly clear. by the time it was seven o’clock you were cursing under your breath as your car parked onto the ferry headed towards the mainland. “you better not embarrass me, asshole..” you whispered, swallowing your pride as the minutes counted down to your destination.

you were hesitant when it came time to go into the lobby, your chest rising and falling as you got off the car on shaky legs. you knew that coming over here meant more than just ‘talking it out’, this was you allowing rafe to prove himself worthy enough for something to grow out of this; something serious. “good evening! are you a guest or a visitor?” the receptionist smiled at you brightly as you answered. “visitor. for rafe cameron.” she clicked away on her computer for a few moments before humming pleasantly. “y/n?” she confirmed. with a curt nod, she motioned towards the elevators, “enjoy your night.”

adjusting the pink bag on your shoulder, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once the elevator dinged on rafe’s floor. no matter how much you were trying to downplay the situation, you couldn’t help the violent thumping of your heart with every step you took towards the end of the long hallway. standing in front of his door made everything feel like it was closing in on you, like suddenly you couldn’t get out of this and you hated the feeling of losing control. before you could successfully talk yourself out of facing him and running away, you knocked and waited with a bated breath for rafe to answer.

the man on the other side of the door was sitting at the edge of his bed in deep thought when he heard the small sound against the thick hardwood. eyebrows twisting in confusion, rafe got up and looked through the peep hole. he felt relief wash over him as soon as he saw you standing there with your arms crossed over your chest without a word, he opened the door, your eyes finding his. his gaze said just as much as your own, both of you sharing a mutual understanding without having to say anything.

pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe nodded understandingly before dragging you inside, your heart fluttering in your chest at his display of strength. “rafe—” you didn’t even get a chance to say anything before he grabbed your bag and tossed it to the side, his hands cupping your face before he backed you into the wall. “just shut up.” he whispered, both of you moaning once you felt each other’s lips finally press into your own. he tasted like mint with a hint of alcohol and you knew right then and there that you’d never be able to get enough of it.

snaking your hands underneath his shirt, you raked your nails down his toned stomach before tugging at the waistline of his jeans, a small gasp leaving your lips once he inserted a thigh between your legs and pressed into where you needed him most. “fuck,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck, “please, i need you.” hearing you say that you needed him made rafe’s head spin in the best possible way. “yeah? i’m not really convinced..” he leaned in, licking a stripe across your bottom lip. rolling your eyes, you dug your nails into his neck until he groaned, pushing you into the wall with a thud.

narrowing your gaze at him, rafe smiled once he saw what looked like a hint of a challenge dancing in your orbs. picking you up off of your feet, you yelped when rafe slammed you onto his bed, wasting no time in slotting himself between your thighs. “it’s gonna take a lot more than some pathetic begging to get me inside you.” he said through gritted teeth. you refrained from saying something smart, your stare faltering as you swallowed thickly. he was going to make this difficult for you. stroking the back of his neck, you pulled him down so your lips were next to his ear.

he shuddered at the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin, a sigh falling from his lips as you trailed your foot along the side of his hip up to his torso. “please, rafe? i might cry if i have to my own fingers again..it’s been too long,” you whispered, “what will it take for you to fill me up with your cock instead?” rafe cursed under his breath as soon as he heard your lewd words, his hands working to get you out of your clothes so he could give both of you some kind of relief. you shivered once you were left in your bra and panties, your eyes beaming up at the man in front of you as you slowly removed the lacey material.

maybe it was because rafe was still fully dressed, but you couldn’t help but feel overexposed as he ogled your chest, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down as he took your tits in the palms of his hands. “holy fuck,” he laid you back, letting his touch roam your body as you squirmed with anticipation, “the camera doesn’t do you justice, baby, you’re fucking gorgeous.” your stomach erupted in a fit of butterflies at the nickname. “and these..” he tugged at your underwears, his jaw clenching once he caught a glimpse of your glossy folds.

in no time, rafe had your thighs shaking around his head, your back arching off of the plush mattress as you clawed at his hands in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from the pure, white hot pleasure coursing through your tummy. “rafe!” you squealed, your entire body buzzing with need as you felt his fingers prod at your entrance. “you taste so good, ‘pretty, m’gonna have to keep you on your back for me all fucking day from now on.” he cursed, flicking his tongue against your overstimulated clit. you felt like a puddle of nothing once he had his digits curled inside of you, his fingertips continuously hitting that sweet spot that made you jolt with each stroke.

“t-too much!” you shook your head, your hips drawing away from his mouth. he chuckled, his strong grip on the curves of your waist making you hiss in pain. “this can’t be too much for you already, i’m just getting started..” you whined helplessly, feeling the band in your stomach snap for the second time already, the motions of his digits eliciting wet squelches from your cunt as you writhed uncontrollably beneath him.

with your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, rafe removed the hand he had inbetween your thighs and slipped his fingers inside your mouth, his tongue still working skillfully on your sensitive bud as he forced you to taste yourself. you moaned, sucking on his digits without a second thought. “you’re so fucking hot, i love it.” he grumbled, grinding his clothed erection into the sheets, desperate for any kind of friction he could get as he leaked precum from merely giving you pleasure.

he brought you down from your high until your breathing slowed and you were dragging him up to kiss you once again. rafe’s lips molded to yours so perfectly, you cupped his chin and pecked the tip of his nose before slipping out from under his body. rafe didn’t ask any questions as you grabbed his hand and guided him back up to his feet. how you managed to stand up after being overstimulated into oblivion? you don’t know, but you were determined to get rafe out of his clothes one way or another.

rafe watched as you lifted his shirt above his head, the thin material of his t-shirt getting lost on the floor somewhere as you stared at his glorious build. “as much i hated you, i always thought you were stupidly hot.” rafe snorted at your words, his eyes following the way your fingertips trailed down his pecs to his v-line. “hated?” he repeated, noting the past-tense of your statement. meeting his eyes, you blinked softly before pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips. “yeah, hated.”

within seconds, you had dropped to your knees, biting your lip at the sight of rafe bulging out of the denim material of his jeans. looking up at him with sultry eyes, you palmed him through his pants, his nostrils flaring slightly as you took your time getting him out of his boxers. oh and once you did, you were gobsmacked. you’ve spent so much time daydreaming about this cock, just wishing it was the one thing putting you to sleep instead of your fingers, and now that it was standing in front of you, you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together at the sight.

you smiled sweetly before placing your hands on the back of his knees, the man above you already fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, his hips bucking at the pleasure shooting into his core. “o-oh, fuck..” he swallowed thickly, watching as your sparkly lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his aching tip with ease. you moaned around his length, taking him inch by inch until your nose nudged his pubic bone.

blinking up at him through your eyelashes, you slowly pulled off of him, holding him at the base as he watched you trace your lips with a mix of spit and precum. “you’re gonna get it.” was the last thing rafe said before he pulled your head back down on his cock, a muffled whine sounding from your mouth before you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. rafe’s head rolled to the side, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. your grip tightened around his legs, your eyebrows pinching together as rafe groaned, his muscles constricting underneath his skin.

“i imagined this for so long..” he said through gritted teeth, “..since way before we even started texting.” you moaned at the revelation, grateful that he took the hint and let you slide off of him for a moment so you could breathe. gasping once you were able to get a full breath, rafe cursed when his eyes landed on the thick string of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. “why didn’t you do something about it, then?” rafe shook his head, letting go of your hair before landing a playful smack across your cheek. “you know what? that’s a really good question, ‘think you would’ve been okay with me stuffing your mouth back then?”

you giggled, licking your lips before getting up and pushing him down on the bed. rafe brought you down with him, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you kissed him sloppily. feeling him like this, skin to skin, made a weight that you didn’t even know was there lift from your heart, your soft hands stroking his chest as he held you in his big arms. snaking down his torso, you pressed a trail of kisses down his stomach until you reached his length, wrapping a hand around his base.

“tell me, rafe,” you scooted down so you were straddling his thighs, “would you have even had the balls to take me the way you wanted?” rafe’s chest rose and fell as you stroked him languidly, his eyes struggling to stay open as you watched him with that dark gaze of yours. “nah, i didn’t think you’d be able to take it.” you smiled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth before you picked up your pace, the action making rafe’s hips buck. “ah, fuck!” he heaved, his jaw falling slack as he felt himself teetering the edge of euphoria.

“already gonna cum?” you teased, “so fucking pathetic.” rafe blinked, his jaw tightening at your words. he couldn’t let you win this easily. despite it feeling impossible, he mustered up the strength to stop your ministrations, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you down beneath him. “you might be royalty out there, but in here? with me? you don’t get to have your fucking way. you’re nothing.” you gasped, your heart beating in your ears as he threw your legs over his shoulders.

suddenly you didn’t have the same confidence from earlier now that rafe had you right where he wanted you, his cock sitting snuggly between your folds. your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him teasing your clit, a shaky breath leaving your lips as he entered you slowly. rafe buried his face in your neck, his teeth nipping the sensitive flesh there. your eyes watered at the stretch, a small cry emitting from your throat. rafe looked down at you and made sure you were okay before thrusting into you, both of you moaning in unison.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praised you, “better than what i could’ve ever imagined.” he pressed a kiss to your calf, pressing a large palm over your lower stomach. you squeaked at the pressure, your toes curling as he fucked into you with vigor. “i wonder what people would think of you if they knew you were a cock hungry slut,” he started thumbing your clit, your hands shooting up to dig crescents into his biceps, “i should mark you up, ‘show everyone who the fuck you belong to when they see us out.”

you don’t know why, but the idea of walking around with rafe, everyone’s eyes falling on you two in every room you enter, turned you on beyond belief, especially at the prospect of being littered with bruises and hickeys from none other than the man on top of you. “i want that,” you whimpered, “want’ everyone to know you’re mine too.” rafe groaned. all he’s wanted to hear since you two started this whole thing. that he was yours.. that you wanted him the way he wanted you.

rafe wished so badly that he didn’t refrain from letting himself cum over the course of these last few months, because then maybe he wouldn’t be close to blowing his load this soon. “still think i’m pathetic if i cum right now?” rafe trailed his lips across your collarbone, his forehead nudging your chin as you nodded breathlessly. “oh, totally.” you laughed, the smile from your face being wiped off as soon as rafe picked up his speed on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“i guess that’s gonna make two of us then..” you had heavy tears rolling down your cheeks when your high washed over you in waves of pure ecstasy, your legs trembling as you thrashed against him. you lost all ability to speak or think, rafe’s hips coming to a stop as he pulled out, still stroking his length as he emptied himself over your drenched folds. rafe shuddered, watching the way his cum painted your pretty cunt. you were left clenching around nothing, a pout forming on your lips.

“w-why didn’t you just cum inside me?” you stuttered, rafe’s eyes widening at your display of offense. “well i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that—” you cut him off, clamping a hand over his mouth before reaching down and guided his tip over the mess he made. “put it in me.” your had seen plenty of gazes turn dark before, but rafe’s was just incomparable. he was distraught, the look on your face sending him into overdrive. he did as you said, his mind churning with a thousand thoughts at once.

you took every drop like a champ, his eyes hanging low as he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his side. cradling his head to your chest, you reveled in the feeling of his arms being wrapped around you, both of you panting softly in an attempt to catch your breaths. staying in this position for what seemed like forever, you blinked once rafe’s voice broke you out of your post-sex bliss. “what made you change your mind?” he asked, running his fingertips up and down the column of your spine.

“my mind was already made up..” you whispered, “i just needed to put my ego away and finally choose something for myself.”

at your words, rafe pulled you into a heated kiss, which only then lead to round two and three and so on until you were barely able to hold yourself up in the shower. you and rafe slept in the next morning, both of you spending the rest of the week seemingly catching up with all of the pent up sexual frustration you two shared until it was time to go back home and do it all overs again. your phone had been blowing up with unanswered calls and texts from chanel, your best friend worried sick about you and your sudden disappearance. “where the fuck have you been?! i was starting to think i should file a missing persons report!” she shouted.

“i promise i’m going to explain everything. meet me at our brunch spot in ten minutes.. and feel free to bring topper..”

“how did this happen?!” chanel squealed excitedly, looking between you and rafe as he draped an arm across your shoulders, your lips finding his. oh, god, where could you even start? “it’s a really interesting story, but trust me when i say you’ll thank me for sparing the details.” you laughed. topper was also mildly confused at his best friend’s sudden attitude change towards you. “blink twice if you need help, bro.” he chuckled nervously, both you and chanel shooting him a glare. “nah, no cries for help over here. i’m right where i wanna be..”

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[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon part 4

part 1 part 2 part 3

 The time was exactly 11:59 PM, in less than 60 seconds your phone would go off and you would find Simon still wide awake. You didn't want to bother Simon so you were sleeping in his chair rather than in his bed with him, and Simon couldn't find the nerve to ask you. You were waking up every hour to make sure Simon was sleeping and not in pain but so far he's been awake every time.

It was a soft vibration yet you still woke up and quietly walked over to Simon “why are you still awake? Simon if you're in pain you need to tell me” “I promise ‘m not in pain, ‘m trying to sleep”  you just sighed, this is the response you got the last two times as well  “is there anything I can do for you to fall asleep?" Then Simon got an idea, it was now or never, he knew he wasn't gonna get any sleep knowing you were right there in reach, so he made do. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into the bed next to him “S-simon what are you doing? You have to be careful” Simon just hummed as he fixed the blankets around you “this ‘ill help me sleep” and just like that you were tucked under the covers perfectly into his side and Simon was already drifting to sleep so what kind of nurse would you be if you got up. 

You woke up to your normal morning alarm but it turned off before you even moved, once you fully woke up, you looked around to find Simon right next to you just staring at you, your face flushed as you got out of the bed “i'm gonna go make breakfast” and you scurried away before Simon could reply. Maybe what he did last night was too much? 

You and Simon ate in silence for the first time in a week, once you finished he started walking outside but you stopped him “exactly where are you going” gosh Simon thought you were so pretty with your hands on your hips questioning him “i'm going do a few laps around the base, my normal workout” “and how many laps are ‘a few’ and how long is that going to be, you can't do as much as you used to Simon” he sighed, he knew you were right but he also wanted to show you he could do more than you thought, that's when he made the decision 

Simon grabbed you some shoes and a light jacket as it was still early spring, he didn't ask you to join him he just decided you were, he said it was so you could monitor him and see he was doing fine, but he had a slightly different plan. This was the third hill you and Simon were going across and you were panting so heavily, while Simon kept his breath steady and showed no signs of weakness. Simon had been quiet the entire trip “okay okay Simon, you've made your point, I get it. You're still capable and I don't need to hover so much, can we please go back now?” You were so out of breath Simon kinda felt bad for bringing you up here but you were so close he couldn't turn back now.

“Actually brought ya up ‘ere for a different reason, just a little longer can ya do that?” Simon paused before looking over your whole figure “i'll even carry ya up” you let out a small laugh at that “Simon I can't keep going but I also can't let you carry me, that'll be way too much for you” Simon wasn't taking no for an answer, he just wordless picked you up bridal style before continuing up, after a moment he added “ya weigh like half o’ what I do regularly, this is nothin baby” you just accepted defeat and leaned into the strong man carrying you. 

Simon placed you gently on a bench that was placed at the top of the hill facing the rising sun. After a bit of silence, Simon decided this was his only chance to ask you out but he still wasn't sure how so he just started rambling. “Ya know this bench means ‘lot to me, Price made me lieutenant here, he also brought me up ‘ere to tell me I was honorably discharged…” he felt your hand on his biceps comfortably rubbing circles on him, he took a deep breath before he continued.

He had a whole speech about how much he liked you, how you've been the only person he felt comfortable around, and how he cant stop thinking about you, really he did, he kept rehearsing on the walk here but that's not what came out of his mouth.

“Will ya let me be yer husband?” you were startled you whipped your head to look at him, I mean you knew he would have trouble asking you out but what was this “Simon-” “no I mean like yer future husband, it doesn't have to be now, but I don't wanna wait long, but i'll wait however long ya need-” he was rambling so you cut him off, with a kiss of course, once you pulled back his mouth stayed slightly agape as you smiled at him “I think you were trying to ask me to be your girlfriend, right?” he just nodded still shocked by your bold move, you giggled at his face “of course i'll be yer future wife” you replied teasingly. This didn't go as planned but it was still a win, and Simon would take that, he just needed to make sure he could be the perfect husband for you, his perfect wife, well future wife.

tags- @piconico17 @just-lilita @madsdawson @silversfavfics @enfppuff @solazoro @sirbonesly @roastyyytoastyyy @the-disaster-in-waiting @lonjitas @squishytap @gays6968 @sunndust @dreamland08 @sweetpeakarolinaaa @marcysbear @alfiestreacle @bxm-2121@goldyghoul  @itsanemu0101 @wolverineswaifu @crempuffie @ohdrey89 @cucurucho-amargo @avalkyrieofparis @castellomargot @cmbghost @strawberrygato @blueladys-world @goodsoup19 @pinkylouise @creepzeyecandy @tessakate @identity2212 (if I added you to the tag list and you don't want to be, just let me go ill remove you)

[kooyabooya]

PURITIES, IMPURITIES

yunjin & kazuha x m reader

31k words

Alright - this is kind of one of those cliché, freeze-frame moments from those sitcoms that puts you right in the middle of the action, or- when you wake up with a pounding headache of hangover after having an apocalyptic night out and somehow everything you’re trying to remember is nothing but a complete blank. 

Yunjin sells the part right away, groggily after waking up saying: “God, can you believe what the hell happened last night?” 

Sadly, you don’t recall it from the get go. 

Kazuha’s body curling the pillow serves as the first piece of information at the scene of the crime: your bed. 

“She’s gonna give us an earful of this when she's up,” you say. “We’d be lucky if she’s in a good mood by then.” 

“There’s nothing to freak out about,” and Yunjin’s reassurance gives you a warming glimmer of hope. “I’ll tell you this. She came to me, first.” 

“Are we talking back then or earlier?” 

Yunjin slaps your arm, laughing. She’s aware that the inquiry was entirely rhetorical, a minor press to her buttons. Her thumb rubs Kazuha’s temple, moving a few strands of messy hair away from her face. Bright rays of sunlight breaking through the drapes and the evidence is riddled all over her: the marks, the dry streaks of cum at her legs, sweat glistening across her skin. Your mental checklist is filling up by the minute. 

“To be fair,” and it’s a realization to be made: “She did ask for this.” 

“Yes," Concurs Yunjin. "Yes she did.” 

–

Let’s summarize it like this: post-grad life is absolutely no joke. 

Your realization of this has been deeply humbling. 

And you’re reminded, again - from one of your friends who’s on the same boat as you: taking things day by day is always the way to go, don’t ever forget that. 

It sounds easier said than done. 

The lovely chime of the lock popping out from its hole plays a nice tune of pomp and circumstance, your humble abode of trinkets and gadgets and items greeting you a ‘welcome home!’ after a long day of work. It’s worth noting: you’re not actually working - not yet, but the job search in the pool has been quite dry. 

You sigh, get your shoes off at the doorstep, and toss your jacket on the nearby chair you lay your eyes on. 

When you finally hobble over to the couch, Yunjin appears right on cue; half hair up, half down, fresh out of the shower and in one of your shirts. You know her schedule by heart: the day was Thursday, which meant that she was out for a pickleball run with Somi and Giselle who convinced her to give the sport a try. She had some prior experience with tennis, so most of the skills easily transferred over. Talk about being multi-talented. 

“Hey,” she greets, tapping your thigh as a signal to give her some space on the seat. “Long day today? 

“Yeah,” you say, rubbing the sleepiness off your face and graze your thumb on the top of Yunjin’s thigh. “Nothing much to report- oh. I managed to get a callback from that one place I told you about last week.” 

“The start up Sian’s working in? Any good news?” Her voice lights up in excitement, brows elevated and head at an angle like a golden retriever. “I thought that place was only fifth in your options.” 

“It was, but figured that I’d work backwards on the list from bottom to top.” 

Yunjin smirks, nails to your knuckles, tic bouncing off her tongue, agreeing. “What an innovator.” 

“A different angle,” you laugh, “Worth giving it a try.” 

“We all have to start somewhere,” she tells you, voice light-hearted and calming. “Besides, life isn’t a linear graph that one follows. Everybody has their ups and downs they don’t want to admit.” 

She does have a point, so you nod. 

“Don’t be discouraged if there’s no results right away,” she adds on, lifting her hand up for you to momentarily give you a handshake as if she was your brother or something, curling your fingers with hers before ending it off with the pull down, gently slapping your cheek to force a smile out of you. Yunjin’s got all the remedies you can ask to boost your mood up, no point arguing otherwise. “You also said that you didn’t like the one other place second on your list.” 

“That cafe would be nice. Can finally cross off how to make the perfect matcha drink, too,” you reply, sitting up and sliding your arm across her waist, bringing her closer. 

“Mhm,” she hums, smiling the more she leans into your touch. If there was anything that you know very well to do: is how easily it is for her to let these things slide - more so like you can literally sweep her off her feet and suck the life out of her, without having the guilt lingering whatsoever. She’s so agonizingly pretty in your eyes and the fact she can say some of the coolest things in her perspective about life because she realizes that it cuts both ways. You could listen to her talk smart all day, until she plays into the dirty ditz where it gets closer to one familiar end far faster than you would like to admit. “I’ll say this compliment, then: you already have the best cup of coffee in town,” Yunjin says, a smirk with a chin lifted up and your tongue pressing the inner side of your lip. Her gaze goes hazy, and the half-lidded eyes coming from you really sends the message either way. “I actually like the whole package you’re selling. It’s sweet.” 

“You think of me as sweet? I guess so too.”

“That’s not the only thing sweet about you,” says Yunjin, palming your crotch and scratches the fabric, her breath at your teeth. “You’re dangerous.”

“Jen, what are you trying,” you chuckle, slow and low; the tone like you’re wanting to find something without putting too much force into suspicion. “Need I remind you that you were almost late to practice earlier?” 

As Yunjin bites her lip at the lean in, only to be interrupted by the same chime at the door. A second later, the sound gets replaced by another girl’s huff, keys jangling and boots clattering on the floor before making their way further into the apartment. Both of you look towards her direction out of curiosity. 

“Back already, Zuha?” Yunjin asks, leaning out more to the point she’s almost perpendicular to the seat of the couch, “How’d the hair appointment go?” 

“Good!” Kazuha beams, shrugging off her handbag and straightening her denim jacket outshined by her new color of hair - she mentioned it in the group chat between you three with a picture of her head wrapped up in tinfoil, so the input paid off. “Thought it would take longer, but I really like this shade much more than the blonde I had a year ago.” 

“Oh god,” you breathe, “I can’t stress how much I hated the blonde shade back then.” 

Kazuha’s brows crinkle, lips inward. She doesn’t want to admit it herself, but she did say her blonde hair wasn’t the right choice. “Dickhead. I thought I told you to take that opinion outside.” 

“I’m not going to apologize for saying what’s right.” 

“Guess I don’t have to ask you what you think about my hair and go directly to Yunjin instead.” 

“Ash blonde is more of your style, Kazuha,” you admit, Yunjin also agreeing with a little nod of her own. “If you were to ask me, I’d prefer this one over the blonde you had from last year.” 

“He does have a valid reason,” Yunjin adds, palm to your chest when she stands up from the couch with a water bottle in her hand from the table. Tosses it towards Kazuha who catches it without an issue. “You staying in or stopping by tonight?” 

Kazuha chugs half the bottle down, smacks her lips soon after. “Got an hour to chill, told Saku and Chaewon we’re eating out tonight. Since Sakura’s boytoy leaves tomorrow to-” 

“Study abroad,” you input, “I remember she was talking to me about him a few weeks ago.” 

“So no more dick for me or her,” Kazuha says. 

“You’re serious,” you say back. “Dude.” 

Kazuha twists her face, hands wrapped tighter around the plastic. “Dude. It is serious. A total loss for the home team.” 

“He wasn’t even your boyfriend to begin with.” Yunjin butts in, almost ad-libbed. 

“That’s what makes it fun!” 

“This girl can’t be helped,” Yunjin, shifting her attention to the cutting board of chicken and vegetables. “Sucks for her to be put out of commission all because she can’t get her pussy filled up this weekend.” 

“I heard that, bitch.” Kazuha yells deep in the hallway. “Why don’t you tell Chaewon while you’re at it too with her boyfriend.” 

You laugh at the annoyance Kazuha has in her voice. Yunjin rolls her eyes and wheels around in the kitchen. The pair part ways into doing their own activities around the place and that’s really the end of that. There’s a sense of comfort you find yourself in within these walls. When the world outside you doesn’t swing the way you want it to, it’s always nice to lay back and relax - save the problems of today to tomorrow. You lace your fingers together, put them over your waist and cross your ankles up to the armrest, closing your eyes.

“I’ll be here,” you’re saying aloud, a usual announcement during these hours: “Wake me up when the food’s ready, or if Kazuha leaves, whichever happens to come first.” 

–

Among the never ending loop of emails, interviews, and outings at different food spots to brush up the resume, you’re getting sick and tired of the daily activities as a whole. You’re doubtful, like a running inside joke you’re not in on. 

You tell Yunjin about the struggles, to which she tells you: “there’s no such thing as mistakes in a plan that’s meant for you, babe.” God bless her, the literary ability this woman has reminds you again as to why she wanted to be an english teacher or writer. Hell, philosophy might’ve been her forte, but it’s another debate topic to save for later. 

Kazuha’s outlook is a bit more abrasive; more real and a little less innocent, doesn’t mince her words at all. “Look, I know we give much shit between us at times,” she blurts out on a random afternoon, “but I think those people who do the hiring don’t know what you’re capable of yet, and it angers me about them not caring about you.” 

“Didn’t think you’d have the heart to say that to my face.” 

Kazuha squints, confused. Yunjin looks up from her book, eavesdropping. 

“If we’re being honest,” Kazuha continues with a wave of her hand. “this is basically like you getting me through college apps back in senior year, me having the breakdowns on a nightly basis because you shat on my essays being complete trash-” 

“Somewhat relevant, yes. Still isn’t as close to what I feel.” 

Ever since graduation (and even before then), the pair have gotten used to each other in no time flat. Yunjin eventually had to end the lease on her apartment at the beginning of summer and it was a no brainer when you popped the question of moving in. They both have similar tastes, similar styles - the list goes on and on. But hey: two of the hottest girls on campus are living with you and every time someone brings it up you just give them a shrug. 

(The non-verbal message presents itself like it’s no big deal. 

Or one quiet way of answering: ‘fuck you, stay out of my business’.)

Yujin closes her book and treats herself to the cup of tea on the table. “It’s pretty much a similar experience across the board, no need to overcomplicate it.” 

You check your phone with the same kind of energy in receiving a text. Quick skim here, no luck. “Whoopty-fucking-do, still no message back from Minnie about the software position.” 

“No stress babe, it’s Friday night after all.” 

“I’d text her personally to see if there’s any hold up, rush the process a bit.” Kazuha suggests. 

You pull your lip. “I could, but what do you want me to do? It’s not my fault that the job market and economy as a whole is in shambles, toying with the idea of teasing me like it’s some ‘will they, won’t they’ kind of situation. But seriously-” and here your hands are in your face in a small sign of frustration, “it’s a bit discouraging on the latter when I could be spending my time on-” 

“Pressure isn’t a good look on you,” Kazuha tuts, snorting. She reclines back on the seat, sliding her heels on the floor, “I’m sure someone will swoop you on their ship sooner or later. The strategy here is just sit and wait, taking into account the number of places you dropped by today and they can’t look at the CV the moment you hand it to them. Ever heard the saying: “Rome wasn’t built in a day?” 

“Classic for the kids.” Yunjin recites, hands bracing her chin. “Patience is always the everlasting virtue.” 

“Both of you are dead last in lecturing me about practicing a positive mindset.” 

Here they laugh in midst of deliberation. Because Yunjin’s shaking her head while Kazuha’s turning her attention away to something that isn’t on you. The heat starts to rise on your face in embarrassment. Yunjin’s gaze lowers on Kazuha as she crosses her arms, fingers tapping along the opposite limb, sharing the same look before she looks over to you once again. Silence fills the table for a moment until Kazuha’s phone vibrates on the table, prompting her to swipe it off the surface and check the notifications in mere milliseconds. 

Kazuha’s eyes briskly shimmers from the screen, face lighting up once she’s finished reading. “Oh shit,” she breathes. “I forgot I was going out with Sakura tonight.” 

“Where to this time?” 

“Eunchae’s,” she answers, briskly standing up and typing her life away. “Just a quick outing, doughnut run, nothing too big. Yunjin, you still coming?” 

“Can’t.” Yunjin yawns. “Tired and plus I had a movie date planned with this one,” she says with a head bob towards you. 

“Ew- gross,” Kazuha mutters. You look at her dumbfounded while Yunjin smirks. “Whatever, enjoy your impromptu movie date.” 

“Prayers up for the dick that’s about to cross paths with you,” you remark over your shoulder. “Whoever’s the lucky one to bend you over tonight, I’ll drink to that too.” 

Kazuha smacks your head then walks away. “I’ll take that same fucking bottle when I come back and smash it over your head.” 

“Ouch.” Yunjin sighs, putting on her glasses and stretching. “I’ve been telling you it’s a lost cause for her.” 

“Hey. That’s her problem, not mine.” 

–

Kazuha’s problems, whether you like it or not, usually end up becoming yours. 

Not that it’s her fault or anything. The girl just spills out one word and it turns into a never ending ramble of sentences. 

Fifteen minutes have passed since dinner, for the ones who are curious - fifteen minutes of valuable time lost in Kazuha’s eyes because she can’t seem to get her life together when it comes to proper efficiency. You and Yunjin are bundled up on the couch, watching some dating series on netflix that’s been all the rage across social media. The cast upon preliminary assessment are all attractive - some with a stronger bias than others, but you deduced Yunjin’s opinion was much more important than what’s happening on screen. 

Self-insertion is a matter of conceptual perspective, is what she’s trying to tell you. 

“All I’m saying is-” she groans after your pitiful laugh, “we put ourselves in that scenario, and I guarantee the ratings would go up.” 

“Pretty high pedestal you’re putting me there,” you comment. 

Yunjin slaps your shoulder and gawks at you, playfully offended. “Oh please, if you didn’t take me to paradise, how else would you make your case compared to the other good looking guys?” 

“Don’t need to, since I’ve already got you.” 

She coos at the remark, laughing at you playing it off in the coolest way imaginable. It’s cringy, but who the fuck cares? The fact that she agrees with the statement only solidifies the pull you have on her. A win-win situation. 

“What about Kazuha?” Yunjin follows up shortly after. “I think she’d be a great fit there.” 

“If I were one of the guys on that show and she was one of the contestants, I’d try everything to date her in a heartbeat,” you tell her. 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really what?” Kazuha walks in a second after your reply, with a zip-up to her frame and peeping over to see what was on the screen. “I heard my name down the hallway.” 

“Oh nothing, Zu,” answers Yunjin, waving her hand to shoo her off. “We were just saying that you’d be a great addition to the dating show cast. I can’t lie, some of the guys in this are super hot.” 

“Ahem,” you cough. 

“Shut up,” Yunjin says. “You were literally just telling me that you’d date Kazuha if you had the chance.” 

“Never in a million years,” you hear Kazuha say, disgusted. “That can of worms stays shut for a reason.” 

“A fun topic to talk about,” you’re laughing out loud again, shaking your head. Kazuha squints her eyes and her lips are spread wide in annoyance. A common expression she does whenever she can’t comprehend the bullshit coming out of your mouth at times - for most occasions is all sarcasm and nothing more. “You may not like it, but who’s living with who here, hm?” 

“I’ll kick your ass again if I have to,” Kazuha chuckles - a tilt of her head to keep it subtle, but you know well she intends that. 

you say

“Can’t beat my ass if you haven’t gone out yet,” you retort, pursing your lips. Kazuha glances at the clock and realizes what time it was, cursing under her breath. She shoves a hand in her pocket and bolts for the door, throwing up a peace sign to you and Yunjin, letting you both know she’s finally on her way out. 

“Bye Zuha, have fun!” Yunjin yells in a light tone.

“Don’t burn the place down until I get back, but the noise complaints are fine,” Kazuha says, slotting herself through the door the next second, into the cold. 

–

“That girl with the dark blonde hair looks like Kazuha,” Yunjin tells you, pointing at the screen. She’s right. The one on the show appears to be at the right height, similar body build, not to mention the abs highlighted from her swimsuit. “I’m telling you, it’s a carbon copy.” 

It’s been a little over an hour since Kazuha left, maybe more - you haven’t been keeping track, really. The episodes and runtimes are starting to mesh together to the point where Yunjin’s starting to get other ideas with that mischievous hand of hers, working at your shorts. 

“She’s hella popular with the others - so you might be right, considering Kazuha’s the mix of an extroverted introvert,” you say, paying no attention to the slip of Yunjin’s hand into your boxers, fingers snaking the length. She can feel you getting hard. 

You’re on the same wavelength as Yunjin: hand trailing up her thigh, thumb and index pinching the waistband of her panties beneath the blanket before curling your fingers across the fabric, hearing a hitched breath. 

“There’s no way they don’t hook up while recording, right? Like- the fuckable scales are off the charts,” she assesses, squirming her hips to the fingers circling over her clothed clit. She cocks her head as you pull your lips inward, trying to see the transmitting message in her eyes. 

You press a little further in at the opening, feel the dampness spread across. Oh yeah, she’s soaking them. 

“We wouldn’t know, per se, since the whole point of inferno is all about exclusivity. Getting to know the person without any outside distractions, that kind of thing,” you conclude. You’re paying more attention to your hand than the show. 

“Them having sex on camera would be so normal,” Yunjin says, a word slips out but her mouth forms to something else when you slip a finger inside without a warning. “So normal.”

“You’d be right.” 

“Definitely,” she breathes and it’s heavy. This segment has been slowly building in the background; the part where few words are said and relied more on the action: Yunjin’s thumb presses down on the head of your cock and grips around it, languidly stroking; your breathing stops for a moment, bobbing the air down your throat, coming up with a proper response, ending with nothing. You can feel your lower body tense and relax with the ticks of the clock, an indicator for what’s about to happen if you keep this up. You don’t fight it - nor want to, since you’re both well aware that the teasing is a better way to eat up the time with your bodies rather than everything else. 

It’s only natural to do things like these. You’d always make time for being horny. 

Before you know it, your shorts are on the floor. The same could be said with her panties, tossed away to a corner in the room for you to ask yourself “well how the fuck did that get there?” later when the damage has been done. Her shirt’s being held up by her teeth and you’re taking all the sights of her upper half uncovered past her shirt. Nothing but porcelain skin and amber nipples waiting to be marked up and bitten. Your hips get put in place and your mouth is taken over by Yunjin’s, feeling the glide of her folds across your cock and the slickness of her cunt on your fingers, smearing her thigh. 

Her breath is warm, just like her face; mouth hung open when she settles her pussy on your shaft. She finds joy in the loose and unraveling expressions: all wide-eyed and nowhere else to go. Your head falls back once the grip registers in the nerves. 

All in the rise and fall of her hips. She’s gyrating them as a test like it’s a given - which it is. She loves it when you’re raring to go, dicking her hips down or fucking herself on your cock. It’s all the same. 

“Babe,” she whispers into your ear. The blanket uncovering your lower halves, barren skin now out to the open air. “I want it.” 

Fuck, she could meet you halfway with the wetness of her pussy and already be there. You hold her hips and waist steady and she begins to ride. 

–

Here is where the story - or rather, the ordeal - truly unravels. As Anakin Skywalker famously declares on the glowing screen before the darkened room: ‘This is where the fun begins.’

You’re woken up to the incessant buzzing of your phone on the nightstand, blinded by the glare of the television, drowsy as fuck, and slightly sweating. You also don’t even bother looking at the time because your lock screen is basically a flashbang of your selfie with Yunjin even with the caller ID blurring it. It’s from an unknown number (it isn’t but you can barely see as it is) and even if you’re entertaining the idea of not answering it, you do anyway. 

“Hello?” Your voice graveled and deep, clearly tired. “Who is this?” 

“Oh, you’re Yunjin’s boyfriend, right?” The girl on the other end asks. Her voice is surprisingly masculine. You would’ve mistaken her for a guy in that case. The line goes quiet for a few seconds, afraid that she possibly called the wrong number. “You sound like Yunjin’s boyfriend. By the way, it’s Eunchae.” 

Crap, you remember that Kazuha was with her for tonight’s activities. Wondering what the hell happened this time for her to call instead of Sakura as the usual standby. 

“We have a situation here,” she continues, mouth ticked with a hint of annoyance. “Kazuha’s hammered and Sakura’s getting her business on with some guy out in the alleyway. Told me to call you if she didn’t come back in five minutes. And it’s been more than five minutes.” 

“Shit, I didn’t think it’d be that serious.” 

“The fuck were you expecting?” 

“I dunno- just a simple doughnut dine and dash? Neither of them told me about a party.” 

“That’s because the two of them tagged along with the guy they met there and it’s been downhill ever since. I wanna go home.” 

Can’t help but feel bad for Eunchae, since you were in her shoes before. 

“Mind hurrying it up a bit? I can hear Sakura’s moaning behind me and it’s looking like she won’t be going home tonight.” 

You scratch the back of your head, raking off the sleepiness before rubbing your eyes. “Alright, be there in a few. Where do you want to meet?” 

“I’ll send my location, my house isn’t far from here.” 

–

In a slight reiteration, you’ve become used to Kazuha’s antics. 

Kazuha brings in Sakura and her plus one late at night, you know how that goes; Kazuha can’t decide which top goes well with her loose pants for the grocery run; Kazuha procrastinates on some of the chores around the apartment and leaves you alone to pick up her slack. She smacks your ass for fun and runs away into her room - goes to show the years of friendship you have between you two. When you’re up late studying for midterms or finals, the noise cancelling headphones serve well to block out the sounds of Kazuha touching herself -or, the fact that you’re putting her pile of laundry on her bed and it’s riddled with the assortment of playboy magazines, dirty clothes, and the vibrator (which you don’t question) next to it. She’s an agent of chaos. A perfect anthesis to your very livelihood. 

It’s certainly no exception when you mentally add alcohol into the mix. 

“Do I want to know how she ended up like this?” You ask Eunchae upon arriving, kneeling down to a slumped Kazuha against the brickwall on the sidewalk - hand to the back of her head to get a better look of her drunk gaze: one eye open and giggling like an idiot, her words slurring. 

“She literally grabbed the first beer handed to her when we got here,” Eunchae replies, showing you a picture of the moments before disaster. “I thought she was a heavy weight.” 

“Depends on what they were passing out in that party.” You move Kazuha’s head around to ensure nothing happened to her. So far: face blushed with pink, a lazy eye, messy hair and sweaty skin. But most importantly: no marks. “Did Saki tell you to stick with her while at the party?” 

“Yes, she did.” 

“Well that’s the good news,” you’re saying to yourself. Kazuha might be a pain in your ass, but she is your longtime friend, after all. Like anyone else, you’d go the extra mile to keep an eye out for her. 

You then glance back at Eunchae, her shadow casted by the glare of the overhanging streetlight, arms crossed with the light tap of her foot. Her thumb subconsciously swipes the phone screen as you both look at Kazuha when she snorts, playfully hitting your arm. 

“She’ll be fine,” you softly say, hoisting Kazuha’s arms over your shoulders and adjusting her on your back. “Given the fact that Sakura’s getting her fuck-fix for the weekend, I’ll leave that be.” 

“Mhm, girl’s a piece of work,” Eunchae concurs, lashes fluttering in the dim lighting, air to the left side of her cheek. “And here I thought we were getting our box and heading back home but-” she then motions a hand to Kazuha murmuring behind you. “-this shit unfolded and, yeah.” 

“The regular stuff,” you admit, because it really is. You twitch your head the opposite way from the house party. “My car’s this way, I’ll drop you off on the way back.” 

–

(Dealing with a drunk Kazuha in the car was simple math: 

Make sure she’s comfy, for one. Recline the seat all the way back since her feet will most likely end up on the dashboard for another. And almost beating every red light at the intersections so that she doesn’t get cranky with all the stops and turns for the third note. 

A long list and every contingency written in the book: you know her that well.) 

–

3:00 in the morning is usually classified as ‘primetime hours’ for Kazuha. 

Except for tonight. 

You’re running through the standard procedure: get out the car, walk up the stairs, hook a right, second door past the balcony. 

Left shoulder, right shoulder, right foot up, then left; fix Kazuha’s weight on your backside so you don’t throw your back out early, lean a little too forward she’ll fall right off, look back when she’s secure. 

For a girl like her to be 5’7” and 105 pounds, it doesn’t add everything up in your head. She’s humming a song - the lyrics incoherent, tone consistent - then all of a sudden she yelps in surprise. Keep her quiet - a fifth noise complaint from the neighbors in the span of three days was not on the agenda for this week. 

She smacks your head, half awake. “Hey, how did I get home? Put me down.” Kazuha pushes herself off, landing on her feet with a stumble, prompting you to hover your hand to her waist so that she doesn’t lose balance. It’s 3 in the fucking morning and Kazuha’s drunk out of her goddamn mind. “Wait, when did you get here?” 

“I drove us,” you tell her, moving her arm over your shoulder and walking her towards the door. “Looks like you had fun tonight.” 

“I did,” Kazuha hiccups, blinking slowly. “Super fun time.” Her gaze freezes. You can’t tell if she’s grumpy or plain tired (trick question: it’s the second answer); she then closes her eyes with that neat, flat eye smile of hers to where you see the slightest dimple on her face. You could imagine the stars shimmering over her head. Kazuha has so many spirit animals that you could pair her up with, but if you had to choose one- 

“Ehe-” she giggles, staggering her right foot before readjusting her balance, doing the same laugh again. 

(She would definitely be a samoyed.)

So you stifle a laugh and close your mouth, opening the door. 

You’re leading the way back into the apartment while Kazuha tries to walk on her own. She fails. Her forearm bracing the doorway while you shift your body back around out of concern. Her body lurches forward like she just went twelve rounds in a boxing ring, fatigued. She straightens herself up with a hand on top of her head, chin tilted higher when she leans forward, about to fall. Like any other caring friend would do in this situation: you catch her. 

“Easy, easy.” You hold yourself steady, accepting the weight. Or- when you’re stumbling too and shuffle your feet for proper placement. “You said you didn’t drink that much, tell me the truth.” 

Kazuha hums, mindlessly bobbing her head in the form of a yes. 

Her gaze is sleepy. Both of your hands are at her shoulders, keeping her upright. Kazuha’s zip-up slips off her shoulder, exposing her collarbone, covering the tubetop she was wearing with a set of underwear you haven’t seen before. Probably new, you assume. “Kazuha, stand up straight for me, please?” 

“Mmkay,” she slurs. 

“Think you can walk back to your room by yourself?” 

“Nope.” Kazuha beams with her head to the left. 

You sigh. Pat the side of her face to wake her up a bit. “Guess you can’t be helped.” A hand’s extended like a peace offering. “C’mere, I’ll take you there right now.” 

“If you take good care, I’ll let you fuck me.” 

Oh, hell no- 

You weren’t prepared for this kind of Kazuha at all. There was no plan. Not even a proper response in your head could cover for it. 

Kazuha being drunk was always the marker for attention. Put her with the right people (like Sakura, Chaewon, even fucking Yunjin), and it’s guaranteed to be a never ending stream of laughs throughout the day and into the night. Not one second goes by when you’re out with friends to look over the shoulder and see the most questionable acts coming from her that twists the creases across your face and forces you to bear no mind to what’s happening behind you; stay focused now, ask questions later. When you do bring up the topic, it gets brushed over and eventually ignored. You have so many ‘why’s’ as it is, but you find it best to save it for the morning. 

“Kazuha, you’re clapped. There’s no way you just asked me to-” 

“But I’ll be good for you. C’mon, don’t you think I should repay you in some way?” 

“You getting sleep right now will be good for me. Now let’s go, I’m tired as it is-” 

Her arms wrap around your shoulder and middle lazily. You can’t afford to handle another minute of this nonsense and just get your ass back to bed. That alone should be a right in itself, but this girl won’t fucking let go. 

Next thing you know, her lips graze the bottom of your neck before resting on your collarbone. Your name is heard into your shirt, and you huff in annoyance. Plus, your voices could be a little louder than usual since Yunjin’s a heavy sleeper. At this point, you’ve had enough: so you slip your fingers into Kazuha’s hair and yank her head back to see her face wince at the sudden pain. There’s no shame when you see her biting her lip, half-lidded eyes gazing with no care of the lust behind them. “Just help me to my room, I promise not to give you trouble. I owe you. Need to thank,” she mumbles, licking her lips. “I’ll be a good girl.” 

“Christ- Kazuha, we’re not doing this.” But talking to her while she’s intoxicated isn’t going to do you any good. 

Now you carry on, dragging her closer to the room, ignoring the assault of mindless kisses she’s placing all over your neck. She ups the ante when her hand palms your sweats, trying to play it off in standing upright. 

“Jesus- Kazuha,” you angrily swear, similar to all the times she pissed you off.

“What? You don’t like that?” Kazuha asks, lips parted when she rests her fingers at your crotch. 

“Fucks sake, no.” 

“Aw come onnnn,’ she whines, trilling the last bit of the words. “Yunjin always has her fun, why can’t I?” 

“Because I said no.” 

“You won’t even let me suck you off? What if I just wanna stay here and sit so I can do that?” 

You can’t stand her being like this. 

“I always hear you and Yunjin getting it on in your room.” She leans on the wall next to the open door, curling her hand around your arm while the other doesn’t move. “How would it feel if I called you daddy again for once?” 

The scrunch in your nose shuts down the thought immediately. You’re sensible enough to not entertain the idea, despite how tempting it is. No. You know better. You know damn well what that shit does to you even if it slapped you in the face. No one casually spills the word ‘daddy’ like it’s nothing and expect no reaction. Her mind’s swimming in alcohol. You’re starting to wonder what the hell she drank at that party. 

“Again- God. Zuha.” You flicker your eyes into the void of the hallway. The nickname only comes up at times where she’s really getting on your nerves. “For the last time, you are getting your ass to bed and we’ll talk about it in the morning.” Kazuha winces at the sharp tone, realizing she’s overstepped her bounds. Bless the last bits of common sense she has left; you don’t know where you’d be if she didn’t use her brain cells for something else that required her to think. 

“Ugh, fine,” she tells you, and the tamped down ego in your head is satisfied in victory, stepping into her room. You hold her at the arms and help slip out of her jacket, tossing it on her chair as she does her part in sitting on the bed, waiting for you to lie her down. “I was hoping that you could fuck me.” 

“In your dreams,” you rebut firmly. 

Right before you walk away, Kazuha grabs your wrist. A few wisps of her hair fall over her forehead. “Wait,” she says, and that should’ve been the red flag to swipe your hand away from the imposing threat - a dangerous risk you’re not willing to take. You clench your teeth and swallow hard, with the slightest bit of pull in your arm. “At least-” 

You actually don’t move forward, but backward. 

“At least touch me, just this once.” Before you know what she’s doing, it’s already too late. Her hand guides yours to her thigh, working the curve of your thumb and index up her waist. Part of you is impressed at the amount of work she put in maintaining a chiseled frame, the muscle very much present the more your fingers press down on the skin. “For a little bit.” 

(Should’ve left the room when you had the chance.) 

Your eyes continue to gaze and drift all over Kazuha’s body, hand to her chest with the thumb curling below her breast. Her humming rumbles low, safe. It hadn’t been that long since she was out in the cold, but she’s surprisingly warm. 

She makes sure every single part of your hand feels it, flipping it over to the knuckles past her hips, fingertips making contact to the patterned lace of her panties - the fabric clearly damp when she starts to shift her hips at your touch. It’s all gone wrong - a mess, one really fucked up mess - her lower half continues to move with both of her legs pressing your hand in, holding you tight at her sensitive clit, the huffs rising and falling along with her chest the more she used your fingers to get herself off. 

Drunk Kazuha was easy to deal with. Sleepy drunk Kazuha was a cakewalk in caring for. But never in your years of knowing her where she would be like this. Let alone the fact you’re in a relationship with her best friend and you’re staring further and further away from the door towards freedom. 

The reality check will be cashed in once it’s all over.  

You say her name, which spills out in a stutter; your state of mind incomprehensible to the stacked hands working the heat and slick between Kazuha’s legs, head unable to stay still and lolling side to side, elbows digging into the mattress. 

How does she not feel embarrassed with what she’s doing? Sarcasm applied: how are you not ashamed of this? 

It hits you right then and there: in the retracted hand of yours, eliciting another small tantrum of Kazuha kicking and waving her arms like a kid. You take a second to pause, remember how you got here in the first place and why, clouded with anger and confusion, hindering a sizable amount of time to reflect. Soon, you found it best to retreat from the situation and into the kitchen, grab a glass of water and wash your hands to calm yourself. 

(Even as your thumb grazes the glass in a period of contemplating, the whole ordeal can't be swallowed down that easily, as much as you want it to. Not when you’re achingly hard in your sweatpants and that serves a few more strings of curses out your mouth.) 

One last thing that you could do before heading back to your room was set the small bottle of aspirin at the side of her bed for when she wakes up. Maybe convince her to use that body pillow of hers to mimic the warmth; you nod your head at the thought, it could work and it should. It’s been a few minutes since her mini breakdown and you assume that she’d be asleep by now. 

You couldn’t wait until the morning to tease her about being a horny drunk - worry about being her personal punching bag later. 

Apparently the teasing would have to wait. Because your personal ideal about Kazuha was about to be shifted again. 

The last thing you would’ve expected was for her to be sound asleep. Instead, she’s got her tube top up to her upper chest, one delicate hand furiously rubbing sloppy circles into her clit, the other gripping into the mattress as she’s on her knees, body pillow between her legs, grinding into the cushions. Her pants are at the foot of the bed, panties loosely around her right ankle. She’s an insufferable cocktease. 

It’s something straight out of your wet dreams, from a time when everything revolved around Kazuha. You’re sucked into an inescapable vacuum of thoughts you’d never think of again (with things like those, it’s all a lie, they always are). You can’t stop peering through the crack in the door, opening it wider to watch Kazuha grab a handful of her tit and ride her own hand. She’s too into it to pay attention to you, and you’re fighting every urge in the fingers sliding down your thigh, unable to move. 

She only seemed to have one thing on her lips, the only thing plaguing her intoxicated mind. The tube top at her pits and the gush of her cunt soaking up the last pillowcase, but you’re seeing it clear as day. 

You can’t help but think how good your name sounds on her lips. 

Kazuha then gropes both of her tits, pinching both buds of her nipples to keep her from stopping, finally figuring out that she can continue without the support, falling back on the bed, unfolding her legs like butterfly wings to reveal how wet she was. The small webbing of her slick coating her index and middle fingers, leaving more spots on the bed sheets beneath her. 

There’s a deathly, fucked up part of you in the back of your mind: that wants to give in to the temptation. Oh, you could give Kazuha the same treatment as Yunjin when you have her in a blithering wreck, fucking her full as she creams on your cock, grab her by the hair and press her to the closest thing nearby to reatalite on the slightly abusive attitude. Get your tongue all over her cunt like it’s the last meal you’d ever have on your knees and have her cumming and hands full of every single part of her body until she’s had enough (which will most likely be never in this case). The need for more is an absolute certainty, a greater purpose. You'll consciously be happier in being rough, be a pain in her ass (quite literally, sooner than you think), and completely forget about the resistance or consequences.

You’re holding yourself back for now, placing the water and two tablets of aspirin on the dresser, lean your shoulder to the door frame - inhaling and exhaling quietly to not make her realize you were still in the room. 

She doesn’t stop her fingers from dipping inside her leaking slit, wagging it across her folds with every passing shudder of her breathing, sinking it back in soon two digits at a time. Debauched, impure, sinful; you could go through the list of your lexicon to describe this present moment and still won’t give an explanation as to why you can’t look away. You watch as her eyes wander, flickering when she looks down and plop her head back on the pillow when the finger curl rubs at a sensitive spot.

And it’s almost instinctual, close to second nature: your hand tugging your dick out, paying close attention to how the slenderness of her hand widely spreading her pussy folds. How Kazuha wished her own hand was a dildo or a vibrator or your cock - they won’t stretch in the way she imagines it. 

The third finger she inserted was a good try, you’ll give her that. You can’t help but be enamored. 

Suddenly, she’s switching out names. First, your name and then Yunjin’s. That’s a new piece of information you’ll save for later. Ignoring the question of how weird because this was already fucking insane as it is; you’re slowly pumping your shaft in time with her upward thrusts, grip your shaft to mimic the pressure and emulate how the skin would be coated in her soaking wetness, listening closely to the squelching getting louder and louder it seems. 

Kazuha’s legs are flush against the mattress, as far as she could get them. She’s flexible enough to do it, opening up more room for her other hand to get a fill of her desperate cunt. A sweet view. You’re lucky to have witnessed it in real time. 

Shit, you’re silently cursing to yourself. Wishing that you would’ve abstained in committing such a wicked act. 

But you keep pumping, delusion plaguing your mind. You’re lost in the sights, the sounds, her face wobbling to more rapturous, tucking her hand and tilting her hips like those other guys have done to her, the heat tugging them tightly - God, she doesn’t let up with the lovely moaning. 

“Mmm, yes, right there-” 

Seeing Kazuha like this feels undeserved. 

“Please, please-” 

“What is it. Kazuha? Want some help there?” You ask mindlessly, slipping out of your sweats some more to open up your legs. 

And when she says your name again: “I need you here with me.” 

“I’m not far,” you answer, gaze crestfallen and wistful. 

You lower your guard when the rush of euphoria begins to spread within. The sensation of jerking yourself had the capacity to wear you out just how you wanted. Because of this, when you eventually look back up, you can see the glint of watered eyes watch across from you - in between the valley of her breasts, toned legs and reddened knees. “Look at you, so handsome,” she says, hand circling her clit faster. Harder. Fingers increasing in pace to match your strokes rather than the other way around. 

“Fuck, you look so good-” you grunt with buckling knees. A familiar, aching tension in your stomach, the pin rising to the peak in your balls. The wonders of having a pretty best friend. 

“Yeah?” she murmurs. “Like this? My pussy out wide open for you? Why don’t you walk back here and plug it up?” 

“No need. You’re doing good, so fucking good. I’ll keep myself here- holy shit.” 

“Would feel-” Kazuha wheezes, a relieving proposition. “Even better, with you.” She says it like it’s some forbidden truth. 

In an alternate reality, she’d be right. 

“Think so?” Jesus fucking christ, you’ve lost it. In the current affair, this is all that mattered. “You’d prefer my dick to split your guts up instead of your fingers?” 

“God, yes.” 

“Want me to take care of that pretty little cunt of yours?” 

Kazuha sighs once more, confirming the question for you. It didn’t take much to work her up in general; if you didn’t have the remaining ounces of common sense, you could’ve dropped your pants right at the door and get even more dirty with the arousal pouring relentlessly out of her stuffed hole. It wouldn’t be a bad idea right? Cleaning up her mess with your hands, your mouth, gurgle down the endless stream of her pussy where there’d be multiple threads dripping down her legs. Fucking hell, you really could if you wanted to. 

Though you don’t move a single muscle besides your hand. 

“C’mon, more. Just a little more,” she groans, breath hitching every other second. You can feel the air get tighter, the vibrations in your throat tremoring along with every tense fiber of muscle. Coming down to a fine point, overtaking you. 

You’re just as shameless as her. 

The piercing wail of your name off her lips sounds broken, eyes clenched shut when you finally fall off that peak. You cum all over your fingers, spurting and smearing across the skin - fuck, it comes in a panic when some of it spills on the hardwood, but you could care less since it blends in well with the color. How you managed to remain standing from your high was a mystery, knees bending forward while the twitching continued to pass.

Kazuha tenses her body from the erratic movement of her chest, struggling to calm down from her orgasm. Through your sated, lidded eyes, you watch her frame relax, head falling over to the side, hand plopping over to the edge like someone shot a bullet through her on the spot. 

“Kazuha.” You huff, hoping for a response. “Kazuha?” 

Yep, she’s knocked out. 

You take a minute or two to return to your senses, looking back at Kazuha’s body to ensure she was fast asleep. Staring at the gentle shift of her arm cuddling the pillow she just rode on, you found it best to let her deal with the clean up later in the morning when she’s fully sobered up. 

A really big ‘if’ for later: her remembering everything she did from last night. You’re swearing that it doesn’t happen - hoping you don’t breathe a word of what you’ve seen or did. 

(It would be a huge problem on your hands, and an even worse one if it becomes hers.) 

Fuck, she would be mortified. 

–

“You look like shit,” Yunjin tells you later that morning, chin perched up and eyes squinted. “Didn’t you and Kazuha come back together 30 minutes later?” 

“Something like that,” you sigh, giving up the effort in holding back your yawn. “Slow mornings are always harder than the actual day.” 

“Hangovers are never kind.” 

You shrug. “Some of us can handle it better than others.” 

Right on cue, you and Yunjin glance over to see a tired Kazuha sitting alone on one of the chairs near the kitchen. Her hoodie is up and both hands are on her face to hide the subtle cough. She looks like she could sleep for another eight hours after breakfast, and it most definitely could happen. The plate in front of her is cleaned off: holding the knife and fork, coated with syrup and clearly ran through. 

Yunjin gives you a look, probably along the lines of: ‘are you sure nothing bad happened to her?’ 

You purse your lips and open the fridge, with a cold water bottle now in your hand. 

From then on it’s a silent exchange: Yunjin walking over to Kazuha and caressing the back of her head, Kazuha looking and nodding to let her know she’s alright before going on with the rest of her unproductive day. 

As for your part: you slide the bottle over to her with two more tablets of aspirin for her to take. For insurance, you insist. She’s someone you know very well who can’t function properly unless there’s some sort of responsible figure who can facilitate and keep an eye on her condition. 

It isn’t like her to be awfully quiet at times, so you fill in that role of the opposite as needed. 

“How’s your head?” You ask, voice lowered that you don’t scare the poor girl. “Gotta say, I’m jealous you got better sleep than me for once.” 

Kazuha leans back on the chair with her eyes trained on you. The occasional beep of the smoke detector above goes on for a few seconds when you see the tip of her tongue peek out and runs it along her teeth, contemplating. 

“Better,” she says. Her first words of the day. A small win. “Thank you.” 

You nod in approval, poking her forehead for some fun. “Great. No going out for you today. Not until you’re back to normal. You know the rules.” 

The gentle clatter of the silverware along the plate compliments the soft scuffle of your feet along the floor. You’re not thinking too much about what happened last night, drawing up the conclusions that it was a one-time thing. Anything beyond that reason would bring in plausible deniability. 

But you carry on with the simple house chore with Kazuha unknowingly staring from behind: biting her lip. 

–

Ironic about the unproductive day, you do everything but that. 

Emails, papers, evaluations, your endless editing of the resume, the Spoitfy window with the classical music playlist, all of it eats up the time. With the occasional step out to grab some food or a cup of water - or maybe Yunjin piggybacking you as an attempt to get you away from the desk- 

“I know you big baby,” you wheeze, feeling Yunjin’s nose against the nape of your neck, “Just let me finish one more thing and then we can do something. Promise.” 

“You said that last time,” she groans, corralling her arms tighter on your shoulders, toes barely touching the floor, “Maybe I should change the password to your desktop so you don’t go to it first thing in the morning. It’s a dangerous addiction.” 

“It’s called a routine,” you rebuke. 

“I know your password,” argues Yunjin. 

“Might have to change it again.” 

She gets off when you settle back in the office chair, her arms still wrapped and pressing her lips on to your cheek, making you giggle at the sudden assault of touches. To her defense, they’re pretty effective - her way of swaying you to lose your concentration. You don’t think twice when she forces you to put down the phone before lunch or dinner, or when you’re out with friends and she thinks it would be a great idea to send you nudes knowing very well that it’s not meant to be seen publicly. Her hair starts to pool over your front, smelling like apple rose and aloe. “So you’re saying it’s not ‘huhyun108’? Are you serious?” And she’s got you all figured out - the many angles of pressure points to slowly give in towards. Picking and choosing her battles carefully, but you don’t go down from a fight that easily. 

“Gonna change it now, actually,” you say, fast tapping on the keyboard. “Find it best for you not to look.” 

Yunjin cackles as you’re pushing her face away, pulling the chair along with you. 

–

Yunjin doesn’t have to do too much: all it takes is one breath and a few sly words and she gets what she wants. 

She’s adamant with what’s hers: lipstick mark on your neck? That’s Yunjin. Her white scrunchie on deck at your wrist for when she can’t deal with her hair? Also Yunjin - supplying to the demand was always her kind of thing. 

It’s midweek, at the point in the day where things get stagnant and there isn’t anything of interest to note, the usual grace period where the thought of doing nothing is considered the best option. Yunjin keeps watching that same netflix series, dissatisfied with how the current season played out. To compensate: she rewatches the second season for the sixth time and her key point was the fact the two most popular contestants really hit it off, but never got together. 

That wasn’t the main concern, however. 

“She hasn’t been out of her room since yesterday,” Yunjin pouts, long legs stacked on top of yours and restraining. “I’m getting a little worried.” 

“I saw her go to the kitchen and back earlier,” you inform, tossing popcorn into your mouth. “She did have that pilates session around lunch. You know Zuha, and her cardio.” 

“That door’s been shut a little too long,” she mumbles, not entirely ruling out your observation. “I know that there’s the unspoken rule for privacy, but I’m genuinely curious what the girl’s been up to. She seems a bit-” 

“Closed off?” You fill in, completing the train of thought. “You may be right with that.” 

“Mmm,” Yunjin agrees. 

“Wait it out some more, then we’ll see what happens.” 

–

(You wonder a bit too much, and get caught off guard as a consequence. 

You haven’t moved from the couch, with Yunjin fast asleep at your side. The position so comfortable, you could honestly pass out here and wake up eons later - a tempting idea to entertain, and a plausible action to consider. 

Kazuha appears from the hallway, rubbing the tiredness off from her three hour nap. A bit bizarre to nap past 8 PM, but that’s her thing. Her shirt is so baggy that it covers some of her thighs, toes spread on the floor before she continues to make headway to the fridge. Hair frizzled in messy waves and moving gently in every step. 

So you initiate first, “Hey,” and you layer that with a lean back of the head of the couch so she can see you better in the dim light. “Everything good?” 

Kazuha twists her body towards your voice, gaze stoic and quiet, fingers twisting the bottle cap open and fiddling it around. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” 

“Good to know,” and your words come casual. Unbothered. As if you heard enough to carry on and leave her be, aware that she’s able to interact again. “Happy to hear your voice, like alive- or something.” 

“You sound worried,” says Kazuha, cringing. “Ew, don’t do that. It’s weird.” 

She doesn’t know you can hear her snort from the couch. 

“But you are okay, right?” You ask again. Kazuha’s backside twisting once more to face you, blinking carefully. Her expression shifts to something more misty, unclear. All she gives is a nod and hum. Doesn’t say anything after. 

At least she tells you that much.)

–

Okay, it’s probably bad that you’re keeping an eye on Kazuha - reserving a spot in your head to revisit that night over and over. Maybe it means something, or it doesn’t. 

It really, really shouldn’t. Like at all. But the recurring thought fills your mind at some point between the passing days. 

“I’m heading out now.” Kazuha says to you sweeping through the kitchen, bag in hand and behind Yunjin. “Won’t be back until later probably.” 

“Where are you headed this time?” Yunjin leans over, resting her head. 

“Sakura called me to be her muse for her fashion portfolio. Said I fit the profile with the outfits she has in mind. Girl can crochet, but clothes? She has a really good fucking talent for them. I can see her go places.” 

“That’s our Saki,” Yunjin muses, hand up for Kazuha to acknowledge before making her way around the kitchen island, causing you to turn about face. She isn’t going to confront you about that (for God’s sake, you can’t stop thinking about it anyway), but rather stare you down because it’s the usual thing with her. 

It’s a little intimidating that she’s almost your height, with a body well maintained she could go twelve rounds if she wanted. Yunjin watches as Kazuha squints her eyes - works through the fridge for another cold bottle with her gaze trained on you. You and her exchange eyebrow expressions and read into the message through your eyes, Kazuha tilting her chin then breaking eye contact as you twist the other cheek. Next thing you know, her hand smacks your ass. 

“The fuck was that for?” You groan, clearly offended. “You’re the one who wanted the face-off.” 

“For being a dickhead,” Kazuha says with no color in her voice. “Also, thanks for saving me at the party while Sakura was getting railed outside. I owe you one.” 

“Amazing how you say things like that so casually,” you muse, cocking your head. “You’re welcome, I suppose.” 

Kazuha then flashes a look back with her hands now in the pocket of her hoodie. You can’t help but glance over to the defined frame of her face, the slope of her nose, her lack of makeup knowing very well that she’ll get a touch up from Sakura before the lookbook photoshoot. She’s painting a false picture with those baggy clothes she wears on a daily basis, but you and Yunjin are waiting to see the photos once they’re done. 

“Yunjin,” she says. 

“Hm?” Yunjin hums with food in her mouth. 

“Did I ever tell you about his decent looking face?” Kazuha concludes, tilting her head side to side for better angles. “Still a dickhead, though.” 

“Ha. Thanks.” 

She points her lips at you, a quirk of hers that she made as her habit. Her hand goes up in lieu of a goodbye and slides past the wall. 

–

“It’s hilarious because,” Yunjin catches herself mid snort, hand hiding her mouth, “The way they say Jurassic World is so funny to me. And the guy repeats it as ‘Jorassic Wurold’ like- the pronunciation is slightly off when he asks her about the movie.” 

You test the wording with your own mouth but emphasize on the syllables, trying to emulate what she observed from watching the other day. It distracts you from the assortment of ingredients spread out on the cutting table, falling into Yunjin’s shenanigans was always the daily driver no matter what the mood was on the hour. 

Midway through slicing some meats, you’re still practicing the wording on your lips. “Y’know, english is not everyone’s strong suit,” you tell her, portions set aside for some vegetables, leaning the other way to get a better view of your fingers, rolled up and not in the blade’s way, “gotta commend him keeping the conversation going. That takes effort.” 

Yunjin tilts the cup into her face, nodding in agreement; she’s got her legs crossed off the counter, feet pointed up when you glance back to see a hinted eyebrow. Bare face and long lashes fluttering - a light blush on her cheeks as she leans back and puts the bottom of the beverage upwards. 

She smacks her lips soon after, licking her teeth. “He was really into her, you saw it too.” 

The metal blade clacks against the wood. “Huh?” 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. You know who.” 

“Dex?” 

“Dex,” she repeats, pointing the empty cup in your direction. 

“I saw it happening, don’t worry,” you say, attention drawn back to the chopped up greens now being placed into a bowl. “Part of me was convinced that they would be together when they met from the get-go.” 

For a quick fill-in: it hasn’t been that long since Kazuha went out, a little over thirty to forty-five minutes at most. In that time, you and Yunjin managed to get through a third of a series she picked at random before she started to get more touchy with you. Like the good boyfriend you are - ready at every beck and call, you oblige. Yunjin swung both of her legs onto the seat of the couch, easing into the slow graze of your hands on her thigh, hand cupping her hips and raising the arch in her back when she felt the hard press of your hips against hers. She hates it when it comes to the teasing, but she’s actually a hypocrite on the fact that she does it all the time when you have your legs spread either sitting or laying down; when your brains are fucked into oblivion while she’s on top, bouncing on your balls without a care in the world for damage control. But you broke her brain a little when you grinded into her clothed cunt for fifteen minutes until one of your guys’ stomachs grumbled which put everything on hold for now. 

(There’s always a red herring to be said. For this one in particular, you coined it as: “gotta have that fuel for later, especially if we’re going for more than two rounds.”) 

“Thought so too,” says Yunjin, projecting her own insights when she lets herself down from the polished marble, setting her bearings headway towards you, tending to the ingredients. 

A pot gets put on top of the stove behind you, along with the chopped veggies. “Didn’t he also say that it was a bit late for him to pursue her?” You ask, twisting the dial until the clicking sets the burner to life, gaze locked on Yunjin who stops an inch away. “Something about not being a reliability because of what she’s doing for her career?” 

“Somewhere along those lines, the gap wasn’t too bad either, five years if I recall,” Yunjin supplies, unsure. 

“She was a neuro major, Yunjin.” 

“So?” 

“Dex has his own thing going too, doesn't he?” 

“If you really think about it, I thought it could’ve worked between the two. Yes, he was into her. He was also very amazed with what she was doing with her life. Not to mention the fact that these two clicked the moment he entered the competition as the wild card compared to the other guys. Oh, and that bombshell reveal that she was attending Harvard? Literally gagged the hosts when it first happened. Don’t forget that she was attracted to him for a minute before nothing eventually came to be? I remember showing you the video of those two after the season aired and you can still see the chemistry in them. Some people say that it wouldn’t work out since the scenario is long-distance, but the mother approved of the guy for crying out loud-” You grin and shake your head. Yunjin’s left completely baffled because of it. “-okay, I’m still a firm believer that those two are endgame. That’s my point. I have evidence and a solid reason to back it up. Go ahead, try and test me.” 

“No, I hear you.” You reel her in for a hug while her hands are on her hips. “If it were me, I would’ve thought long and hard about making a big commitment like that.” 

Yunjin sighs, hands sliding up your back. “I know. I really liked their vibe together.” 

Your hands get full of her ass, beneath the fabric of her shirt, laying prints in the mix of skin and threads. Yunjin puts her arms around your neck loosely, stacked and hanging with the slightest pull from her elbows. It’s in the most innocent of pretense, the suggestion heavily implied without the use of words at all. She leans up while you tilt down, meeting in the middle for that overdue relapse of addiction: the lips. She sighs, teeth claiming your mouth as her own, pulling the lovely part of flesh that makes you want to hear those familiar octaves as her body crumbles from the greediness and weight of your touch. 

Every kiss feels like a swan song; the desire of never letting go, press your face deeper into hers, leave a mark on the refreshed canvas waiting to be painted in inspiration and curated for no one else in the world to see. You’re aware that she’s willing to incite change, create something new, get in the right mindset of a familiar avenue in your head where there’s nothing but desperation. It’s in how her fingers rake through your hair, weave down your waist, to your hips, close to the spot where she wants to bring you out the most. 

Think of it as her picking up where she left off on the couch. You could’ve done it right then and there, but you didn’t. 

“Should’ve thought long and hard about earlier, right?” Yunjin teases, half-drunk already with her slack lips. 

“There’s a reason why I set you on the counter in the first place,” you huff, pushing her body past the stove, pinning her against the drawer. “Because of this. I know you, Yunjin.” You then lift her back up to the spot where she started, height difference elevated by a mere few inches. The top of her forehead rests on yours. 

“Such a buzzkill,” she concedes, pouting her heart away like it doesn’t do anything to you. Arms holding you hostage as you try to break free from her grasp. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some kisses around here?” 

“Not a lot,” you offer. 

“Says the person who’s trying to get rid of me.” She doubles down, ankles to your backside and limits the movement. Her exhale is satirical, hoping you’ll dish out the punishment. 

“Your stomach thinks otherwise.” You declare. Pushing her legs apart and retreating. You look over to the kitchen for anything within reach, and settle for an apple. You further the distance between Yunjin to grab it, toss it over as she catches it effortlessly - bites down the fruit in defeat, satiating the cravings. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

(She would much rather have your lips again or even your cock. The fire’s already started, and the water begins to boil.) 

The space feels so far between you two, yet so small. Yunjin holds the apple with her teeth, watches you round the corner of the counter - sees your eyes dart to an open box, the bundle of pasta in the plastic, a knife- something to divert your attention for the time being while you’re forming a strategy in your head - a game plan as to how you’ll deal with her tonight. 

You see: you think you know Yunjin, every part of her body and mind, inside and out. 

She debunks the theory right out of the gate. In a million ways you can’t wrap your head around.  

All she does is straighten her posture, spreads her legs across the glossy wood, and lifts up the fabric past her hips. 

There’s nothing fucking underneath. Just sweet, smooth thighs and her pretty pink glistening  pussy lips. 

It gets your mind racing in confusion: 

“Since when did you-” you’re taken aback, torn from being half-shocked and not-so surprised, also doubling down on the fact she definitely had panties on beneath that shirt. “Didn’t you have something there just a few minutes ago?” 

Yunjin is a master of her art, the trickery in the highest rank imaginable. You envy her intellect at times - her charms, the ways that she can make you speechless just by being herself. This very girl within the walls of your home she claimed as hers, who managed to seep into the nooks of your brain, poisoning you from within until you can’t go for a second longer without wanting to see her gorgeous face, hear her voice; feel her pull you down back to earth while also sending you straight to heaven. None of it really makes sense with her, nor is supposed to. You could go through multiple lifetimes in the existence of the universe and she’ll still find a way to be in all of them. 

Though, she doesn’t give you any chance of solitude with your thoughts. She raises her right hand behind her back, middle and ring finger holding the nylon as her admission of guilt. 

It earns her a small shake of your head, disappointed and impressed in the same moment.  

“Sleight of hand, mister,” she tuts, victorious. Her thumb then grazes against the nylon before falling into its fated purgatory of the floor below. She catches you zoning out, doing two loud clicks of her tongue to keep your eyes on the prize. “My eyes are up here, by the way.” 

“Where did you think I was looking?” 

“Probably at something that matters.”

“And that is?” 

“Fuck if I know- oh wait, I do know. You’re just not doing anything about it.” 

“Want me to proclaim it out loud?” You inquire, sardonically - as if you were willing to play along with her little game of pragmatics, read into the lines of a script and catch the nuances of a hidden message past the sentences. “State the obvious since the naivety is starting to become unbearable for you?” 

“I never said that,” Yunjin rebukes. Hand sliding down to her legs - those dainty fingers having their own fun. 

And you begin your endeavor back to her. One graciously little step at a time. 

Your ears tick at the sudden hitch of breath, muffled by the apple blocking her mouth. It’s on purpose. God help her. She curls her fingertips at the first dip inside her cunt the more you glide over the floor. The weight of your feet becomes less heavier and lighter in every move. Yunjin’s head bumps the cabinet, hips tensing at the rush of her fingers sliding across her folds. She won’t fuck herself like this. No- she would prefer to have you deal the actual blows to her body when you’ve finally decided enough is enough. We’re getting there, don’t worry. Just. A little. Push. 

She finally lets the apple go from her mouth, off to where it’ll most likely be disregarded into the sink or the trash. You can’t stop the constant twitching your hands are doing; so while the pathway is clear, you take into account of the bubbling pot next to you, putting a lid on to make the gurgling much more muted, zero in on the vibrations rumbling in Yunjin’s throat, focus on the rise of her chest. 

Her head drops and to the side, the pull of fabric molding to her figure. Emphasizing on the curves of her waist, those mounds, the present appearance of her hard nipples. The implications clear as day in the form of a seductive summoning. 

But you start slowly: a hand to her knee, then the other. Anticipation is killing you both. 

Landfall.

“What am I gonna do with you?” You sigh, looking down at the sight of Yunjin touching herself, thick air being expelled from your lungs, wiping your inner self clean before repurposing to acclimate the need of getting dirty again. 

Yunjin pulls a lazy grin, beautifully - and leans back while her hips slips forward. Her grip guides your wrists over her skin, shirt hiked up past her waist and into her hips by the second. “You don’t have to say or do if you want to.” She offers, but that’s the setup. “Just wisely biding your time.” 

Not much of it has changed, the way you willingly sink down to your knees. You’re romantic about it - deserves a smirk for the appreciation. You glance up to her toffee shaded eyes, fingers rotating to hook firm on the peak of her thighs, extend your arms up high like she’s some sacred treasure, proffering. “Darling,” and the singular word sets the rest of the testament into place, the burgeoning intention of her demise at your hands. You think back to a week ago: where she found herself in the familiar pecking order, back on the linoleum with her elbow as faulty support, splitting her open and feel her body go limp when you made her cum like she suggested. Your mouth freezes with a gasp when you look closely at her seeping slit, heart stopped as you examine in awe. “I’ll have all the time in the world,” you mumble - or what’s close, honestly - into the plush surface of her thighs, brush your lips down a familiar path you know very well. “But you, gotta slowly show me you deserve it.” 

Her breath hitches again, hesitating. Nerves seizing muscle right where they are. 

“At this rate we’ll be here all night,” she hums, eyes torn from gazing down and spacing out to something in the distance. “Not that I mind, of course, but-” she then nibbles on her lip at the feeling of yours on her legs, deluded and washed over with lust to forget about everything else, “dinner’s still on the cards, yes?” 

“Pick up that apple. You eat while I eat, how bout that?” You propose the solution. One which Yunjin can’t ignore. 

She reaches for the apple and stares into the yellow crater, taking another bite. Cheeks full of fruity bits. “I could get used to this,” her jaw trembling and breath spilling out in a shudder. “Wouldn’t you rather hear-” 

Her neck loosens at the swipe of your tongue over her folds, apple tossed off to the side one more likely never to be eaten again. She leaks out a little more slick for you to clean up, and it’s delightful. Yunjin fancies the idea of scooting her hips forward, thighs hanging out and barely her ass on the counter, providing you more space to work with when your arms hook around the swell of her ass and pull her closer, hand quick to the crease of her knee to put her heel on your collarbone and takes her fingers into your hair, spread one side of her folds and dip your tongue in some more, consuming the warmth down your throat and eat her out alive. 

“Honey,” you proclaim with an arch to your eyebrow, breathless, “You’re fucking leaking.” 

Yunjin pulls this devilish grin, yanks your head back a little further back for you to look up, face twisted with madness. Staring deep into your soul, insatiable. “Your turn to eat, baby.” 

Very few people can play your game, but Yunjin was a whirlwind full of surprises. Each one more shocking than the last. 

“What’s wrong? Speechless?” she asks, but doesn’t give you a second to respond when she reels your head back in. 

So you put your mouth back what’s rightfully yours: press your tongue into her aching cunt and save the words for later. 

You hear her wince, picturing the pained expression in the creased eyebrows, eyes closed shut, jaw hung low. She grinds your face deeper, much deeper to the point where she’s needy enough to feel the light graze of your teeth. 

You slide your fingers into her, unfazed when her knees close your head in, giving you no chance to breathe. Her pants increase in pace, falling apart just a few inches above you. The sounds are absolutely wonderful, blessing you with the harmonious repertoire of moaning spilling out of her mouth - lapping up the wetness at the curl of your finger, cleaning up the salty sweetness of her arousal, slick spread across skin and the sensitive response of her clawing hand into your hair. 

Yunjin’s hair starts to pool over the front of her face, the sight alone is a delight in itself. The ripped collar showing more of her pale shoulder, handfuls of the shirt now undone as her other hand joins the fray on your head, body clenching and relaxing - unsure on which choice is the right one. You and her both listen in to the soft licks and wet smacks of skin and folds, hear her giggle in relief until your nose brushes up against her clit, throbbing core given a quick second of grace before you dive back in and don’t spare a chance for her to breathe. She asked for this, and you expect her to handle it as best she can. Until she’s whimpering and desperate and begging to be more useful than just your mouth and hands. Till she has to say the very words herself in what she wants, while her frame trembles delicately. 

More, more. The boiling pot next to you starts to bubble past the cover, droplets of water hitting the grill and sizzling. You push your tongue in deeper, get the gloss over your lips, pull her folds apart wider and hit the same spot where it kills her over and over, notice the curl of her toes into your shirt, dig her heel deep into the threads. Yunjin bites down her teeth, hand to her breast and gripping tightly. The bubbles start to lift the lid, popping. 

“Can you - be - even more - god, holy fuck-” she spits, words stuttering as her hips slide out over the edge, prompting you to hold her high, drop your jaw even more, kiss and suck the untouched areas and spread her legs. She gasps. “Baby,” she laughs even louder, slapping her palm down on the countertop, “God, I can’t believe-” 

She rucks her hips upward, mimicking a thrust. Your head fades out the rest of the outside noise. 

“-you, of all people-” And a moan pierces your ears, the sound heavenly. Yunjin’s hand palms the back of your head as you start to alternate an up and down motion. Her high imminent, in the curl of your knuckle and lick of your tongue pushing her closer to that pedestal. You push and pull, let the grip of her fingers guide you to the spots where she needs it. Her way of life: the taste of her; warm and addicting. “Fuck, s-shit, there- there! Right there-” 

You open your mouth even more, drinking her mess until she has you drowning in it. Her swollen cunt’s quivering. You can’t help yourself but smile. 

“Need your mouth, your tongue- your- fuck-” 

You’re happily swimming. 

It’s even better when her chest is puffed up, back arched. At a loss for words and just straight up gone. You hold her down as she’s shaking and suck her pussy for your own benefit - devouring her relentlessly, voice broken to a shriek as her juices gush around your tongue and fingers, groaning lowly while you carry on licking the mix of plush-soaked skin, feel the lingering effects of her orgasm leave her body with a harsh pull of her clit on your lips. 

She’s trying everything to calm down, head lightly tapping the cabinet behind her. Clawed fingers releasing their grasp as you help yourself up, legs loosely wrapped around yours and posture reduced to a slouch. “Hate you, by the way. I hate you the way that you are.” She tells you, arms barely placed on your shoulders, slipping. “Why do you have to be so good at being a douche?” 

“Don’t follow your point,” you dart back with a sigh. Height restored and hands back to where they started: on her knees; you cock your head to the right, get a closer look at Yunjin’s messy hair, rumpled shirt, thighs glistening and pink- 

She smacks the side of your neck, earning a pitiful laugh. You’re aware that she loves these kinds of treatments: the kind of treatment where you want her to tenderly run her hand down your face, whisper in your ear of all the things she wants you to do, sliding deep into her cunt and let the heat consume you, wanting - you’ve got get a grip, seriously. She has your head spiraling and somehow you always come out on top of it; the usual bouts where the victor has already been decided. “One day, you’ll see what I mean.” 

“I have a hard time understanding you and Kazuha as it is,” mouth agape, bearing no mind to the act she’s trying to pull. Unpredictability was one of Yunjin’s strong suits and that was no surprise: peeling her shirt off over her shoulders and lifting the veil hiding the endless curves of her body - the slutty little waist, long thighs, her breasts- 

“Maybe I can help you with that,” she offers, lacking judgement. Her hand slips underneath your sweats, fingers taking hold of your cock, confirming her suspicions. Your mouths meet once again, sloppily, you giving leeway after eating out her cunt and in return she has you twitching. “Goodness me,” she mutters into the warmth of your mouth, tempted, rubbing that effect on you. “I bet you’re just dying to stick this inside of me already.” 

“Watch your mouth.” 

“Or what-” she grins lazily. 

You grasp the skin a little bit tightly as your other hand cups her cunt, the heel of your palm digging into her clit. 

“-fuck, that’s what you meant,” her voice diminishing with lidded eyes. 

You then quickly take into account the small funnel of air blowing from the cover; the whirr of the vent above coming to life. 

Yunjin scoots herself over the counter, sees you tug your cock out of pants, lip to teeth as it gently touches her skin. It’s all part of the pecking order, how things build up high to eventually fall - second nature, muscle memory, all the same. 

She’s got her arms and legs around you, inching her hips forward to speed up the process, hopeful in you wrecking her body as always: “You know, not talking isn’t gonna get you everywhere if you don’t do it,” she goes on, no care for your fidgeting hands rubbing up and down her thighs. 

“What the hell is this, a silent treatment?” she asks again, impatience starting to get to her. “C’mon, say something.” 

You serve her anything but that, slicking your fingers with her cum and tap the pads into her skin, gently feeling her sensitive clit to make her lose her train of thought. She’s incessant, but it’s rare for her to be less on the offensive in pressing you for once, so you’ll take full advantage of it. 

“What do you want me to say? I’ve already told you about my observations,” you answer, digits sliding in her cunt and the girl just nods. She’ll notice but still talk out of her ass, since she loves the thrill. Her accompanying grin along with the lip bite and wink sells the whole image, leans you in with the shirt wrapped around your neck, pulling. The small twinge of romance attached. 

The shirt then crumples on the floor when she lets go. 

“That I’m fucking leaking? You sucked me clean, I can barely feel my legs.” 

“Right,” you laugh, working her face some more until her hands go languid. 

Her look goes curt, dismissive. Lashes fluttering in every blink because that’s the second best thing she has in her bag of tricks, aware of the double-edgedness it ensues. She inhales sharply, quick, sudden, bracing the tip of your cock sliding across her folds. “How long has it been since you last fucked me? Yesterday? Two days ago? Finally having your fun since I sucked you off last time, hm?” 

“I don’t need to answer that,” you rebuke. “There’s no point to it.” Is the everlasting conclusion. 

She cocks her head to the left. Elbow holding her up in the best way she can, arching her back again, your cock in position at her awaiting entrance, cup your fingers into her hip. “Don’t blame me for killing you this time.” 

Her face steadies, frozen. Then: the lines of her face warble, mouth dropping. Cunt inviting your tip pressing in. 

“Like I ever would,” she scoffs, right hand to the back of your neck, clinging. “This is what I wanted, remember?” 

(The way that she’s spread, heel hooking to your knee, she’s stripped and defenseless against you. It’s the guilty pleasure you have as her pussy accommodates you, all wet and inviting that it won’t be a struggle to fit in one seamless push. Regardless: that part alone makes sense.) 

“Question is,” you murmur during the break of eye contact, staring lower at the view of your cock finally slips inside and see the quick contraction of her stomach - like she was ready to take a punch to the gut - glancing back up and watch her eyelids flutter at the feeling. “You can’t do anything in this situation, can you?” This girl just came in your mouth a few minutes ago but she’s takes you in with no problem: filling every inch of you in a beautifully fucked up missing piece that she’s constantly deprived of every time. You dig your fingers deep into the skin, stop halfway, then continue to wrench out every inch of her walls. 

“God,” Yunjin grits, breath seething in the gaps of her teeth, brows furrowed. “Go to- fuck-” 

She doesn’t even finish the sentence when you push further. Replaced with a moan instead; her cheeks and nose wrinkle, fingers balled up to a fist behind and her elbow shaking. Her head barely keeping herself together with the cabinet as a last support, failing terribly. 

You stop your movements because the lines on her face are forming toward a familiarity: nervous, dazed, hesitant. A quick twitch of your head negates all of those thoughts away and instead focuses on ramming your hips into her, the clash of skin rippling through you and her both. 

It’s the bravado that she carries, the playfulness, her shift of her sly words, withering and fading at the amount of you: she’s fighting every fiber of muscle to sputter out her needs, though the sweat and slick spread out over body make up in the defilement of her undoing. You can see through her bullshit, and all she sees is the glide of your shaft back into her pussy - the width of you stretching so effortlessly her body forms a jagged line along the frame, mewling and bucking forward. Your fingers hold her hips still, drag your cock along the tightness, fill her up until she says otherwise. 

“Makes no sense,” Yunjin huffs, gasping, head halfway in the gutter, trying to form a point. Her hands try to carry out her words, clinging, cock-full at the lean up, foreheads clashing. She whines into your skin, “Jesus- holy shit, dear fucking Christ-” 

You’ll swallow her words and understand her completely. 

Well- to say that her hot cunt is incredible would suffice so much. The more you push, the more the connection feels like it’s meant to be, in all the filth and the intimacy that’s thrown without thinking of the repercussions after. 

You’ll give your praises and thanks - how her pussy grips around your cock so snug and tight and perfect, sing it into the skin and walls around you, paint it over as many times you’d like. To have a girl like her: a muse, with the desire and hunger impossible to resist, make you sink deeper and deeper where it won’t feel suffocating. 

“Yeah?” you hear yourself say. Like you needed to explain yourself again. “Wouldn’t you know it.” 

The strokes. You’re fucking up into her so nicely, give her no chance to breathe, legs hooked around your thighs. She’s opening up her body to you - you’re marking your own territory: shower her face with kisses, suck the skin across her neck, slide your arms underneath her back and keep pounding at the one angle where the trembling reaches her throat, presses her tongue to the back row of her teeth. 

Christ, you really have no care; roughing her up on the kitchen counter right before dinner time. The fan above you two continues to whirr the smoke in the air where it masks the bundle of moans and curses spewing out of her lips. You could feel her fingers drag across your back, keeping herself close to you, fearful that you’ll stop like earlier and make her beg for more until she has her fix. 

“Baby, baby, holy fuck,” you follow her voice, brushed up against your ear, sift your eyes back onto her and watch her loose mouth. She swallows, grazing the crown of her head to yours. “This cock, I fucking love it. I fucking love it so much, I could die here with how you’re-” 

You shut her up, meet in the middle. Line up the beating of your heart to the move of your hips, lock your arms around her back; she’ll come crawling for that high again, blinded by the guarantee of you forcing her orgasm later. 

“Yunjin,” you grit. Nearing that inevitable crash-out. It’s a never ending cycle of madness. Her cunt is eating your cock alive, soaking your waist. You want it all. 

You want her to cum again: this time on your cock; you want to carry her in her arms, fuck your cock without her feet touching the ground; you want her to scream your name so loudly that it breaks the windows around the house. You’ll never have enough of the indescribable body and feeling that she has, ruining you over and over - not to mention her mouth - that too, is another dangerous addiction. 

A fair bout. The fight for who's bolder. Who can make the other person more vulgar by the second. 

These things have been decided right from the start. 

Yunjin muffles a whimper behind her lips, cock clogging up her cunt like she’s backing away, hiding. 

“Need it, need it so fucking much,” she hushes. “You- your cock. Can never get enough of my pretty little cunt - fuck I should just let you fuck me all day, all night, whenever you feel like it.” Her voice is rasped, the words alone sinister: “Warm you up when you least expect it, yeah? You’d like that, don’t you-” She yelps, nose scrunching when you bottom out and press your groin up against her clit, stomach contracting and relaxing as if she’d done five minutes of planking. 

So you drag out and thrust in - slam your hips into hers, holding the motion there, repeating it soon after. Her hand files up to the cabinet door above and shove your cock down to the hottest point, where the wobbles of her waist finally reach up to her tits. 

Because that’s really the only thing there is to it. Brain fucked out to mush with the marks and glistening sweat spread across, remnants of what the short period has passed. 

Like you can’t help yourself. It’s in the enamored looks, the pockets of air siphoned before it’s coughed out, in the blissful enjoyment of fucking your slick cock in and out. “Holy shit,” she’s saying, head toppled off and arm going limp. She saves the energy for other than talking - let the waves of pleasure sweep her body and have you project her thoughts out for her: delirious and maniacal. “I hear- yeah- Okay. Okay, you said it yourself.” 

Of course she agrees, and she knows. Whittled down to the fine rawness of it. What else is there left to say? 

She’s amazingly gorgeous and beautiful - a gift from God himself. You remind her every time like it’s the first. When her lips met the end of your cock months ago, blowing your world away, the stretch of her pussy swallowing you whole and the tension was undoubtedly abysmal. Another second passes a shared breath: Yunjin-god-fucking-dammit, and there’s a bunch of other shit that gets said, listless and nonsensical where the only thing left to do is let the blistering warmth and clashing tongues do all the work for the both of you. 

It’s normal: the way that she clings like she hasn’t seen you for days - leaning back with an arch and quite literally her feet off the ground. 

Every moan sounds punctuated lazily, whining and whimpering and in a pitch where she almost sounds scared. 

Still, she’s lost the plot: “Fuck me.” 

That’s where everything clicks, a flame extinguished and replaced for something new, something profound: her face clenches in the quick swap of pain to relief, when you’ve put your cock at a spot inside where she sobs; the pleasure so intense the both of you exhale in unison, almost like a ‘got you’ moment entirely. 

“Honey,” you say against her cheek, fingers planted in the divot of her lower back, spreading her so well the motion is absolutely seamless, a perfect fit and pace to ruin. “Look at you, so lovely; this fucking cunt feels amazing; oh my goodness.” Your words are making sense, barely, but it’s always on this path since you’ve met the girl; you just can’t help yourself. “I adore this pussy a little too much, don’t you think?” 

“So funny, ah-” she quips, a smile brandished across her lip, eyes rolling to the back of her head, holding on to the last bits of common sense left, knowing well there’s no point. “I’d let you, to be honest. A good deal: my pussy for your cock. Fair trade?” 

“Fuck yes,” is what slips out of your mouth, a truth to savor for eternity. “Want it all.” 

It goes both ways: she wants to peg complete bullshit to you, say her fantasies of how big of a slut she can actually be, fuck that snark out of her until she’s satisfied - but then you watch and listen to the more mundane things she does, and your head can’t comprehend it either. You want her, her mind, her body, the secrets that she keeps locked up in a box sunk in the bottom of a river; things that she doesn’t want anyone to find out about; where the dares of admission only comes once in a blue moon and she tries to pass it along in conversation. 

You could make an endless list as to what makes Yunjin a treasure to behold, to keep - proclaim it out loud like you haven’t done so already - a collapsing, beautiful madness, honestly. She’s holding you so close and you can’t afford to let go. That’s just how it is. All it takes is one look into her eyes and you never want to leave. 

“You’re amazing,” you say to her, breathless. 

Yunjin’s lashes flutter shut immediately after. As if you had to tell her again and again. 

Her hips stay still while yours continue to move, every aftershock sent through her body creates these ridges you’re proud of, ankles to the swell of your ass, clamping around your cock, grinding teeth with her voice croaking: “-good, so good, so fucking good, please, for the love of God-” 

Her upper lip arches the more she inhales, mouth hung open as the moans crumble on top of each other. Most have complained about the increase in occupancy, the hollers of a drinking game, midnight conversations about relationship mishaps and failures, bassline of a song that reverberates on the drywall and the occasional shouting battles that usually ended up stopping after a few minutes. Your neighbors do hear the constant pounding at some point during the day, annoyed and fed up like they didn’t want to have the fun themselves, each thrust bouncing her where her breasts jiggle on the upstrokes, palm full of them, the feel firm and heavy; and you look at her face again - where a certain crease of skin, above her brow, and you know that she’s going to lose it over your cock, how her limbs will surrender willingly, reduced to mush and cradling the fuck through her. 

Yunjin’s arm springs forward over your shoulder. You pull her up, sit upright, body bouncing with her ass well off the counter, the angle primed and ready where the shocks to her ass start to become a cushion, tits wobbling and hypnotic and bouncing; you keep- keep fucking her little hole with no regard for her life. 

It’s right where she wants you to be. 

You’ll lay your flowers later, if you’re even alive to tell the tale: how Yunjin is completely destroyed by your shaft. Her hair frazzled, eyes half open and head tilted towards shame and in the closest iteration of a cocksleeve it could get. She’s so fucked into oblivion where it’s worth having served the verdict. The last moments of light that you want to keep forever, stay as long as you can. 

When her lips meet yours, sweeping: a part of you starts to break beneath the cracks. 

She’s trying so hard to keep a hand to your waist, then the counter, but you’re holding with every bottom out at the base and you entertain the idea where you could go any deeper, fuck her harder- 

“Just-” she pleads, into your mouth, right on your tongue. “Yours. All yours. Fuck me like it’s the only thing that matters-” 

“Jen,” you groan out raggedly, lock your elbows to her chest, matching the drag of her nails. 

“Gonna cum so much,” is what you think she says. “Look at you, such a good boy.” Her pointer finger grazes the line of your jaw. “Plugging me full, I know you love it,” she dryly laughs, lightly pinching your hip when she hears the hint of a squelch of your cock sliding back in her, “this big, fucking cock,” and she’s really not helping you in this situation, claiming you as her own, soul snatched with no hope of returning it: “Pumping and pumping until I can’t get enough. Fuck. You’re so good at this, so fucking naughty. Got you all hard and needy for me - pounding my poor little pussy just to set me right,” this girl is fucking demonic, with the stuff that she’s telling you, her body right there in your hands; you haven’t been thinking straight since you’ve gone down on her - that cunt, her pussy lips gliding your cock with her slick soaking you endlessly- 

“Shut the fuck up,” is what you manage, a futile attempt to stop her. Like it would ever work at all. “Don’t do that. Don’t do this to me.” It’s impossible. You’re so easy to trick, gullible enough to fall for anything that comes out of her mouth, let her take the advantage and leave you with nothing at the end. She believes that you’ve had your fun, and the turn switches back to her. 

“Or what?” Yunjin smiles, nearing bliss. “Wanna cum on me? In me? Use your words, baby boy.” 

You swear, or something close to that. 

The rush becomes too much to bear, the thought of doing what she exactly wants: pulling your cock out of her tight cunt and paint your load all over her stomach, or- the more addicting idea of burying your dick inside her so deep that your release has a one way trip - you simply just- can’t. You shouldn’t. Not because to play it safe, but you’re safeguarding the responsibility of the filthiness that comes with it - what you could do - what you’ve done to her. Instead, you should throw her onto the floor, on her knees, shove your cock down her dirty mouth and cum in her throat or on her face, watch her clean up the mess you’ve made, press the thick tip of your cock on her plump lips and have her taste the sweetness of you. Have her drink it down until she has those doe brown eyes of hers looking up in acceptance. She’s beautiful: in the most fucked up, soaking, ginger-haired possible way imaginable. 

“Let- let me-” you sputter towards a growl, but you can’t keep up with her words and replace it with the pace - how her cunt fits your cock so well like a perfect shoe, lengthy frame detrimental to yours. “Fuck, just let me-” 

“Mhm,” she hums, unfazed. 

“Fuck this slutty little cunt of yours,” you finally manage, and more of a promise already written; you continue to fuck into her, snap your hips in where your balls start knocking above the pucker of her ass, working your cock along those velvety walls, feel the gush with every squeeze of muscle along her pussy, stretching amazingly with the clench. 

“Keep going.” She prods at your waist. 

Oh, she knows where this is going. It’s hot. It’s diabolical. It just feels right. You’re convinced that she’s figured you out, but playing dumb on purpose to see you admit it right in front of her. She sees the quick rise and fall of your chest - your shoulders, fingers grasping pale skin as it turns to something crimson, glance at the devilish smile she possesses that severs all the nerves in your brain: you are so fucking down bad for this woman, and you can’t do anything about it. 

“Keep-” 

“I know,” and you do. 

“Love this. Love you. Love everything that’s happening,” says Yunjin, praising. “Tell me all the things- the things you want to do to me.” 

“Sweetie,” you gasp at the next firm thrust, “gonna put my cock in your mouth, fuck your throat until you choke,” you snap, madness fully consmed, “fuck your holes full and then-” 

Then what? Have her ask to pound her ass? Ride you? Make her scream with the doors wide open? What more could you say or do that isn’t in the cauldron of pure insanity- 

“Use me more,” Yunjin sighs, and that’s the crystal clear thought pulled right out of your cock, “take me, grab wherever, I just need- god, your cum- want your cum so fucking much,” each word in that sentence rising an octave, “Cum,” a simple mantra, a demand. Yunjin’s creaming cunt, filling her up whole, you’re gonna burst inside and she’ll happily accept it as a gift, getting off on the sound ripping through your chest, hips bucking, legs tensing, her lower half quivers beneath you; attitude reduced to soft sounds, you taking full advantage with the fall-off imminent. 

Some of these things, you can’t afford to think; fucked up as it is, it’s better to revel in the silliness and disregard the common sense. 

“Oh fuck,” you hear her breathe, tone low and insanely turned on, her smile already showing she’s won. “Fuck yes-” 

But even if you’re splitting her insides apart, a small fraction of control rests within you, feeling the curves of her body ripple, in a slowing rhythm, pound her cunt for one more second and finally give her the reward. 

A rope of cum is all she gets on the inside; as for the rest- 

“Yes- wait no, fuck- what are you doing?” Yunjin sounds completely in shock for what you’ve committed, snuff the flame out from her pulsing cunt, slide yourself out of the tightness, hold her leg up since she’s too weak to resist. You’re going to hell, but so is she. Painting all over the flat plane of her stomach, coating her pale skin with your cum. “You fucking bitch- that doesn’t belong there,” but she’s too fucked out to do anything about it, and you don’t even bother to dish out a good comeback, let the actions do the talking for you: “Put it back, please, please,” and you do as she says. 

It’s a fresh feeling, the way her warmth envelops your soft cock, holding it so nicely as you help her sit back up properly. Mouth back on you instantaneously. 

“I’m gonna get back at you,” is what she says against your grazing lips, brushing her cheek along the tip of your nose. Her nails lightly scratch your back, ruffles into your hair. “If you’re up for it, you’ll follow.” 

“Challenging me? A bit crude, even for you,” you remark - she grins into your face, slides off the counter, fingers dancing along your slick, softening cock. 

A familiar look in her eyes. Telling you, yeah, I know - underlying the surface, but she’s got her entire hand in every crook of your brain, unfaltering: “We’ll see.” Then she says, “Get your ass on the sofa.” 

–

If there’s anything you learned about Yunjin: she never backs down from her word. 

Oh- and your mouth’s formed in the way she wants it to be. You’ve got it all wrong there, too. 

She tells you to keep your hands on the seat, at the sides and on the ready; impulsively, you want to pick up right where you left off from the kitchen, eyes locked between your legs, her head graciously bobbing up and down, vibrations all over the sensitive surface - feeling the pinching cramp in your backside, tensing the muscle, swallowing the opposite end of you with ease. 

Her lips stop halfway when you raise your hand a bit too high for her liking. 

“Fuck me, Yunjin,” you mutter, watching her sink your cock into her throat. “Don’t do that.” 

Yunjin flashes a glare, flutters her eyelids shut, drags her head back up and gasps. Her mouth is one thing. Her hands? They show you no mercy. You’ve been in this scenario before - a lot of times for some quick context, so tonight isn’t any different. She’s working you tightly at your balls and the base, intending to wring you clean of the release you should’ve left inside her. The one-two punch killer enough to leave you paralyzed from the waist down; she runs her mouth on the tip, tongue tracing a vein and the underside, curling her fingers and stroking so delicately- 

Yeah. You’re pretty much fucked like this. It’s a losing situation. 

Your head falls back while your hips slide forward, turning your body over to her mouth which earns a moan in response. The look on her face is deadly, and the sounds ripping through your chest implicates your high not far to reach. Those fucking plump lips: well parted and sliding all over her spit, moving back up and sinking again, the suction a bit more forceful the second time around, cheeks puffing and hollowing, blinking dutifully. 

She knows how badly you want to fuck her face, shove your cock into her mouth and expect a reward in return. Yunjin knows you want to get there, eventually, pulling herself off and twists your shaft, sees the tilt of your chin to the ceiling, relishing the submission. 

“So fucking hard,” she grins, examining the mix of her spit and slick all over you, listening to the wet noises she created. “I can’t wait to taste your cum again.” 

She’s too good for your own sake, and you can’t fight back on it. 

“Be a good little toy and relax,” Yunjin instructs gently. Puckering her lips and slapping your sensitive head all over them. Soft. Lucious. Sinful. Her innocent blinks fail to cover it, nor the fact how pretty she looks with a pensive expression: it’s evil. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

You nod right away and she dives back down. Her tongue rubs around the tip between her lips, flattening to slide you into the softness and sleek feeling of her throat, bathing you with spit when your hips produce the slightest hitch. She’s had enough practice with you - to know how her tongue moves in all the ways she knows you love, easily bottoming the whole length like she has before, determined to hear you groan in rapture, and you do. 

“Christ, Yunjin- baby-” you grit, and your head falls back to the head of the couch. 

When she sucks, you flex your ankles forward. The mess worsens before it gets better, streams of drool leaking over your cock. She spreads it around with her mouth, her fingers, palm flattening, her lips fully sealed at the root, her nose digging into your waist. You’re amazed and how well she takes you, holding her head down for a few seconds - that’s the personal trial she set for herself: how long she could keep you there, the flex in her neck, gurgling and choking. It’s also dangerous in the fast switch up from the clamp of her throat to the alternating pace of her flushing your cock in and out, deepthroating you to the point where she can feel your whole body twitch. A pressure point, cutting the line until it’s completely severed. 

You’re sucking so much air into your lungs, creating a pocket at your waist. She pops her mouth off the tip and has the audacity to cackle in your face. 

She’s testing the endurance to it’s limit, her slick hands wrapped well around your shaft when she tends to your balls, getting mouthful of each one and peppering them with licks and kisses, hair pooling over your waist and to your thighs, knowing how good she as at fucking breaking you. There’s no denying that your girlfriend is an irresistible cockslut and personal toy, since the part goes both ways when it’s the right occurrence. Once she’s through the few moments of breathing, her jaw slacks and takes you back in, hearing you huff at the subtle graze of her teeth. 

The moan sputters out on impulse as you get careless and place your hand to Yunjin’s cheek, rubbing a thumb below her eye, and you could see the tick at the corner of her mouth break into a smile. She lifts her head up, giggles at the shudder of your thighs when her teeth taps your cockhead. “Aw, are you worked up already?” 

“More or less,” you answer, and it’s a sudden moment of grace, a blessing in disguise, mind telling the rest of your body to calm down as she slowly jerks you off. “You know me, I wouldn’t back down on your escapades,” and you moan again when she speeds up the pace, “Seriously, it’ll be on you if I cum like this.” 

She kisses your cock and licks. This girl can’t be helped. “What a shame. Hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

“We can do this all night if we have to, so why not?” 

Yunjin lets out a dry laugh. “We will, don’t worry,” she says, carefully pumping you and swipes her thumb over the slit, seeing the thread of precum bridged across, twisting at the middle. “It’s just been a while since we’ve had a conversation while I gave you head.” 

“What’s on your mind this time?” you inquire, playing into the deliberation, “Probably something intriguing, I assume.” 

Yunjin blinks, locks her finger and thumb around the base of your shaft. “You think Kazuha’s fucked a cock like this?” 

You stare, pondering, it takes a second longer for the question to set in because it’s entirely out of left field. “You’re asking me out of all people? How the fuck would I know? She doesn’t bring those kinds of details up with me whenever we talk about it.” 

“But I can’t help but wonder,” Yunjin tuts, hand carelessly sliding around you, nicking her head back. “Have you ever fantasized about your best friend?” 

“Yunjin, that’s just weird. Fuck no-” 

“Aw, you can be honest with me. You and I don’t keep secrets with her as it is, no need to hide.” 

She then tips her head, flickers her eyes up at the heavy sigh your mouth makes when her lips make contact with your cock. Her smile goes even wider, noticing the twitch at your eyebrow, how you’re clenching your teeth and bring your chest up to your shoulders - where she’s managed to work you up with the finesse and enchantment that’s simply exuded from her. 

There’s nothing much for you to do except sitting back and let Yunjin take your whole length into her mouth. No notes or objections for her to hear, but the sticky wet sounds slathering your shaft and your body moments away from finally giving the reward she rightfully deserves. 

“Pretty fucked up sense,” you’re mumbling your head off, moving wisps of her hair out of her face, thinking less and less as she stuffs her throat of you, keeling and leaning forward to where you’re lifting your ass off the couch. “Shit-” 

This is her version of a truth serum, a polygraph; her mouth and hands working beautifully in tandem, her collarbone vanishing into her neck, guiding you to the well-wrapped grip she has with her fingers, fucking you with panache in the hot curves of her throat. 

She loves it when you’re like this: bending to her will and getting you off with the tightest fist. Wringing you clean now that you’ve done the hard work. 

Her hand cups your balls, nails scratching the ridges. The pace she keeps is relentless, alternating from base to tip so excruciatingly well, twisting and jerking and fucking- 

“Mmph?” 

“You’d be surprised if I said yes.” 

Yunjin slides her mouth off once more, spits the underside, lapping up the slick. “No fucking way. You’ve thought about it before?” 

“Predates you, if you want me to be more specific.” 

She flashes the same wicked grin you’ve seen before, tongue tracing a path at the root. Pursing her lips when she inhales, taking in the scent. Legitimately, fuck her. Lashes fluttering heavy with the eyelids, pupils dilating and too faded for you to notice. “If it makes you feel better, I came to that conclusion a while back, just didn’t say anything.” 

“Were you sparing me?” 

Yunjin ticks her lips, still smiling, taking pride at the concurrence. “It is also hot for you to finally confess about her.” Her hand plants firmly at your thigh and you consciously thrust your hips back in, gasping in beautiful bliss. She swallows you back up again, clenching her throat and sealing where you’re blinking a lot more faster this time. That rose colored mouth humming along the skin with every puff of her cheeks, flushing it perfectly like it’s practiced. Her back arches and bends, unfazed with the constant shake of your right leg, all the motions culminating in your muscles and hers, rising and rising- 

“Yeah, okay, alright, I’m- holy shit-” 

“Mmmphphm-” 

Your composure snaps, hand now to her head, a death grip in her hair, fucking her face ruthlessly, drunk at the feeling of her mouth and the obscene gawking noises and the bob of her throat curling your cock, lips smaking and drooling more that you regret not putting a towel on the hardwood floor beneath you two. 

It’s incredibly difficult to internalize, let alone imagine the wish you could capture this feeling for eternity, bring it out from a bottle at the shortest convenience. Yunjin doesn’t falter with the moaning, friction slippery and neurons overloaded, delusion finally high and head still to you - plugging her hot mouth full of your cock, sliding in the smooth muscle, throbbing. 

She takes another deep breath, earning a palm to her face, gaze wistful and deep into your soul. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” 

Damn right you are. 

Yunjin doesn’t need to clarify what she said, since she already knew. Instead, the flicks of her wrist are astonishingly meticulous, amazed that you’re rock solid not just because of her, but rather the thought of Kazuha doing the same thing to you, given with the experience. 

“I think you’re ready,” she declares, and the sentence alone is loaded with different interpretations. 

She doesn’t savor the moment of grace soon after, siphons the breath out of you when she puts her lips back on your cock. Your mind’s no longer there, thinking: Yunjin, Kazuha - the pair doing numerous things to you all at once. Trading your cock between their hot mouths, hands stacked along your shaft, pressing into their slick cunts and watch them keen of being split apart. Yunjin’s sloppy mouth fucking you brings it back to reality, slit leaking and ready to burst. She licks once, twice, thrice, lips wrapped around your cockhead and hand twisting the shaft, aiming in one direction where the load should go. 

Your thighs tense, breathing ragged, shoulders back and chest out when her eyes go wide - shocked at the first thread of cum caught in the roof of her mouth. A pillow falls off from the couch as you’re fighting the urge to push her face away from your hips and that’s when it get worse. 

It hadn’t been that long since you last came, but the surprise was a welcome one when more shots of white start spilling over your stomach, her hands, her face, on her button nose, your shaft twitching in her hands when she hovers her mouth over your tip and seals it to safeguard remnants of the damage. 

“Yunjin, fuck- oh, fuck-” 

“Mmm,” she hums gleefully, licking the mess off of you and squinting at the leaking slit, pulsing out more. Your cock softening again and body in a complete mess, fingertips carefully moving on your belly and brain falling in and out of consciousness. “Oh my god. You came so fucking much.” 

She nuzzles her face into your side, observing your chest calming down: “didn’t think I had more in me.” And that’s pretty ironic coming from you. “Congrats, babe. Consider me dead.” 

“There’s more where that came from,” replies Yunjin, orange hair swirling over your shoulder. “We’re even now.” 

Doesn’t get any better than that, really. The score stands at one-to-one. 

–

“By the way,” Yunjin starts off again, spent and roughed up on the mattress after going back to back rounds a little less than thirty minutes later. First in the shower and the second on the bed; a restoration to the pecking order, actually on the same page. “She drunkenly confessed to me about it while you were gone one night. Poor girl can’t keep a secret. I felt bad.” 

“Her loss, honestly. Sucks to be her for having the issue.” 

“You don’t think it’s a problem.” 

“Well that depends on your solution.” 

“Well,” says Yunjin, expectant. “I was gonna propose-” 

(You can kind of see where this is going.) 

“-maybe the both of us could- y’know, deal with her as we see fit.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Emulate a porn plot towards her, the typical one where the girlfriend shares with her best friend.” 

You plop on the mattress, tilting your head. 

“Like a collaborative effort?” You’re then asking; the thought not too far-fetched, but still brazenly out of her mind. Even for Yunjin’s standards. “What’s worse is the idea of you sharing me? With Zuha? I swear you were possessive about me, where did that go?” 

Yunjin bends her leg up against yours, brushing a thigh before her knee nestles at your waist. Nothing but smooth, soft skin just there for you to touch, to feel, and just- right on your lap. 

“Consider us sharing. Communal, I guess.” Her brain’s working next to you, then it hits. “A communal cock for the both of us.” She snorts, bursts out laughing once she’s created the twisted hypothesis. “Our cock. Kazuha and I. Please, tell me you’re loving the idea.” 

“I don’t hate it,” you’re stating, hand slipping lower to the swell of her ass. There you go again: thinking about Kazuha and Yunjin together. It’s supposed to be a silly theory. 

“So, will you help me? Unless there’s something I don’t know about.” 

“I’m not really in a position to say no, but I’ll let you do your thing.” 

“Take that as a yes, then,” Yunjin rests a cheek along your chest, prompting you to move your other arm around and fully embrace her, paying no attention to her kneecap pressing up against your balls, “you wouldn’t want to hear my plan to get our girl set up for what’s coming?” 

“You can brief me sometime later.” Another thing added to the agenda, with the rest of the responsibilities filling up your notifications and inbox. “Unless you want to surprise me.” 

Yunjin squints her eyes, purses her lips at you the next second; fingers dancing along your jaw, your throat. “If that’s what you want,” she concurs, retrieving your hand to her hip. “One more for the night?” 

“Don’t blame me if you can’t walk the next morning.” 

And so she gets herself off like that. Your cock in Yunjin’s hand and pressed up against the skin, feel the rush of her pussy lips coating you in slick. Her fingers too dainty and delicate, precise at the touch. You’re alternating from slipping inside her hot cunt - eventually stuck between her impossibly tight thighs crushing the shaft. 

Your throat and hers rumble low, locking legs and letting the hinged hips do their own thing, listening to each other’s nuances of groans and curses and names traded until the overdue exhaustion following the pleasure washes over you two. Yunjin’s face is dazed, relaxed and satisfied with the spill between her legs, her whole body wrapping around you; conserving the heat in any way she can - even if it means to sink your cock back into your cunt. 

You’re hoping the next wet dream you have turns into reality. 

–

A quick look into the inner lens of manifests and proclamations: most of the intents are put in a good light. Speak it into existence and great things will soon come its way - that type of thing. 

When you want something - you’re holding your breath for what’s to happen. 

As for Yunjin, it’s quite the opposite: 

“Imagine all the ideas you could have if you just- let it happen?” She’s on your back and flipping pancakes, breath tickling your ear and putting her down becomes a favorable option than the latter. “Look at it this way, Party A can only take action if the conditions are met in agreement with Party B.” 

“Please allow me to ask, but who the fuck is Party B?” You swivel in place and swing Yunjin’s long legs around the kitchen, the wrap of her arms hooking deeper at your neck. 

“I’m not answering that,” Yunjin says, foot to your thigh and altering your attention to a low-ponytailed Kazuha sitting across, ready and raring to go for her run. 

Kazuha looks dumbfounded, lost, predictable. “What are you guys talking about a Party B?” 

“Huh?” you and Yunjin say in unison. 

“Huh?” Kazuha repeats the utterance. 

Then all three of you say: “What?” Queue the laugh track - somebody, please. 

“Enough of this,” you declare, setting Yunjin down so she can finish cooking the meal. You glance at the glowing screen of your phone, see a few new messages pop up, and a notification from one of the places you applied to. “Crap,” you then say, realizing what’s on the attachment, “It got moved up?! Gotta run.” 

“You too, hm?” Kazuha chides, with an eye smile and a slice of banana in her mouth. “Cute.” 

“Make sure you bring your lunch with you, honey!” Yunjin yells while you blitz back into the bedroom to get changed. “Can’t own the interviews on an empty stomach!” 

–

Various managers you keep in touch with praise your skills and determination, saying that you would be a good fit for the team. It’s a waiting game now; only a matter of time before someone steps forward, claims you as theirs. 

Some places you’re fielding calls from, shortening the list. You’re forwarding it back to home base: hit or miss for today’s adventures, thinking about taking either minnie’s offer or sian’s.

Yunjen 💟: i loooove sian! miss that girl so much (;-;)

Yunjen 💟: pls say yes to her next time, for me? 🥺

🍑: u forgot ur water bottle at home, idiot 🥸

You: great, now i gotta wash it because you touched it

🍑: you’re really bout it today, huh?

🍑: i’m gonna kick your ass when you get back 

You: please, whatever you throw, i’ll catch

Yunjen 💟: aw, i won’t be there to see you school her in mario kart again 😭😭😭

🍑: if i can beat your ass at racing, jennifer, i can def beat him 

🍑: u think too low of me. 

Yunjen 💟: you two play nice now, i’ll be back by dinnerrrr

Yunjen 💟: let me know how it goes 

–

Kazuha greets you at the door, sighing with disappointment, like she owns the place - that’s partly true: she pays for half the rent but always forgets until you remind her. 

“What’s with the look?” you ask flatly. 

“Nothing,” she shrugs, face tugged to a scowl. “Just thought that you’d be back in high spirits after landing the job.” 

“Results don’t come that fast,” you remark, following her in the apartment, feet scruffing and leggings skin tight around her figure. Hair clumped together after being tied for a long period. “They said that they’re gonna do one more week of evaluations and see from there.” 

“Meaning?” 

“I get the job, which means more money; if not, we keep looking.” 

Kazuha chuckles, settling herself on the couch with her legs curled, watches as you drop your things and join soon after. “Is this the part where I ask how your day was like old times?” 

“Zuha, I’m gonna walk right out that door if you do. Please don’t.” 

“Not even this once?” 

You stare at Kazuha’s delighted wink, rolling her eyes back and cringing. “Well shit, my day hasn’t been that interesting either, thanks for asking.” She says, palm sliding down her face with a sheepish smile. “Can’t even have drinks until Yunjin gets back.” 

“What’d you suggest we do for the meantime?” 

Kazuha grabs the controller, treating it like a deck of cards for a party trick. She lifts her eyebrows, tempting. 

“You weren’t kidding.” you say, amazed. 

“Unless you have a better idea,” she drawls, shaking it to double down the offer. “What, too much of a pussy to play me?” 

“You’re on. Give me the other controller.” 

–

Full disclosure aside. 

Moments like these with Kazuha have always been the usual bread and butter for you two to bond over on. With the amount of years carried in between - part of you has imagined what it would be like if the relationship label found its way to you two instead of the opposite. 

(You remember it vividly, the brief period was short lived for a few months after keeping the emotions at bay for a long ass time. Going into high school was the usual phase where the feelings aren’t exactly certain, and eventually change. She could’ve left you out of her life then, but didn’t. Attached wasn’t the right word you or her would say, though, you’re glad she stayed either way.) 

Even after she started to come out of her shell, be talkative, get more active, fit in clothes that make you and every other horny guy on campus drop their jaws at, she’s still the same girl you met back in kindergarten: a true friend at your side going places, while also doing stupid stuff for the fun. 

“This goddamn blue shell, I swear to god-” 

As for you, well- you’ve got tunnel vision, deathly locked to the screen, blocking all outside noise and focusing on the mario character and the amount of asphalt you got on the tires. Kazuha was all up in your ear, talking about how she managed to build a gap after a poor start on your end with the amount of bananas being tossed up track and dropped along the kerbs. She also thought racing at 200cc was a great idea - when in reality she’s only raced nothing above 50cc. 

She’s using every trick in the arsenal: the hand to your face, kicking your side; hell, even covering your end of the screen if it meant being in last place. Her definition of victory was seeing you not succeed. 

All in all, it was a good way to have fun. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she asks, when she’s fully calmed down and actually playing properly. “That night where you had to pick me up from the kickback,” her body leaning with the steering motion of the kart when the controls were strictly to the joystick. “No one told me I didn’t get hooked up with anybody.” 

“Because you didn’t.” you say tiredly. Explaining the gauntlet she gave you to bring her back home safely. 

You’re finishing first ahead of Kazuha - the girl can’t drive in real life as it is. 

Her legs cross over yours, paying no attention to the spread of her toes and flex of her calves. Heel grazing your crotch before resting along your thigh, fighting the urge to break composure and adjust yourself. “Hmph, that’s a shame. Since you did see me drunk after all-” 

“Happens multiple times than I would like to count,” you’re saying mildly, glancing, “I was also hoping that Sakura would take you home instead of Eunchae calling me.”  

“Is that what happened?” Kazuha asks, and it abrupts your thoughts quickly. “Sorry- I know I asked the morning after but - still don’t remember much.” 

You look away, down to your hips. Your mind and body clearly not in sync. 

Which begs the question: “So, what do you actually remember? From that night?” 

The answer she gives goes in one ear and out the other. Vividly telling you the details. 

“You’re not very slick about me; you know that, right?” Kazuha concedes. And you agree, completely cornered.

“What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Gonna keep talking?” 

“Please, I can do more than just talk.” 

Kazuha bites her lip, pulls her legs back, shakes her head, the intent easy for you to read. There’s a few shared secrets with her you’d like to keep. 

What’s one more thing to hide from Kazuha and Yunjin? 

–

Think of it this way, racing’s got a lot to offer: the thrill, the rush, the risk. Kazuha loves to put you in the dust; always making you chase until you’ve got one over her. She’s screwed you over in other lifetimes - including this one - but, it’s worth noting the exception: a rare occasion where you’re back at the starting line and finishing all the same. 

Kazuha doesn’t look over her shoulder often; disregards the terror she leaves behind without a care, and you ought to remind her where it lands as soon as you can. 

“Jesus christ-” is what leaks out of her lips, biting down another moan in her throat. You cup her chin and force the look up, hands slipping on the glass. “Your fucking cock is just-” 

Amazing? Well, she took the words from Yunjin, and you know.

It’s extravagantly fucked up: turning back time as if it was yesterday - you’re railing her in the shower, warm water falling from above, steam fogging up beneath. 

She sure knows how to make you shut up, just like old times, and a small part of you wishes how things might’ve been different if you or her if you said something back then, but you’ll let your bodies do the talking - her cunt clenching around your shaft, skin rippling the water off with every wet slap in, hand reaching for your thigh for stability. You’re just holding on and having her do most of the work in throwing her ass back, begging you for more, press her against the wall, take your cock like she always does - she may treat you like shit in the most affectionate way possible, but that layer is stripped entirely if her heart and mind allowed it. You’re going to fuck her pretty cunt, make her remember that night where she got herself off with you watching and act like nothing happened despite the raw marks of red on her creamy skin. 

That too, and she’ll be a pain in your ass still: “What’s wrong? Worried Yunjin will walk in on us?” 

“Kind of counting on it,” you relent, and she hunches. You pull her back up and feel her breath hit your chin. “Who knows? Maybe she’d want to join us.” 

“You think so?” Her arms flush with the tile. 

“If you’ve forgotten,” you manage, bracketing her waist - grip hard enough to make her yelp, and you’re loving every second. She’s a brat and a bitch and a slut rolled up into one; someone who has no care for others, except - oh, right; you’ve put up with it long enough. It’s the perfect opposite. “You’re the one who made the first move.” 

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” she denies, dishonored and deflective, so you drag your hips and push back in, grab her face, watch her jaw go slack. “Oh god. Baby, yes-” 

The water’s streaming down her chest, her abs, spraying off to the walls and glass - you snake your hand to her neck, a muscle memory: everything else is an easy line to follow. 

One of her legs are lifted for you to hook, so that you can reach the familiar angle you’ve lost the feeling for too long, where you’ve made her scream, swear out more obscene stuff. She’s bracing herself along the wall properly when you’ve slid your cock back inside her; she’s groaning a lot louder now, tensing, moaning - you’re supporting her and she’s taking it like you promised, her head bobbing all over the place, mouth canted, skin flushed hot-pink. A smile breaks at the corner of her lips. It’s the easy position, the natural flow of motion, keeping pace, a simple solution to a problem - all of the qualifications applied in different situations. Except, your hands find themselves on the rise of her hips, ass hypnotizing you all over your eyes; she’s leaking on your cock, cunt split open and ready to ruin - and you think you’ve finally won the argument, somewhere hidden past the heavy breathing. 

“Fuck- fuck me. Oh- shit- ah-” spills out, and it’s another win to take in, soaking the moment of bliss - that’s so fucking good, i’ve missed this so much, keep going, yes- right there, harder - she’s lost her mind entirely. 

You shouldn’t be grinning wickedly, but you are - it’s relieving in bend a girl like her to your will who can’t hold herself to the end. 

“The worst kind,” she’s huffing, gasping, mewling, trying so hard to keep her posture up while you work her towards the orgasm she’s been asking for since her feet skimmed over the bulge in your pants, playing it off like nothing terribly as it’s a routine for her. You’re aware that she’s probably touched herself while you and Yunjin fucked throughout the night. The walls around here are thin as it is, and so much for that. 

You don’t let up, fucking her hard and fast, like she wanted - praising you for finally breaking that unspoken rule left behind years ago and promise to keep it on the low. You and her both knew it would happen again eventually. How could you not? Just one little change of impulse and you’re on the one way track to hell. 

(Don’t act like this wasn’t your doing, either.) 

“I don’t hate,” she says, urging, whining and whimpering and you’re dying to hear more of it for her - “please, just- it’s incredible, I fucking love it, this fucking cock- all for me-” 

You grab a handful of her slick hair and yank, watch the arch in her spine rise, the fluttering eyelids and shape of her mouth. Kazuha drops her jaw even lower and winces when you pound her pussy deeper; the imaginary line in your head fades with the steam. She’s clenching tightly around your shaft, and you know that this won’t be a singular occurrence. She’s gonna be coming back for more, becoming addicted, clingy. “You like? S’that feel good?” you’re asking anyway, waiting to hear the same answer. 

You want this to last. Her cunt quivers around your length, clamping. You’ve fucked her through the first orgasm, onto the second or third, neither of you are keeping track - you’re chasing for your own - but there’s a sense of grandeur to this, in addition of the gratification to the reward from watching how astonishlingy you can dick her down and put her back in her place. 

Kazuha’s putting effort where it counts. Says: “Need- I need it- fucking christ, please, do it already-” And - fuck, not in a polite way, but good note for trying. 

Kazuha sobs along with a low huff that’s one of the hottest things you’ve heard from her in a while - a long time - contracting and expanding and clenching around you. Great job, baby. You did a good job keeping up with me. I don’t mind you cumming first. I’d prefer to finish second. Holy shit, you don’t realize how long it’s been since you stepped in the shower, mind focusing on Kazuha and legitimately nothing else. 

“Shh, shh,” you’re saying, a finger to her lips, feel her tongue run against the side of it - and the nod is small, but you’re thinking ahead to what she’ll do next. 

You pull yourself out and slap the tip on her pussy lips, listen closely to the squelch when you slip in again, deeper. You can’t tell if the water on her face is from the shower head or her tears, trickling down as her mouth meets yours. God, her kisses are just like the first ones. 

“Gonna cum again?” you ask, delicately. “You are. Let it out.” 

And Kazuha can breathlessly say yes without the words - she’s cumming, cumming, and wants to show you how badly. You could spend a few more minutes here, conserve the water. Paying the bill and next rounds of games can wait. 

–

There’s no complexity behind it. The sun comes up and the world still spins. 

Some days, Kazuha flutters to you - bare cunt underneath her shirt and you’re catching a second glance. Slaps your ass like every other time and expects you to bring it up later. Which you do. 

Or- 

You’re taking her by surprise, as some lousy excuse to pin her down on the nearest hard surface within reach, perch her hips up to yours until you have to carry her to the shower or bed - only for the mess to come back around again. She tugs the ends of the panties, faintly smacking on her skin, wiggles her perky ass and touches her hair - bundles it up in her hands, her slender back towards you and another spot to deal with some other time. 

“You sure you don't want Yunjin to know?” She asks, snapping you out of your daydream. 

With a quirk of your lips, “Maybe she already knows. But if I speak, I’d be in big trouble.” 

Kazuha tsks. “So wrong for you to leave her out of the fun.” To be fair, she’s more right than wrong. If you were honorable enough to tell the truth, you could’ve told Yunjin to commensurate something with the shared dynamics - albeit way more confusing than it is, because it’s all just for fun, a wacky journey with no destination. 

A rerun of you, fucking Kazuha into puddled pile of pure putty, watch her eyes shimmer when you cum in her mouth, in her hair, paint her pussy with your mess and see her relieved - a deal slipped under the table, unspoken. Yunjin might’ve swapped roles with her in being gullible or oblivious to the signs now - or even back then, you’re not quite convinced. Bottomline: you’ve missed this version of Kazuha. It’s a nice switch up and a way to disconnect and destress from the pressures of the outside world, sheltering and confining yourself since that’s always the best option to have - besides, there’s some work to do still: you got the notice of the final evaluation, from both jobs at the top of your list, somewhat nerve wracking. You’ll have to make a decision, find what fits best for you, which one pays more. Maybe get a second opinion from Yunjin or Kazuha. 

You’ll figure it out as you go along. 

–

When you do ask Yunjin about your little dilemma, part of her attention is on you - at a distance. 

She’s too busy watching Phantom of the Opera after you ate her cunt out while her hourly reading earlier in the day, only because she kept teasing you underneath the desk while on call with the same friend who managed to land a position at their new job. Relax, they’re saying at the time, don’t worry too much and just be ready for what’s to come. 

“Huh? Sorry, ask me again,” Yunjin’s telling you, chin on her shoulder and glances over at you at the kitchen preparing dinner. “The actress’s high note caught me off guard.” 

Kazuha laughs, sitting on the counter and at your side, peeling off lettuce for her salad - proximity minimized to where your hand’s grazing her thigh. “Are you sure Sian’s job is the right one for you?” she asks, rephrasing the question as her own. “I mean, you say you liked the offer from her.” 

“Possibly,” you answer, slicing a carrot, placing the knife down. “She told me she’ll call sometime tomorrow to confirm.” 

“Makes sense,” Yunjin supplies. “Good pay. Office isn’t far, convenient. Also on the fact that she’s pretty to be a manager or in charge? Heavy on the pretty, though.” 

“Right,” you agree, looking at Kazuha, fingers slipping over the rise of her thigh and in. You quirk your eyebrow in suspicion, noticing the lack of underwear (once again) and her folds already soaking. “She really is pretty.” 

Kazuha bites her lip, dips her head down. 

“I think I've made up my mind,” you say, pushing- sliding deeper in, quirk your lip in a ‘shh’ so that Kazuha can keep her voice low. “Might’ve been a pure choice from the start.” 

“You think so?” Yunjin says, puzzled. “That was easy.” 

You and Kazuha both give a confused look at her. Knuckles curled in Kazuha’s walls, inconspicuous and hidden - a familiar reflex and motion of the hand. She’s so slick for you, it’s unfathomable. A whimper rumbles within her chest, and you cough loudly to cover the sound. 

Yunjin glances over for a third time. “Everything okay there?” 

Kazuha sniffles, seamlessly playing along without a proper cue. “The onions,” you’re saying, sheepishly grinning like a dumbass. “Zuha got the first wave of them.” To that, Yunjin laughs, wiggling her head the other direction. “Should’ve been helping me over here instead.” 

“I would,” replies Yunjin, waving her hand up in the air. “But my legs have lost their feeling. Wonder whose fault is that.” 

You shrug your shoulders and carry on your work at the counter. 

–

You’re fielding calls from the shortlist, waiting for one contact. 

Then the phone rings. 

Greetings are exchanged and it’s right down to business: “Drop by the office later. It’ll be brief, I promise. Just checking in one last time on how you feel about the offer.” Sian’s telling you. “Apologies for making you wait.” 

“Nonsense,” you’re beaming, swiping through your belongings and whatever you can fill in your hand. “Wasn’t doing much besides keeping myself busy.” 

Soon you’re on the way out of the door, noticing a box next to your shoes. You don’t remember ordering anything in the past few days, so that theory is eliminated automatically. Yunjin’s made her way to see you off, arms crossed and partially excited. 

You pull your phone away, pointing to the package. You’re mouthing the curiosity, and Yunjin nods. There’s not much to assume: it’s probably a new batch of books for her to read, or some clothes. You don’t suspect much.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on my way now. See you soon.” 

–

(The interview goes exactly as Sian said it would. 

She’s telling you about the perks about the office and benefits within the first few months. They’re all really good, you can’t deny that. Not to mention the signing bonus. You can’t stop smiling at the new opportunity, ecstatic for what’s in store. 

You’re driving home later and feel like the sun’s burning a little bit brighter than usual - clouds filling up the endless blue sky. 

An attempt is made to call Yunjin, but no answer. You try Kazuha too, no luck. 

There’s the simple assumption that they’re both busy and they’ll see the missed calls before you get back.

A cleared schedule opens up a lot of things.) 

–

Everything seems a lot easier when there isn’t a weight on your shoulders, relieved of stress and the only current worry is hobbling back to your bed and sleeping there for the rest of the day. You click the deadbolt out of place and swing the door open, letting yourself in. “I’m home,” you’re calling out, slipping out of your shoes and the bag gets placed next to the small table where the keys go. “Genuinely thought it was going to take longer-” 

You freeze your movements when you hear the spill of moans close by. 

Because you peek the corner like a kid waiting for Santa Claus - but instead of seeing a red man placing gifts and stealing milk and cookies, you see Kazuha leaning back on the kitchen counter, sitting on the chair with someone else on top of her, leaving fresh marks it could be mistaken of her being bitten from a vampire - the person on top presses her hips up, diving down to her neck, pushing and yanking before you realize she’s getting fucked by- 

“Yunjin, what the fuck!?” you exclaim. 

Yunjin rests her head on Kazuha’s chest, fingers clasping to her shoulder - you’ve seen that wicked look on her face before, devilish and corrupt. Now, in your place: it’s Kazuha pulling her close, tilting her head back when Yunjin shifts her hips up between Kazuha’s legs, dragging out another moan. 

“Welp, I guess we got caught,” says Yunjin, and her strap-on slips out of Kazuha in one simple pull. 

Clearly, you’re confused, bamboozled. Yunjin’s coming back to her senses as she swipes a hair behind her ear, playing the innocent role poorly and none of it makes sense, at all. Your girlfriend and roommate - roommate and girlfriend, and you start to remember- 

“Thought I said that I wasn’t finished,” Kazuha sputters, oblivious of your presence. She’s sitting back up on the chair and clinging to the edge of the counter. “You told me that I’ll have my turn with the strap when you’re done - we barely started.” She’s hitting Yunjin’s arm, hair falling over and panting erratically. “Yunjin, please-” 

“Zuha,” Yunjin taps Kazuha’s shoulder, flicks a finger towards you - authoritative and calm. “I think we have other things to worry about. Also hey hi, I didn’t hear the door open or you walk in.” 

“Well I did,” you say, walking further inside and assessing the scene. Kazuha then sees you in her view and her jaw drops, both shocked and disappointed. “Didn’t want to interrupt your fun little session going on here.” 

“She knows about-” Kazuha tries to speak, covered by Yunjin’s hand, and stops her sentence. 

“You? Us?” you ask. 

“Should’ve told me sooner,” Yunjin butts in, unimpressed with a smirk. “I didn’t expect you’d have a headstart with my suggestion.” 

“Guilty as charged.” 

“Mmfph,” Kazuha tries to say, but the press of Yunjin’s hand is a lot more firm. She’s lost her talking privileges for now. This wasn’t even the worst bit of this incident, you think. 

You’re sighing, undecided, at a crossroads: two girls on your shoulders with very similar,  contrasting perspectives and ideals. Yunjin’s the purest of angels in human form, Kazuha the devil’s advocate living in your house. The thought of you being walked in by Kazuha with Yunjin on your cock was a thing of the past. With Yunjin’s strap filling up Kazuha- 

“How do you suppose we deal with her?” You’re asking, playing into the role of second fiddle to Yunjin’s wishes, wherever she wants to take them, burying your nose into her hair and looking down at Kazuha’s eyes light up in excitement. 

“I think you can help me with that,” declares Yunjin, and for the thousandth time it’s something you’re following through. “Give this girl a proper work up for once.” 

“With pleasure.” 

“But first-” 

“First?” 

Kazuha’s body tenses. “Mmrph??” 

Yunjin’s head dips, licking her lips. Her fingers tap the fabric of your crotch. “Not yet,” she sighs, and she’s teasing the pink head of plastic on Kazuha’s folds. “Actually,” Yunjin’s hearty laugh gives you an idea where this is going, and it’s not looking pretty. “We’re gonna have you watch.” 

–

Where do you even begin with these two? That’s the golden question. 

Think of it this way, a coming of age story would have all the highs and the lows, a sunset drive into the horizon with the top down and music blasting for everyone else to hear, romanticizing both the achievements and shortcomings of each character, tossing snacks to each other and clinking glasses while letting the end credits roll. 

Kazuha and Yunjin, however, lock lips at the couch; you’re breathing deep - you’re slipping down the chair, not quite shameful that you’re not in the act. 

Maybe it’s the fantasy written up in your head - in its purest form and in real time. The ambiance settling down to a space meant to be locked away; shelved behind a drawer and door, never to be seen in the light of day, exclusively for your eyes only. 

Yunjin tilts her head one side with Kazuha on the other, playing along well. Everything about it is down to the last vivid detail: her fingers carding into her hair, gripping, pulling her head up so Kazuha can get more air - slip an arm underneath the arching back and bring her leg up against her heat. You give Yunjin a look when she locks eyes with you, paying no attention to Kazuha peppering her cheek with more kisses and clearly asking for more, giggling as she indulges her request. Their hands trailing all over their unclad bodies, miles of skin between them. They both sigh in relief, finally showing what they cherished the most with each other. There’s no regrets of your actions: you’ve got a piece of Yunjin - what she’s like, same for Kazuha from another period lost to time, but it’s all culminated to this. Soon you’re towering the pair and see the crimson and sweat spread across, willing to have your fill be satisfied by both.

If your sympathy was a knife, you’d turn the blade around and twist it inside yourself. 

Kazuha’s hand grips the belt loop, grinning. Yunjin tugs your hand to her face, kissing it. Wraps her plump pretty lips on your thumb. An unspoken testament of what’s to come. The credence of raw, unfiltered, sin. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Yunjin asks, very silently. Kazuha opens her neck up as an invitation. 

“Oh,” you breathe, softly. Kneeling down at the couch and exchanging glances. “You have no idea.” 

(Show me everything. Show us everything, they said, partially devious. How bad your impurities are. We want it all. We deserve it all.) 

–

Maybe all of this was the long-awaited culmination; Kazuha’s mind is so far gone, back pinned against the wall like she knows you and Yunjin are about to ruin every part of her body. Clothes are being slipped off your frame, pooling onto the floor and soon to be ignored till the next morning. Yunjin’s hands graze your middle, feeling the hardened muscle - sighing into your neck and flashes a look across. 

“Should I know how long you two kept this from me?” she asks, half-curious. Well aware of the answer. 

You keep your gaze on Kazuha while pulling your head back - observing, but flicking your eyes back and forth. “Would it be best to hear it from the person responsible?” you say, seeing Kazuha’s face shift from her to yours and unsure who to choose. 

“Figured there were signs,” Kazuha answers, lifting her leg up at the crease of her knee, giving an implication. It’s not a pressure point - not yet, at least - an angle where you can jump in and double down on. “If they weren’t obvious enough.” 

“Are we seriously playing dumb here?” Yunjin then follows up, twisting her head. “Right now? Of all times?” 

“Choose your words wisely,” you’re saying, towering over the girl in your arms - a subtle warning. 

“You’ll be a good girl, yes?” Yunjin adds. “Then we’ll see if you deserve it.” 

Kazuha snickers, sound bouncing off the hallway, and you and Yunjin both sigh in dejection - though, Yunjin slaps Kazuha’s thigh, prompting you to pin her lower half to the drywall. “I see we’re at a bad start already,” she’s saying, and her arm slithers up to your chest, “you keep acting like this, Zuha, we’re gonna have some issues. Not to mention,” she’s rambling, taking a step back to open the space in flipping Kazuha around with her back in view, arms up instinctually and hips moving back, Yunjin’s arms crossed over her chest with the strap-on in her hand, instigating. “I think it’s best if he takes the first crack in breaking you.” 

“How generous,” you tell her, leaning down to kiss the fine line of Kazuha’s spine. “I thought you’d be more cruel.” 

Yunjin grins, finger to her teeth. “That’s more of your thing rather than mine.” 

“Liar,” you growl, and it’s a small reveal of your true intent, bringing them close and never letting go - your arm pulls Yunjin back in, gasping at the sudden move. Yunjin giggles, teetering into a small moan; you look down and she takes the hint in feeling Kazuha’s ass, listening to the hitched breaths, see the slightest scrunch of her shoulder. “Don’t think that you can hide away from me, either,” And you slap your hand firmly on the fresh skin, Kazuha slipping out a yelp in response - “I know you want your fun as well, baby.” Your thumb and index pinch both of her cheeks, squishing. “Unless you’d prefer to watch.” 

“You know me. I’ll have my go if you’re willing.” 

“I’m still down here,” interrupts Kazuha. “Why don’t you-” 

Here was the perfect time to show Kazuha again what you’re made of - you grip both of your hands to the swell of her hips, pushing them up until all of her chest is flush with the wall in front - her hand flies back to yours; clawing the skin on your arm, your hips- 

“Watch it,” you snarl, grabbing her wrist and putting it along the small of her back, hoping to break the tension. Technically, she’s doing the opposite. 

She squirms in your hands for a few more seconds, resisting. The grunts coming out of her mouth don’t apply to you; Kazuha’s feet skating across the floor, widening the stance, spilling out pleas- 

“Fucking swear to God,” she harshly swears, and you’re with her; Yunjin’s taking another step back, leaning. She can’t help but smile at the authority, the general hierarchy you’re used to giving her. Throwing out orders and demands - Kazuha with her insightful snarks, nowhere to be heard or seen as she’s finally getting a taste of her own medicine- 

Both of Kazuha’s arms are behind her back. She’s helpless once you’ve finally got a hold on her. 

“How long is it gonna take you to fuck me or force me to watch you fuck Yunjin instead?” she whines, persistent. Her hands cup the sides of your hips, pushing her ass back - you don’t fight it, laser focused on her face. “Didn’t realize that we’re dishing out my punishment like this right off the bat.” 

“We’re getting there,” you agree, and you’re palming her breast beneath the shirt, clumping up the fabric - thumbing a nipple and pinching. “Yunjin will have her fun too when I’m done with you.” 

You look right at Yunjin and she nods. 

She’s keeping herself occupied with the strap-on in her hand, putting her pouty lips on the silicone tip, licking shamelessly and her other hand to her legs - cheeks flushed in a hot pink and eyes trained on you. You’d expect her to watch - let her have her own fun in the meantime. She’s so good; fucking you and Kazuha both, though it’s somewhat on par or incomparable to the roughing up you’re gonna do to Kazuha as a means of staying true to your word. Her tongue laves the side of plastic, lowers it down to her hips, hoping to tease and have that ache sated until her turn comes along to be taken, fucked mercissely, ruthlessly.

You lift a brow for the final confirmation, and Yunjin matches it. 

“You can watch of course, baby,” you say, and Yunjin’s face lights up. “Go ahead, do what you need to do.” 

Yunjin twists her back to the wall, head tilted while her legs spread wider to welcome the space of the strap-on between her legs - you’ve curled your arm around Kauzha’s hip, rub her clit from that angle, stroking slowly at her leaking slit; so yeah, this girl leaks sex. As for you: you’re eating it up. Knowing that there’s another pair of eyes on you, greedily staring once you get on one knee, place a trail of kisses to the backside of Kazuha’s thigh, bundle up the oversized shirt in your hands. You hook your palms to the fold of her legs, brush your nose in her cunt, taste the droplets on your tongue- 

“Are we observing?” You ask Yunjin. “Not the first time I’ve seen you use a dildo in front of me.” Your mouth sucks in the dripping slick of Kazuha’s pussy, earns you a sharp inhale through her teeth. Biting down on one of her folds and pulling. “I wanna see you ruined before I have the chance myself.” 

Your gaze shifts back to Kazuha because you know Yunjin will follow whatever you say. Even when your cock is brushing up against Kazuha’s slit, pushing in her pussy and the girl sings a broken note. 

Kazuha, by instinct, tilts her head down, overwhelmed, choking on the bob in her throat; all it takes is one firm snap of your hips in and it’s not enough time to get accustomed to the stretch - that deep, open stretch, her cunt pressuring you so tight, addicting - you’re amazed at how she can pick up things quickly, breathing steadily with every stroke, see her eyes at the corners, upping the intensity, twisting her head back forcefully and curve the arch a bit more deeper- 

A makeshift ponytail is created without a second thought, locking the stare in and keeping it frozen, failing to maintain composure when she’s moments away from finally breaking in front of you, or Yunjin. Kazuha’s pride is always one thing she holds close. Snuff it out of her and there’s nothing, and she can’t deny it: the way that she’s trying so hard to not be a completely needy, slutty bitch. 

“What’s wrong, huh?” you’re taunting - imitating her snark - man, it’s so nice not to be on the receiving end in one of those. “Wasn’t this the punishment you asked for? Well guess what?” You’re grasping at her cheek that it brushes yours. “It’s here, Zuha. Just me, you, Yunjin, and your dirty little cunt, all for us to have.” 

“All talk, still,” Kazuha remarks, syllables barely stable. She’s so shrunk down over your presence that when your cock is in play, it splits her body in two, crumbling her: she can spit out words for days, but knows that she’s vulnerable in a fight. “You’re not even putting effort into me. Fucking christ- asshole. Just-” 

You can’t help but chuckle - actually laugh, because the insults don’t hurt like they used to back then, that added layer in the dynamic where you’ll take the punch and send it right back. You’re slamming your hips in, press your fingers into her hip; Kazuha can keep giving you shit, but you see her head hit the drywall, eyes lidded and mouth quirked to keep it all in. There’s no point - she’s gushing on your cock, clamping. 

“Just what?” You yank her hips out and in, make her yelp at the change in pace. “Stop? Keep going? I can’t tell what you’re asking for and neither can Yunjin.” Yunjin herself lets out a breathy sigh - the strap-on’s worked well inside her cunt, matching the strokes as best she can; at this point, you’re just waiting for her to squirt on the floor. “Could’ve sworn you were greedy a few days ago when I fucked you in the back of the car, don’t lie to me.” 

“Maybe.” You slide in - genuinely fucking her. Kazuha tries to let it go casually the way you’re cock’s tearing inside her - you’ll give her the ‘A’ for attempting. That feeling can’t be ignored - she’s close, rising within - it’s in the lines of her face, her body, it’s showing. “Fuck - that’s not the point. I couldn’t be more desperate for your cock unlike Yunjin.” 

She’s not saying it for Yunjin’s sake, but also for her own: smiling through the pleasure despite her body nearly shutting down and breaking on your cock. All that ego, that bullshit given all these years, it’s all gone in an instant. It was a pipe dream to fuck the boldness out of her - you’ll come close, but not close enough. You’ll fuck her truly in the way that she wants - and the glint over her shoulder pierces through your eyes. Do your worst, you imagine her saying. I’d love to see you try. 

So, you’ll give exactly the worst thing to her. You’ll make her cum on your cock. 

You let go of her face, grab her tit before sliding down to her pussy. “Look at you,” you tell her, matching the smirk she gave you on the couch the other day, recalling, “nowhere to go.” 

Kazuha parts her mouth, ready to dart back with a witty response - or tries to - rocked with her high so intense that it’s bubbling in her throat, on her tongue. She’s there, thanks to you; Yunjin’s honoring your request, wincing, sliding that silicone cock inside- 

She’s up next, you’re not forgetting. You take Kazuha - all the way in, past her orgasm, let her shoulders go slack, breath in thin wisps, hand losing grip and slipping from your sweat, and you’re grinding your cock deep in her - all the way down to the base, where the blowback of your balls tapping her clit, prolongs the feeling - a new sensation; fuck, she feels so fucking good- 

“How do we deal this out, you suppose?” You ask Yunjin, breathless, head held high, breaking your gaze and towards your girlfriend. “Should I carry on what I’m doing?” Kazuha whimpers when you’re massaging her ass, slowly driving your cock back in, softening the blow. “Do whatever our little slut wishes?” 

You and Kazuha both glance at Yunjin together, slick dripping down her thighs, small threads plastered on your hips, and Yunjin slides the strap-on out of her like it’s a restraint. Kazuha slides off your cock, leans back to your embrace, legs quivering - you gave her a lot to handle, that’s for sure. But you’re not done yet. Not until Yunjin’s got her chance. 

Yunjin herself is treated to such a sight, cum soaked on the plastic in her hand, but when you sweep her close she’s already falling: like she knows you’ll catch her whenever and doesn’t have to worry about a damn thing. You’re eying her eyes, those plump pretty lips, her long legs rivaling Kazuha’s, her leaking cunt - she’s shifting in your arm, like one look sends sparkles in her eyes. She’s waiting, patiently - lets you do anything to her without saying a single word. 

“Enjoyed the show, love?” You’re scratching the sweet spot behind her head and her neck relaxes. It’s those earthy eyes you can’t get enough of, love drunk and over her head with her switch flipped - hot and crazy in love she’ll want everything. “How does it feel seeing lovely little Zuha finally get humbled?” 

“I’ll literally cut your dick off if you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” retorts Kazuha, twisting her neck so she could face you. No matter how much of a pain in the ass she is while getting fucked, she’ll own that role close to her heart. 

Yunjin flashes a smile, and you smile back. Coming to a consensus. “Not enough for her, sadly.” 

Kazuha takes advantage for once, hurling your body against the hallway now, and making you shuffle back past the open door to the room. Yunjin fails at the mediary with her chin on her shoulder, pushing her weight so that the ratio is two-to-one. Both of their eyes are insane, glittering crystals and with a primal ferocity behind them - holy fuck, is it sexy, moments away from victory. Backing you into a corner where there’s no opening for escape. 

“Make you eat your fucking words out,” Kazuha says, voice unfazed when she just came on your cock a few minutes ago, “Better hope you won’t get the chance again.” 

“Careful Zuha,” Yunjin butts in, hoping to alleviate the tenacious threat. “You wouldn’t want to get on his bad side again.” 

“What she said,” you remark - leaving it at that for now. 

“Okay then,” Kazuha tuts, grabbing your face for a kiss, clawing your hair, soothing it. “I’m tagging Jen Jen in.” 

With that, Yunjin pushes Kazuha off to the foot of the bed and topples over you, claiming her prize. 

There’s a passing of the torch in the form of the strap-on - Kazuha takes it and wiggles on the bed - while you’re wrestling for control with Yunjin, grasping her waist and flipping her over so that she’s under, fingers in familiar spots where you’ve left marks and bruises before - ready to it again. “Guess you’re up,” you mumble - feeling the knuckles of Yunjin’s hand on your face before she fiddles with the cuff of your ear, pinching. You’re surveying the planes of her body, targeting the areas where it’ll hurt. “You could never have enough of my cock as it is.” 

An instant curveball when you slap her inner thigh twice, flip her over and slap her ass, then roll back to her cunt. 

Yunjin shrieks - Kazuha inhales deep at the sound when she pushes the strap-on in her cunt. You smack again, put your mouth to hers and funnel the noise down your neck. This was new to the script, and you’re certain it’ll stay. 

There’s no other pretense to act on, and you bury your cock inside her cunt. 

She is fucking dripping; given the mewls and moans petering out of her mouth, your ears focus on the sweet sound of slick as her pussy takes all of you, stretching and sliding in the ways you made her break, the noises heavenly, a symphony alone as you get back into true pace - you’re fucking her cunt so hard that it’s almost snapping her spine in half, or make her lose the feeling in her legs. Ah, you’re just treating yourself - possibly. Kazuha’s fucking herself right next to you two and has a front row seat of the one in many acts about to unfold- 

Her pussy is incredible - that’s just the jist of it, the meaning already written to existence long before you came along, Yunjin’s just huffing along, the size too grand to bear- 

“Good?” You know for damn sure it’s good. Her neck is a nice place for your hand to rest, siphoning the remaining air trapped in her lungs. The last gasp for more, taken away. “Yeah, you know it’s good. Same kind of sluttiness I expected with Kazuha. What would I ever do without you - getting off with your cunt and fucking you as I please. God, baby- it’s so fucking tight down there, I could never-” 

You’re left speechless when you abruptly pull out, slap your cockhead along her clit and she’s gushing everywhere, spraying the sheets, squirting in mere seconds. Kazuha drops her jaw in shock, ecstatic, amazed- 

“Kazuha’s in her own world, and she’s living in it,” You snap your hips, yank her body, sending another aftershock - your hands will never leave. “It shouldn’t be this easy, babe - the way that you’re just one, insufferable, cocktease-” 

Yunjin crunches her eyes, and her lower half subconsciously rolls with yours. She’s one to have her moment, but the way that she’s just taking it - so fucking well- 

“This strap couldn’t fill her enough,” Kazuha chides. And that’s the daunting realization - it’s one thing to keep things mundane, by the book, but this: the degrading, the power going to your head, the advantages you seized for yourself, you’re speaking listless shit and giving less of a fuck for your own benefit. “Now you got a taste of your own medicine, honey. All that talk about having all of him when he clearly has sights for others. Now he’s got me to deal with if you’re not around; and look at him, he’s really greedy. 

Yunjin’s sobbing, tears seeping at the corners. You’re close - everything in your body expanding and rushing to the peak - but her scared expression makes you think otherwise, spares a second thought. 

“Do you believe that, sweetheart?” You grit, releasing your grip around her throat, leaning for a kiss and it brings her back to life. “Tell us how it feels.” 

Kazuha’s scooting closer, the silicon impaled deep in her cunt, tapping her clit at a fast pace. She’s conservative, yet so smug that it’s rubbing on Yunjin instead, the build up is there, voices rising, crescendoing- 

“It’s so good, so- fuck, so fucking good,” she spits, mouth trembling and the rest of the words are in tongues - and you’re sure that you’ve broke her once again. “I love this cock so much - I can’t even begin to describe how well it fucks me, taking me just to dump your cum, come back for more - please, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-” 

On instinct, she taps your thigh. A signal to let you know she has a different play in mind. 

You snap your gaze back to Kazuha and she immediately takes the hint, a wicked grin spread on her lips to sell the implied message. 

From there it’s a simple one-two, a bait and switch. You slide out of Yunjin’s well fucked cunt and swoop Kazuha’s legs, pulling her over to you while Yunjin staggers back on the bed, taking the strap-on tossed to her so she can simmer down the aching heat engulfing her stomach. You don’t even register the quick inhale Kazuha does when you seamlessly slip back inside her waiting cunt and pick up right where you left off with her - and the screams level with the incessant slaps of skin on skin. 

“Back for more, are you?” Kazuha grunts, sucking in her gut from the pull on her shoulders and into your cock. “Such a shameless boy.” 

“Shut your fucking mouth, whore.” You’re bearing no mind to the word sputtered out. The only thing in your head is taking your roommate’s pussy and making it yours. Nothing more, nothing less. “Gonna ruin this cunt now.” 

“Hold still and look pretty,” demands Yunjin, and she’s on Kazuha’s side, strap-drunk as Kazuha’s head tips back and slides her hand down her abs to her cunt, watching you fuck and fuck and fuck into Kazuha - wrecked and full of your cock, like you needed this to relieve the stress out your body, and Yunjin’s face twists to something more evil, twisted, witnessing a prophecy come to fruition- 

“Look at our cute cocksleeve go.” Yunjin’s fingers tap your forearm, nails clawing curves into your skin - the sting going unnoticed as the thrusts keep moving - another sense acquired, you’re sweating, overheating. “I’m sure he came in you already, and guess what? He’s gonna ruin your tight cunt and fill you up to the brim - when we’re done with you, you’re gonna have to be carried around the house-” 

Kazuha cries and cums on your waist - Yunjin sits up, fingers fast to the crease of her legs, surprised and seeing it all unfold. As for you, you’re tensing, gritting teeth together, cumming inside her cunt, the release sought after now tumbling in true bliss- 

“Oh, no. We can’t have you be that loud now.” 

Yunjin waddles over on her knees to Kazuha’s head, angles her head, and pushes the plastic cock between her lips, smothering with her own spit - see the bob form in her throat when she takes it halfway in. 

You’re still going, pulling out and sliding your tip across her folds, soaked in white and convinced that there’s more for you to offer. The strokes are consistent, long enough for another minute or so until you’re spilling a second load in her walls, pumping her full. 

“God, fucking- Jesus. Kazuha-” 

“Mmfrjmph,” she’s got herself full of other things to worry about than your leaking cum in her pussy. 

“Jen, switch.” You give the order and your girlfriend drags her hips away from Kazuha’s face. From the second you pull your cock out, white strips start to drip onto the sheets. Your mind’s barely there, putting every fiber of muscle from the nerves to get you at the headboard of the bed and settle into a comfortable position - and Yunjin flips Kazuha over, hooks her hands to her hips, dragging it towards her crotch, she managed to get the strap-on in time, pointing the length to her cunt, picking up small ribbons at the tip. 

“Think she needs a little clean up before you have your fun,” you suggest, fingers buried deep into the threads of Kazuha’s hair and forming it into a lazy bun, ignoring the little ‘ah’ from her lips and focusing her head on your softening cock. “Unless you’re gonna jump right in and get sloppy.” 

“You’ve made my point beautifully,” Yunjin agrees, lowering her head and raising Kazuha’s hips up so she can get the taste of both, pushing her back down and deepening the arch with a lick of her lips. “You taste good.” 

“Are you saying that to me? Or Zuha?” 

“Whatever answer you like.” 

Kazuha, as always, refuses to pay attention. Rather- her attention is drawn back to your cock, tongue sweeping the underside, your head falling back and hitting the wood behind, feeling her mouth lap up the mess of your cum slicked cock and slide your hips deeper into the mattress. This is heaven for her, for Yunjin too. A truce made once the damage has been done- 

“Don’t go too hard on Zuha, she’s been through a lot.” you tell her, but it’s more of a blessing in disguise when you and Yunjin are on the same page in most cases. A girl like Kazuha on her hands and knees, a collective effort fulfilled. 

Yunjin cackles and there’s no further meaning there, the tone sweet, syrupy - you could get drunk on it every single time her face brightens up. She’s leaning over to kiss you, arms wobbling in support so that she doesn’t fall on top of Kazuha, and it’s happened before. “Aw, well that’s too bad. I was gonna give her that and nothing else,” she tells you, smacking her lips off of you. Her hands rest at the swell of Kazuha’s waist, kneading and slapping lightly as a light tease. “You think I can’t hold my own.” 

You’re seeing a warble in the room somewhere - on Yunjin. The outer line of her stature warps in your vision - hot, messy, maliciously - jerking Kazuha’s hips back and brushes her hips to her ass.” 

“Yunjin, fuck- holy shit-” 

Kazuha gasps, smiling. The babbles are complete gibberish, filthy - Yunjin’s ramming her strap inside her ass, cum being pushed well into Kazuha’s womb, poking a little bump in her stomach, speeding up the motion and clawing wherever she can. Kazuha swallows up your cock, brushing the head at the top of her throat, humming - the vibrations bringing you back to life- 

“She’s built for taking pain,” Yunjin assesses, experimental. She has no regard for her best friend - and you see the whites in Kazuha’s eyes roll back, her lips sealed at the base and understands where she lies between you two. It’s where she’s meant to be, it seems. You could drop witty drawls and creative comebacks; when it comes to fucking her, neither of you expected her to this soaked. “What a slut. Not even a proper dick-down and spanking can’t shut you up.” 

Kazuha’s slurps mesh with the words. “I - mmrfph - fine, I swear. Okay-” 

It’s somewhat comprehending to have her like this, split in two and mouth full of your cock. “Yeah, she’s good. Kazuha- Kazuha, baby.” 

There’s nothing better than this. 

Kazuha getting her hole fucked, sucking you dry. 

She sucks. 

And sucks. 

“If there’s anything that we’ve learned,” Yunjin says mid-thrust, pointing Kazuha’s leg up to the ceiling, deepening the angle, “We both can fuck her brains to mush if we wanted to. Any time in the day, just pull her aside and tell her what to do. What do ya think?” 

You’re nodding, stuttering. Kazuha’s mouth has you speechless. “I have no objections,” you barely say, thighs tensing and shaking. “Yunjin, I’m gonna cum in her mouth.” 

“Then go ahead,” Yunjin tells you, and you do. Kazuha cheeks puff up at the eruption, streams of white leaking at the corners, satisfied. 

Yunjin gives one more good thrust for measure, slides the strap-on out of her fucked cunt, exhaustion collapsing her body, pleased and content with her end of the bargain - the strap-on gets tossed off the bed and onto the floor, made well with its use and disregarded. 

She rolls over to your side soon after, glancing. Kazuha’s face clearly spent and drifting off to sleep. For the time being. 

–

“We might’ve killed her,” you tell Yunjin peepingyour head past the door frame to see Kazuha’s unmoving body on the bed, “Is it worth checking if she’s breathing?” 

There’s the last remnants of what unfolded hours ago, the quick debrief - that kind of thing. You’ve got your head full of mixed emotions; each one of them occurring in passing seconds: happiness, satisfaction, remorse - unsure and nervous, kind of, it’s been a long night anyway. 

(She’ll wake up in the morning and feel sore. But if her first words of the day are related to bearing you, that’s a clear sign she’s back to normal.) 

“Kazuha’s a good catch,” Yunjin says. “If anything, she’ll complain about her thighs being tight.” 

“In relation to her pilates?” You flip the cup over and let the water flow into the drain. Yunjin’s patting your face with a damp towel. “Or the sex?” 

“Both,” and she smiles. You purse your lips in agreement. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect you to match her energy well.” 

“How could I not? C’mon, the girl was asking for it.” You laugh dryly. 

“Point taken,” Yunjin concedes and opens her limbs to let you in the middle, wrap them around and embrace you fully. Her borrowed shirt crumpling in, folding and forming creases alike. “You’re too good at this.” 

You give her a fond grin. “Wanna tell me that again?” 

“No.”

“No?” 

To suffice, she slots her lips to yours, leans back and taps the bathroom mirror. “Okay, it’s past our bedtime already.” 

You find yourself slipping through the chestnut pools and the titian waves - an endless valley to get lost in, the light radiating perfectly to where it highlights and complements the shades well. You’ve said a lot of things to her, more than you can probably count. 

“Love us,” you’re proclaiming, preaching to the open air. Her dragged grin pulls you deeper, and you spot the scrunch at the bridge of her brows: she couldn’t agree more. Then it reverts back to normal: “lose the shirt, we’ll share the body heat under the sheets.” 

–

The first day with drastic changes beckoning are scary.

This is nothing new.

Starting from scratch, conceptually, is always a new brush of inspiration, no matter what the event is. Luckily, it’s reassuring that you’re not facing these new horizons alone. With a guy like you, that has wonderful people in your corner - willing to support any endeavor you indulge in, it’s empowering. You’re convinced that the clouds part in the sky for the sun to fill the endless canvas of blue and you feel that whatever’s manifested in your mind will eventually come true. 

You have the same old pattern with Yunjin: take her out somewhere nice every now and then, waste your time doing nothing on some days, hold her heels or bag without her asking, let her treat you well whenever she feels like it. You share the usual banter, fuck her if things get boring, give her a lot of things to deal with that she’ll brush off later. 

With Kazuha, it’s a dice roll: 

She still spits out shit to you with no reason, and you return the favor and fuck her till she begs for more, gets into petty arguments until she comes walking back without saying a word, unable to take compliments, rambles endless fantasies waiting to be fulfilled more than just once. And you accept that she won’t let you off easily. 

When the two of them are together, sitting across from you or on their knees; backs on the bed or one eating out the other's cunt, it’s a place of a guaranteed connection; one that’s massively fucked up and with a million ways to go about with the pair. You and Yunjin know this - and between the three of you, it remains unsaid. 

“Got everything?” Yunjin asks, handing your trusted tumbler and ruffling up your hair, dusting off your windbreaker like a mom seeing off their child for school. “Expecting a slow day, aren’t you?” 

“You know me,” you drawl, grinning. “I’d much rather waste my time here and get paid for it.” 

The back of your head nicks forward as a response from behind, looking past your shoulder to see Kazuha tilt her head in view, getting a closer look of your appearance and drawing up her own assessment. “Until one of us get another job, it seems like you’re the main breadwinner of the household.” 

“Zuha, him and I were expecting your half of the rent for this month,” says Yunjin, hand to her hip and pouting, “Wanna tell us where the fuck it is?” 

Kazuha sashays herself next to Yunjin, inciting a staredown that ends after two seconds, shaking her head and dodging the question entirely. “Don’t worry about it. But I have the money, I swear.” 

“And what if you don’t have it when he comes back?” Yunjin asks Kazuha, rolling her eyes before shifting her gaze back to normal, “Then what?” 

You’re making your way out as the two continue with the quick argument, disregarding their attention. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be heading out now.” 

“Can I fuck her again while you’re gone?’ Yunjin then asks, shouldering her weight to Kazuha. “At least until-” 

You sigh. 

“I’d like to ask the same question, but do it on Yunjin,” Kazuha replies. 

(It’s a lot on your plate with Yunjin. Sure. Kazuha’s added herself to the mix - and it’s a tad bit more complicated. Maybe worse. Fuck all you know: you like them both.) 

“I’ll handle you two later,” you’re telling the pair, and they know you mean every word - a promise. “Feel free to get started.” After, you see yourself out the door. 

[c4toru]

BLOWING OFF STEAM !

Sypnosis : you’re on the brink of failing and in desperate need of a tutor. nerd!suguru is here to save the day! what happens when you find the nerdy perv a bit cute..— what?

Warnings : 18+ content, female reader, switch!reader, switch!geto, pervy suguru, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex ( m + f receiving ), cowgirl position, panty sniffing, etc.

WC : 2.7k

a/n : i hope you all like this !! i’ve had nerd!suguru on my brain for a while, nobody ever writes him this pathetic, c4toru is here to save the day! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ minors & ageless blogs dni

“fuck..” you grumble, you had just received a passive email from your statistics professor informing you that your grades have dropped severely in the past couple of weeks. he was concerned with the fact that this continuous behavior could lead to you failing his class, insisting that you give tutoring a try. you run your hands through your sleek hair, leaning far back into your chair before sighing noisily.

you always had a tough time with maintaining decent grades, especially in courses as complicated as statistics. it was a class that always left you feeling extremely stagnant. you don’t know anyone in your class but you do in fact briefly recall your professor naming one particular man as his top student.

suguru geto wasn’t necessarily intimidating, he seemed very welcoming and kind! well, at least he portrayed that side of himself to you. you had once done a quick in-class study session together as part of an assignment, he was exceptionally shy but not a total freak. the rest of your classmates tended to avoid associating themselves with him, not wanting to be labeled as a friend of the peevish and perfectionist nerd.

you dragged your hands down your face before slouching over your laptop once more. you figured one study session with him wouldn’t be the end of the world, very much awkward but not a total disaster. your nails hit the keyboard, quickly typing until you’ve scrounged up a coherent email explaining your situation. you began skimming through the bold text, your eyes gliding across the luminant screen before clicking ‘send’.

it feels as though an additional weight has been added to your workload. you stretch your limbs, pressing your lips together before raising yourself out of your seat. you turn, heading to your bed when you hear a raucous noise coming from behind you. ding

sugurugeto : of course i can help. although, the library tends to be too crowded for me to focus.. could we study at your place? | 10:05pm

you stare at the screen for a while, narrowing your eyes, bringing your hand up to your frazzled face, harshly pressing it to your forehead. “is he fucking serious..?” you whine, letting a random nerd from your statistics class into your dorm room, were you crazy..? you contemplate your next move, going through numerous situations as you play them all out in your head. “ugh maybe i am crazy,” you groan while you type away at your computer, clicking send on your message reluctantly.

y/n : that’s understandable, if you don’t have any other study locations in mind then we could do so at my place. thank you for the help! | 10:15pm

sugurugeto : does tomorrow at 6pm sound good for you? | 10:16pm

y/n : that sounds good. i’ll send you my address, thank you | 10:23pm

you shut your laptop, refraining from relishing in this strange moment. you now have a study period tomorrow with suguru geto, you figured it wouldn’t be too bad. little did you know, suguru had the biggest crush on you. he had been eyeing you ever since you stepped through the door to your shared class. the tiny skirts you wore perfectly showed off your soft and delicate legs, always causing his mouth to water. the singular time you had spoke to him, he swore he was dreaming.. how could a pretty girl like you ever come near him?

when he received your email, he swears his heart stopped beating. was it some sort of scam or even worse, were you hacked..? he truly couldn’t believe the sight before his eyes. he felt the butterflies in his stomach as his entire body shook like a leaf in the wind while he typed up his message.

when he suggested he go over to your place, it was partially true! crowds did frighten him a bit.. though, he did love the library. truthfully, he just wanted to see you in what he calls ‘your natural form’. — god what a loser. despite everything, even if you weren’t enthusiastic about your upcoming meetup with him, suguru was sure ready for your little study date, at least that’s what he viewed it as.

the following morning came and went hastily meanwhile you prepare yourself as well as your dorm for quite the guest. you whip your head towards your clock, its 6:15pm, where is this guy..?— ding! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ you swiftly move towards the door, taking in a shaky breath before opening your room door with a soft smile.

“hello! i thought you might’ve gotten lost.. hah..uhh come sit!” you awkwardly motion towards your desk, you pull a chair out for him before subtly staring him down. he looked surprisingly normal, his outfit was fairly casual but his hair wasn’t tied up in his usual bun. his hair looked soft as it gently caressed his facial features, were his cheeks always so toned.. god his glasses really do make his nose look deli—

“y/n..? where did you want to start?” he repeated, dragging you out of your trance. “oh! anywhere, you can lead the pace.” you reply, shooting him a soft smile out of reassurance. you both settle in and get to work, hours going by as he grills you on multiple different lessons. you lean back in your chair letting out an exasperated sigh, “can we take a break please.. i might go crazy if i don’t,” you pout, eyebrows slightly raising when you hear his smooth laugh while he agrees in amusement.

“why don’t you leave your hair like this more often hmm?” you tease, twirling a small snippet of it with your fingers. his face flushes a bright red before wrapping his fingers around your wrist, halting your movements. “oh! i’m sorry i didn’t realiz—” . . . “can i kiss you?” he replies abruptly, he has a pathetic look on his face, almost like he’s begging.

“what..?” you question, you’re frozen with wide eyes. you’re shocked to say the least, suguru wasn’t necessarily hard to look at. he had a pretty face to him, a sharp jawline, and lustful purple eyes that really drag you in. “i- you’re just so pretty! a-and i’ve never been alone with a girl like this before..” he stutters shyly, you sort of feel bad for the guy. it’s clear how much of a virgin he is, you can’t recall a time where he’s even looked in a girls direction!

“seriously.. hah- just one time okay? i’m only doing this as a ‘thank you’ alright.” he nods excitedly, staring at you with longing puppy dog eyes. you remove his glasses, setting them on the desk before cupping his face gently with both of your hands as you pull him in and give him a soft kiss. you felt his breath hitch as you both pull back slightly, he looks away quickly while using both of his hands to cover his. . . crotch?

“don’t look!” he pleads, shifting his body away from you. you’re taken aback by his sudden tone of voice as well as his humiliated body language. your eyes narrow in on him, “suguru.. are you hard?” you ask, his face is tomato red and his eyes are wide like a deer in the headlights. he quickly grabs his glasses and his book bag that’s hanging on your chair before attempting to bolt for the door. “wait!” you yelp, grabbing his arm as you try to pull him back, “i-i’ll help you, just sit back down.”

you have no idea what’s gotten into you, all you can focus on is the fact that this nerdy perv is now sitting on your bed with his pants off as you’re on your knees in front of him, staring up at him with doe eyes. his shirt is lifted and the hem is tucked into his mouth. your hands reach for the waistline on his boxers, slowly pulling them down when his cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. he’s whimpering while you stare intensely at his pretty curve and pink mushroom tip, pressing your thighs together at the pure sight of his lengthy cock.

“m’gonna touch you kay?” your lip is tucked between your teeth while he nods expectantly. you smear the pre-cum forming on his slit, a wad of spit leaving your mouth and dripping right on the head of his cock. your hand soon envelopes his tip, moving up and down in a twisting motion that causes his hips to buck.

“nngh- f-feels so good,” suguru whined, letting go the hem of his shirt as he brings a hand up to cover his lewd expressions. you bring your mouth to his cock head before pursing your lips, letting an obscene amount of spit dribble all the way down his shaft. he lets out a wet moan at the sight.

you’re planting harsh kisses down his length, licking and sucking periodically around his base. “want you to use my mouth kay? just want you t’a feel good,” you say seductively, licking your lips before you engulf his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking against his frenulum. “f-fuck! so w-warm.. nngh please!” he pleads, his heavy hand softly caressing your head as you began bobbing your head up and down on his hefty cock.

your hands firmly grip his thighs as he bucks his hips up further into your mouth causing you to gag, throat tightening around his shaft, earning an elated moan from him. “c-can i fuck your mouth p-please..?” he needly asks, eyebrows furrowed while he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. you stare up at him, batting your long eyelashes when you nod, humming around him.

he’s rutting his hips into your mouth, cock hitting the back of your throat deliciously. “y-yeah take it.. hah” he grumbles, you’re being starved for breath as spit drips all over the base of his cock, traveling down to his balls. “m’gonna cum! w-where do i—” he whines, you push his hands off and take initiative, suckling on his flushed tip while your free hand strokes the rest of his length. “o. . oh f-fuck m’cumming! d-don’t stop ah!” he pleads, his hand covering his own mouth, his eyelids fluttering as he’s cumming down your throat. you moan at the action, eyebrows furrowed as you swallow his thick fluids.

you pull off his cock, he winces at the friction before you climb on top of him, pushing him against the mattress, giving him a rough kiss. your tongue prodding against his, spit connecting your lips when you pull back. “feel good sugu?” you smirk, your smitten expressions fall when he flips the two of you over. “i- i wanna taste you, can i?” he replies, pawing at the waistband of your sweatpants in desperation.

“do you even know what you’re doing..” you question him, unsure if you really want to continue this relationship. “well n-no! not yet. . but you can teach me! i’ll be good i promise.” he’s practically begging you with pathetic heart eyes. you’re just so cute, he doesn’t know how to act anymore. “ugh.. fine just go slow ‘kay?” you whisper, hands covering your face out of embarrassment.

he’s pulling your sweats down, tossing them in the corner of the room. you’re wearing these pastel pink panties with lace on the borders, small print of roses and hearts all across the front, a small white bow in the center. suguru feels lightheaded, he could probably cum untouched if he stared long enough. he caresses your thighs, spreading them apart slowly as you feel his hot breath flowing against your clothed cunt.

his tongue escapes his mouth, licking a long stripe from the outline of your hole up to your mound. you’re letting out soft moans while he leaves sweet delicate kisses on your covered clit.

his nose pressing up against your cunt as he’s sucking and licking the fabric. “hah.. you smell so delicious, think m’gonna go crazy,” he groans, tonguing your clit through the cloth, earning loud yelps from you. “nngh! you’re so n-nasty.. ah!” you cry, your hips jerking up into his face.

he hooks his two hands into your panties before dragging them down your legs, tossing them near his sweats, hoping he’ll be able to take them home as a souvenir. “be gentle, if you go too fast it won’t feel good..” you whimper as you widen your legs, a hand coming down to spread yourself open for him to see. his mouth is beginning to water as he inches closer towards your dripping cunt.

“stop staring! j-just do it already!” you mewl, your hands coming up to cup your perky breasts. he rubs his thumb on your puffy clit, gently spitting on it before giving it a long suck. he's planting sloppy kisses all over your cunt, from your labias to your twitching hole. “so sweet mmf..” he moans into your pussy, delving back into your wet folds.

“i-inside! put a finger inside- hah..nngh!” you cry out, needing more stimulation. he slowly inserts his middle finger into your sopping wet cunt, it’s going in with such ease despite how thick his fingers are. he’s in awe at how well your pussy his swallowing him before testing the waters and squeezing in another finger.

“y-you’re so tight.. does it hurt?” he asks worried, he’s slowly thrusting his fingers inside you, the pace is almost agonizing. “no just- p-please keep going.. nngh,” you shake your head, begging him to continue as you feel yourself getting closer.

he’s putting his parched lips back onto your swollen clit, sloshing his tongue against it as he pistons his digits deep inside you. “ff-fuuuckkk.. right there suguru! m’gonna- ah!” you yawp, thighs tightening around his head while your hands grab fist fulls of his hair.

your cunt is dripping your slick all over his face and he’s gulping up every last drop. he’s humming little ‘mhm’ s as you ride out your orgasm on his broad nose. he pulls his thick fingers out of you , you stare down at his disheveled face. his glasses are crooked, hair a complete mess with your juices covering his face.

you sit up, crawling towards him, latching your hands onto his shoulders and kissing his fucked out lips harshly. “want you so bad.., can i? please sugu..” now you’re the one pouting and begging him for more. of course he’s nodding in agreement, he could never turn down a pretty little thing like you especially when you’re pleading for his cock.

you’re pushing him against the bed, plump thighs straddling his hips. “lemme make you feel good sugu- hah,” you whine, stroking his heavy cock before lining him up with your warm entrance, sinking yourself down on him.

his hands find your hips, grabbing onto them for dear life as your pretty pussy sucks him in. “s-slow please, you feel so good mnngh!” he moans, your hips rocking into his viciously. your pace is already so deadly for him, a virgin former virgin at that. “fuckk y/n p-please! i can’t- shiiiit. . s-so good mmf!” he babbles before being silenced by your dainty palm.

“f-fuck..just shut up- nngh!” you mewl, one hand silencing him while the other digs into his chest. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your sweet cunt milks him.

you’re letting out lewd moans meanwhile the melodious sound of skin slapping fills the room. your feet rest on top of his thighs, you’re bouncing up and down as your creamy pussy swallows his curvy cock justtt right.

your tired body leans flush to his chest, slowly grinding your hips together before you remove your hand from his mouth and landing a sloppy kiss to his lips. your tongues swirling together in unison, “wanna cum p-please y/n, wan’ it so bad nngh,” he cries, drawing a giggle out of you. how pathetic.

“yeah? c’mon give it to me big boy, want it all inside- hah..” you reply, biting your lip. he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist while he bucks his hips up into you, slick balls slapping against your ass. “ah! m’gonna cum sugu, r-right there!” you moan into the crook of his neck, leaving kisses behind his ear.

you finally gush all over him, your juices spraying all over his lower abdomen. “f-fuck you’re so tightt! m’cumming- hah.. mmf!” suguru rambles, his reddened tip releases thick white spurts into you as he pounds into your cervix. he’s cumming so hard he swears he’s seeing stars, only thing bringing him back down was your soft pleas for a kiss.

“kiss me suguru, p-please mmh,” you kiss him passionately, tongue moving its way throughout his mouth as you both grip onto each other, hungry for one another. you let go of him, caressing his pretty face before pulling apart to flop your body over next to him as you both struggle to catch your breath. you are sitting in comfortable silence until. .

“y/n? does this mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now?” he asks innocently, turning towards you, his thumb caressing your cheek.

you sigh, glueing your eyes shut. what a fuckin’ nerd

likes and reblogs are always appreciated! i might write little drabbles bout this duo in the future ^.^ their story definitely isn’t over.

[archangeldyke-all]

I JUST WATCHED ACT ONE AND HOLY SHIT

Do you think sevika likes biting? Like when other people do it? Because when I saw caitlyn doing it to her I could’ve sworn there was a smirk on sevikas face.

Anyway could you do like headcanons on this? If that’s okay. I love you❤️

oh i KNOW she likes biting AHAHHAAHAH

men and minors dni

really, nobody's been able to make you cum like sevika can. not even your trusty vibrator.

so, it's not surprising to you that you're always scratching up her back and leaving bite marks on her shoulders, but it is concerning.

you confront her about it early on in your relationship. both of you are naked and catching your breath in bed, sevika lazily smoking a cigarette and rubbing your back as you lay on top of her, your finger tracing the indent of your teeth on her breast.

"sevika... am i too rough with you?" you ask.

sevika chokes on her smokes, then sputters a laugh. "what're you talking about?!" she cackles.

"i'm always tearing your back up with my nails-- you've got, like scars on your shoulders now babe. and i worry that i'll draw blood one day, with my teeth or nails--"

"--okay, shut up." sevika cuts you off. you huff a bit and pinch her nipple, and sevika shivers and giggles. "baby. if you recall, i'm not exactly gentle with you, either. just fucked you like a bitch in heat, love, 'n 'm gonna have to lotion your ass from how much i was smacking it."

you suddenly feel bashful, sevika's casual discussion of the mindblowing sex you just had giving you butterflies. you bite her again, much more gently, now, right on the collarbone. "shush." you demand.

"what, you're shy now?" sevika teases. she takes a long drag off her cigarette before stubbing it out out and wrapping you up in her arms. "babe. i like it when you bite me. feels good to know i'm making you feel that good but... i also just like it. the feeling, and the bruises, 'n the way i get to show everyone you're fuckin' me... in fact, i'd like it if you did it even harder. 'n more. could probably cum in my pants from your teeth on my throat..." sevika admits, her voice trailing off and her eyes darting away from yours.

you chuckle and kiss her cheek. "who's shy now?"

sevika just smacks your ass.

so... you start biting her harder. in your time with sevika you've learned how to treat all kinds of wounds, so you aren't as hesitant as you might be to make her bleed. plus, sevika really fucking does love it.

she gets this excited little smirk going on her face when you start gnawing at her flesh, and when you finally really sink your teeth in (usually on her thighs, just a few inches away from her dripping cunt) she just melts. she whimpers and collapses against the bed and sometimes, if you're lucky, you can see her clit twitch in pleasure, despite the fact that you haven't touched her yet.

the first time she cums from it, it's an accident on your part.

you're at the last drop with her, drunk and grinding and making out sloppily in your little corner of the bar, and some woman across the room keeps eyeing her.

eventually, you pull away from her with a huff, smacking her shoulder a bit.

"w-what?" sevika asks, a little out of breath. you have to bite your lip to concentrate enough to get your words out, to resist the temptation of just kissing her again.

"d'you know her?" you ask, gesturing to the woman.

sevika quickly looks over her shoulder, a frown on her face. "w-who?"

"the bitch that's eyeing you like she's gonna be the one going home with you tonight." you growl.

a smile ticks up at the side of sevika's lips, and you scowl. "jealous, baby?"

"no. jealousy would be if you weren't mine. but you are. i'm possessive."

sevika's smile only grows, and she turns her back on her admirer to wrap her arms back around your waist. "i dunno her, love. even if i did, she'd be the last fuckin' thing on my mind tonight. first thing is your ass. second is your tongue. third and forth right here." sevika says as she squeezes your tits. you can't keep your giggles in.

"what about my teeth?" you tease.

sevika shudders, and before you know it, you're being pinned to a wall.

you groan in her mouth, wrapping one of your legs around her hips as she grinds against you. she shoves a hand under your shirt, groping your stomach and tits as you kiss.

you grab her lower lip between your teeth, and sevika freezes, hot little puffs of air hitting your face as she waits in anticipation for your next move.

you give her lip a soft nip before letting it go and ducking down to lick at her throat.

"ba-baby. please." sevika whines, her hips bucking against you in uncoordinated, sloppy little thrusts.

fuck. fuck. you don't have any real reason to worry, not when sevika's begging for your teeth in her throat. it's so hot it makes you dizzy, and you lose yourself for just a second as you clamp your teeth down into her flesh, hard.

sevika stiffens, squeaks, and then starts to shiver, her body collapsing against you and pinning you to the wall. you wrap your arms around her waist, groaning into her skin as she shivers against you.

"f-fuck!" sevika shouts. you pull away from her throat, blood and spit connecting your lips to her skin as you nuzzle her cheek. "fuck. fuck, i love you." sevika sighs.

you giggle, kissing her scars. "i love you, too, baby. can't believe you just came in your fuckin' pants for me."

sevika chuckles. "'s hot watching you get jealous, or possessive, or whatever." she says with a shrug. "'n i really fuckin' like your teeth."

you gently nip her cheek, then press your bloody lips to hers.

sevika moans at the taste.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

[verstappwn]

Je Spreekt Nederlands?

m. verstappen x fem!reader all rights reserved to @verstappwn

prompt: reader goes to the netherlands to meet her boyfriend’s family for the first time, showing off her dutch language’s skills, catching max really off guard.

warnings: explicit sex, +18, swearing, p in v, doggy style, fem! oral, unprotected, degrading words.

The droplets of water were flowing freely down the car window as the Netherlands’ skies raged above the city. It wasn’t the prettiest of days as you and your boyfriend, Max, traveled down the streets towards his childhood home, the day seemed to almost match your mood as you two stopped by the porch of Max’s old place. A nice house with a big garden and wooden ceilings was the sight you were greeted with as your boyfriend killed the engine and stared at you. 

“Did you bring enough coats?”, Max kindly asks, furrowing his brows, causing small worry wrinkles to turn up around his icy blue eyes, “You’re trembling. I told you how het Nederland were around this time of the year and you didn’t-”

You cut him short after he starts rambling and worrying about the apparent reason for your shaking hands. “Max. I’m not cold”, you say in small pauses, reaching out to touch his hand, “I’m nervous”. Max’s brain seems to short-circuit. Your words making his brows furrow even further and his eyes narrow. “Nervous?”, he repeats, testing the words in his tongue, “You’re nervous about… meeting my parents?”. The thought of you being anxious seems unbelievable to him, the woman in front of him is the physical representation of calm and collected, and on top of that, the sweetest, kindest and most perfect woman in this world, that is on his eyes. You can’t be nervous, if you’re nervous then he should be sweating.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you bite back, nervous, fidgeting with your fingers as the rain seems to calm for a bit, making your exit off the car even more eminent. Max tilts his head “Schatje”, he calls softly, reaching for your face and cupping your cheek “You don’t have to be nervous. It’s my mom and my sister’s family, it’s just us”, he tilts your head so you’re looking at him, “And they’re gonna love you, baby. Just like I do”, Max leans forward and plants a gentle kiss to your lips, his fingertips brushing and caressing softly at your cheek, “Okay? I love you,” he repeats, pausing his words as if to convey their intensity.

You let out a deep breath, sighing after the kiss as you open your eyes and are met with your boyfriend’s kind blue eyes. “Okay”, you say softly, caressing his calloused hand, “Love you too”.

He squeezes your hand, stepping out of the car and rushing through the rain to get to the passenger side, suitcase in hand. He opens the door for you and intertwines your fingers with his free hand. “It’s gonna be okay,” Max smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Max knocked on the door, a smile on his face as he waited for it to open, his hand firmly holding yours to calm you down. “Kom eraan!”, (coming!) a female voice called out in Dutch, the door opening to show the face of a kind middle-aged woman with dark hair, “Max! Hoi, mijn liefste”, (hi, my dear) she said with a kind smile, pulling your boyfriend in for a hug, “Hoe gaat het?”, (how are you?), Max smiles at his mom and simply shrugs, placing a small kiss to her cheek as if to call her attention. Max’s mom turns to find your shy face at his side, “Oh! And you must be the girlfriend! I’m Sophie, Max’s mom,” Sophie pulls you in for a small hug, a smile on her face.

“Leuk je te ontmoeten, Sophie”, (nice to meet you, Sophie) you whisper softly, quietly, fidgeting with your fingers as your gaze falls to the porch’s floor.

Max’s jaw drops, his blonde brows furrowing as he stares at you, hearing the words in his language flowing out of your mouth, effortlessly. Sophie opens a warm smile, gasping. “Oh Max! She speaks Dutch!”, she exclaims excitedly, “Oh this is wonderful,”. You smile softly, shifting uncomfortably under her excited gaze, Max’s hand moving to sooth your lower back as he chuckles dry, “Yeah, wonderful”.

Max watches as you chatted with his mom and sister, a bright smile on your face as you let yourself get loose around them; his language flowing off your tongue as if it was just a normal Tuesday for you. Not for him. Max had to go upstairs and take out his skinny jeans to cover what hearing your voice in that sultry Dutch, did to him, and putting on a pair of loose pants.

Victoria’s kids were already put to bed by her husband Tom, as the four of you sat around the kitchen island, sipping some red wine while they got to know you better. You had quickly realized just how alike Max was to his sister and how he inherited his kind manners from his mom, laughing about childhood stories they would tell you about your boyfriend. You giggled at a particularly adorable one about him being mad at the SIM as a kid and turned around to look at him. But he wasn’t laughing. He was staring at you, face pinker than usual and fists clenched, but you simply ignored.

Max stared at you as you talked with the two women, his jaw clenched as he crossed his legs, trying to fix the bulge showing through his pants. He pictured you whispering in Dutch on his ear on that same sultry tone, your hands tracing his torso with your fingertips, pressing wet, languid kisses down his stomach till the waistband of his pants-

“Denk dat we wat moeten rusten,” (Think we should get some rest) Max announced after a while, his voice hoarse and his brows furrowed. You frowned at him, “Maar het is nog vroeg,” (But it’s still early) you whined softly, his sister and mom agreeing. “Schatje. Let’s go,” he said through his teeth, his jaw clenched and tone firm in a way that left no room for discussion.

You stood up from the island stools and scratched the back of your neck, “Goeinacht,” (G’night) you said with a soft smile at Victoria and Sophie who smiled back and waved goodnight to you and Max while you two made your way up the stairs. It was still fairly early, about 9 PM, so you truly didn’t understand why your boyfriend was pulling you up towards the guest room claiming you two needed rest when you spent a long time sleeping at his jet on the way here.

“What’s going on?” you ask with furrowed brows as you step into the bedroom, closing the door you move to stare at your boyfriend’s eyes, palms on his chest and worried eyes. “Nothing, liefje”, he kisses your forehead with a softer smile, though you can see how his pupils are darker, “I’m gonna go take a shower, okay? Why don’t you get ready for bed, huh?”.

Then he turns around on his heels and moves towards the suite’s bathroom, sliding the door shut. You furrow your brows further, not understanding his strange behavior, things had gone well with his family, right? They appeared to have approved of you and you absolutely adored both his sister and mom, so what seemed to be the issue?

You simply shrugged and put on one of Max’s shirts and a pair of shorts, not bothering with actual pajamas as you sat on the small couch on the corner of the room, deciding to read for a bit. Getting immersed in your book, you almost didn’t notice when Max came back to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and hair messy and wet from the shower, he sat behind you and you froze as his chest pressed against your back. “Jij spreekt Nederlands nu, schatje?”, (You speak Dutch now, love?) he mumbled in your ear, his arms circling around you and taking the book off your hands.

He trailed his fingers up and down your arms, making your breath hitch and you felt something hard against your back, Max started planting small kisses alongside your neck and shoulder. “See what you do to me, schat?”, he mumbled against your pressure point, “Baby, are you trying to drive crazy speaking my language to my mom and sister like that?”, his tongue trailed the path of your ear lobe down to the point where your neck and shoulder met and you let out a gasp, “I had to go to the bathroom fix myself so many times, baby. So many…”

Max started pressing wet kisses on your throat, tilting your head back so it was pressed against his shoulder, giving him access to it. Hickeys started forming on your skin as you panted against him, his mouth working on sucking and kissing you as precisely as he could, knowing your body like the back of his hand. “Ik maakt je gek?”, (I’m making you crazy?) you mumbled, your voice cracked with need as you felt heat pooling down your stomach, closing your thighs.

Max moaned against your skin and you clenched your thighs harder as you felt yourself growing wet for him, “Ah schatje, yeah. Just like that. Keeping talking Dutch to me”, he pulled your shirt up, nothing underneath as he leaned down to suck on your collarbone, “Can't touch you like I want this way”, he groaned under his breath, motioning to the fact you two were still on the couch, “How am I gonna show you just how much I value you speaking my language when I can’t even suck you like the good girl you are?”

He smirked and chuckled as he heard you gasp and whimper, covering your mouth with his palm and squeezing your cheeks. He took you by the waist and stood up, throwing you over his shoulder and moving towards the bed, “Gonna have to keep quiet, you know?”, he said in a dark whisper, hovering over you as he threw you in bed, “Do you want my mama en zus to stop thinking you’re an innocent little thing and know how much of a slut you are for me?”, he laughed as you whimpered, his hand going back to covering your mouth.

He stood back and let the towel fall of his waist, watching you gulp. No matter how many times you saw him bare or had sex with him, it always made you stop and drool over him. Max was simply lovely to say the least. “Max, please—,” you whimpered as he took his time taking your sleep shorts out. Max stopped, clicking his tongue, “Ah ah ah ah”, he smirked, “Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me? You speak my language then,” he ordered, his fingers tracing the waistband of the last article of clothing you were wearing.

“Ah, fuck”, were the words that came out of your mouth as your breathing got more wrecked by the second, his tone ordering you to speak his language way hotter than you could’ve anticipated, “Alsjeblieft”, (Please) you whined, biting your lip, “Max, alsjeblieft”. The Dutchman smiled, leaning in to press a languid kiss to your lips, “Good girl”, he said before tugging your panties and shorts down in a swift movement.

You moaned as he pressed a finger against your folds, squirming as he groaned at your wetness, “Baby. You’re so wet for me”, he smiled, pressing kisses to your inner thighs as he knelt on the floor, pulling you by the waist so your legs were hanging over the edge of the bed, “Cover your mouth, pretty”, he mumbled against the skin of your inner thighs, “I’ll stop if I hear a sound, understand me?”

You nodded desperately, your head moving up and down frantically, “Yes, yes, I under—”, you cut yourself mid sentence as you’re met with Max’s disapproving gaze, him clicking his tongue and narrowing his eyes, you quickly go back to Dutch, “Ja, ik begrijp”, (Yes, I understand) you whimper, holding onto his hair as he presses a long kiss to your lower stomach. “See? Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”, he tilts his head in a smirk, enjoying the look on your face, “Quiet, schatje”.

You almost don’t have the time to cover your mouth with your palm when you feel Max’s tongue stroke slowly across your folds. You moan loud against your hand, throwing you head back against the pillow as he moves his tongue to fuck you, your hips matching his movements as he moves in and out of your cunt. You whimper loud, holding onto his hair with the other hand as he moves out to suck on your clit, smirking as he looks up at the mess you are at his touches.

He feels your legs clench around his shoulders as he circles your clit mercilessly, your sensitive bud aching as you moan and feel yourself getting close, “Max, Max—”, you call, and you’re not even sure why you’re calling. But it feels like so much. So good. “I’m- I’m… ik ben dichtbij”, (I’m close) you moan, your hand clenching around your own cheeks as you try to keep your noises down, the knowledge his sister and mother are just downstairs, probably still chatting on the kitchen making your breathing hitch even more.

Max smirked against your wet pussy, his tongue going back to lapping in and out of your cunt while his nose pressed and rubbed against your clit, you let out a loud moan, whimpering as you felt yourself getting impossibly close, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”. And then he stoped. “No, no, no. Max, max, please”, you whined out loud, holding his hair and grinding against nothing as his face was already far away.

“Oh pretty”, he smirked, moving off the ground and hovering over you, “What did I say would happen if I heard a sound, huh?”, Max runs a tongue all over his glistening lips and chin, looking down at you. You whimper at him, your eyes glossy as you’re kept on the edge, “Is this what you want, baby? For my mama and Vic to hear your desperate little noises for me?”, he clicks his tongue, “Can’t have that happen,”.

“Max, but—,” you try to argue, and he slaps the side of your thigh, almost at your ass cheek, the sound echoing through the room quieter than usually since Max was actually serious about being quiet. You whimper and gasp at it, the pain making you even needier for him as you cover your mouth to prevent a moan from escaping. “Jij spreekt Nederlands tegen mij, hoor je mij?,” (You speak Dutch to me, understand?) he groans against you, his hips grinding and driving you crazy as your eyes roll back to your head. “Ja, ja”, (yes, yes) you mumble without any strength, panting.

“Goed meisje,” (good girl) he says before thrusting into you all at once. You cover your mouth with both of your hands as a scream almost breaks out of your throat, “Oh fuck, you feel so good, schatje”, Max groans, pounding in and out of you with no hesitation, he holds your shoulder with his hand, trying to keep you from hitting your head on the headboard with the strength of his thrusts, “Speak. Say something in Dutch,” he groans, his hand flying to your neck as he moves almost all out and then back in.

Your eyes widen and you cry out his name, covering your mouth as you squeeze your cheeks to keep you from screaming. His cock stretching you out so much it feels like you’re being torn apart in two. “V-vertragen,” (slow down) you whimper shakily underneath him, but his pace doesn’t falter for a second. “Kleur?” (colour?) Max asks, his cock hitting every spot perfectly, including the sweet one that makes you see stars. “Groente,” (green) you let out in a breath.

Max stops and you cry out again. “Turn around,” he says, stroking his cock as he waits for you to get on hands and knees. Shakily, you do as he says, your face against the mattress and ass up and you whine desperately, “Would you look at that. A proper slut and asking me to slow down,” he groans before pounding in again, his pace even harder and faster than before as Max watches in awe his cock disappear inside of your cunt. Your face is on the mattress, drooling down the sheets as Max thrusts in and out, hitting you perfectly in every spot to have you crying in pleasure.

You bite down the white sheets, trying to muffle your sounds as you start panting a getting close again. Max leans down, his chests against your back as he pulls at your hair, making you gasp and he slaps your ass again, a cry leaving your throat, “Quiet,” he groans through his teeth before pulling you towards his chest so that you’re both kneeling on the bed, him pounding from behind as he wraps a hand on your mouth, squeezing and holding you still and quiet.

With Max’s palm against your lips as you pant and moan under his thrusts, he moves on to a deeper pace, his cock barely moving out of you before he’s in again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel his sweaty chest against your back, “Schatje, I’m gonna cum”, he groans quietly against your ear, trying to hold back his noises as his grip on your mouth grows stronger and bite down his palm, receiving a hiss in response, “You’re close too, aren’t you?”, he pants, his lips finding your neck and shoulder as his thrusts become erratic, “I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, and you’re gonna tell me just how much you want me to let you come in Dutch, understand?”, he asks through his teeth, “Nod, baby”.

You nod desperately before he takes out his hand off your lips, now covered in drool and red from your bites, “Ik ga klaarkomen, Max”, (I’m gonna cum, Max) you whimper, bitting down your lips to keep yourself from making louder noises, “Alsjeblieft. Laat me klaarkomen,” (Please. Please let me cum).

Max smirks at you, his movements growing sloppier by the second, “Oh, look at you, my baby”, he kisses your neck wet, “Biting your lips and trying to keep quiet for me, so good”, he praises, receiving a loud moan from you in response, which is quickly muffled by his hand, “Such a good girl for me, schatje. You can come”.

The sounds of your bodies moving are wet and obscene as Max’s words make your whole body clench and tighten, right on the edge. You pant against his hand, crying out as your body almost convulses in pleasure. Max follows behind, biting down your shoulder as he comes hard, his movements slowing down as you two ride the waves of your orgasm. Max’s hand falls off your mouth as you two pant against one another, both going limp and boneless against the bed, him under you as you come back down to Earth.

“Since when do you speak Dutch?”, Max pants, caressing your hair. You simply chuckle breathlessly, head resting on his chest, “I don’t know. Since before we met, why? You don’t like it?,” you ask in a soft giggle, propping yourself to your elbows to stare at him.

Max let’s out a laugh, caressing your cheek carefully before kissing you softly as his tongue tangles with yours in a deep, loving kiss, pulling back to press your foreheads together and nuzzle your nose on his, “Schatje, do I need to do all this again for you to see what it did to me?”.

[sleepyangelkami]

PLAYTHING s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 1.2K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - though on the road with dean, sam always comes home to you whatever chance he gets. this time, he feels he's been gone to long and when he finds you sleeping in only his shirt... he aches for you.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, p!v, sleepy sex, praise kink, reader mentioned to be smaller than sam, practically porn with no plot, gentle sex, unprotected sex, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

exhaustion coated sam as he fished around in the back pocket of his jeans, looking for the spare key to your house. it was late and by now, the stars covered the sky. he knew you'd be asleep, that's why he didn't bother knocking.

the door opened silently and sam silently cursed you for leaving your hallway light on. he was always telling you to turn it off before bed but without him there... you felt safer with it on.

he kicked his boots off, not wanting to make a mess of your carpet and found himself walking up the stairs, switching the light off as he went. he tossed his bag somewhere by the top of the stairs, knowing he'd come back to it in the morning.

all that mattered now was well, you.

he opened the door of your bedroom. it was dark but he could still make out the silhouette of your body. your leg was propped up, practically cuddling the duvet. he could see a shirt enveloping your body, too big to be yours.

as he slid his shirt off, he found himself longing to feel you, to touch you. it'd only been a week since he was in this room last and yet it had felt like an eternity that he'd been deprived of your touch.

whenever sam came home after his trips, he'd slide his clothes off and get right into bed. which is exactly what he did now. he wasted no time in enveloping his large arms around your body, pulling you in close.

the smell of your shampoo made his eyes flutter closed and the scent of his own cologne against the sleep shirt you'd stolen from him made his lips quirk.

"sammy?" your voice was a quiet, soft mumble. he loved the way you sounded when you'd just woken, so vulnerable. perhaps he loved it so much because he knew you wouldn't be so vulnerable with anyone else. just him.

"'m here, sweetheart." he felt you move in his embrace. he loved holding you like this, he wished he could get impossibly closer, as if it were possible.

you moved so that you were facing his chest, slightly lower down in the bed than he was. "how was your hunt?" even in the dark, your hands trailed up his arms. he was wearing nothing but his boxers. but feeling his body, there was something about it that just assured you he was really there. "missed you."

"yeah? how much?" the man ignored your first question, his hands sliding around your own body.

you couldn't describe the soft feeling of when he'd come home, feeling him, knowing he was there while he did the same to you. it was rather... lovely.

you felt his fingers inch higher, trailing past the flimsy material of his own shirt on your body. suddenly, you felt the base of his fingers against your panties.

"sammy." you practically whimpered out, low and sleepy. "'m tired."

"i know, honey." you felt him move your hair with his free hands, pressing gentle, damp kisses against your neck. not the kind of kisses he usually left, sucking and leaving marks, roughly and making sure everyone knew you were his. no, this was different. he wasn't kissing you to leave any marks or to induce pleasure, even. he was kissing you so softly, to let you know you were safe with him. "you don' have to do anything, okay? jus' lay there 'n let me do the work, yeah?"

a soft, "okay." left your lips, though your mind was still half torn between sleep and wake.

"good girl." pressing the same, simple kiss to your cheek as his fingers hooked against your cotton panties. you could feel him drag them down against your legs but truthfully, your eyes had fallen shut, tiredness seeping into you.

he pushed his own boxers out of the way too, discarding the clothing against the ground before grabbing his dick in his hand.

if he were being honest, he'd felt himself harden the minute he'd seen your body, pretty cotton panties on show, hardly covered by his own shirt.

perhaps he was being territorial now, but there was something so aching about seeing you in his shirt. he knew you were his, that was a known fact, but seeing you like this, it lit a part of him ablaze.

he moved his hand up and down his shaft, making sure it was hard enough before maneuvering it up against your wet hole.

he didn't push in yet, gently testing the waters as he pushed the tip around your cunt, softly against your clit and finally back down to your sopping hole again.

"jus' relax, baby." littering kisses against your skin. "gonna do all the work."

the hum that left your lips was slick with tiredness but when he pushed himself in, he was met with a stuttered gasp that left your lips. a grunt left his own, usually a string of curses would accompany it.

but not tonight.

often, he'd spend the first few minutes teasing you as much as he could.

but not tonight.

"good girl." he mumbled against your forehead which he had kissed tenderly. "doin' s'good."

he didn't speak much tonight, which he usually did. usually, he couldn't get himself to stop talking. dirty words and the sounds of loud moans would bounce from wall to wall. now, the room was filled with only heavy breaths and lazy whimpers that could be heard from you, buried in the crook of his neck.

but he didn't need you to say anything either. the mere feeling was enough.

it was different than usual. the feeling was indescribable, how comfortable you were with him. the realisation of that on his part was something so riveting.

even now, between the twisted blankets of your bed. you were half asleep, hardly able to keep your eyes open and yet you trusted him with the most vulnerable thing that you could. he realised how protected you felt with him, his large body enclosing around yours, hands gentle against your waist while your head stayed hidden between his neck and shoulder.

your gentle breaths, tiniest of whimpers in his ears was enough for him.

and it didn't take him long to get close.

perhaps he really had been deprived of you.

your breath grew slightly more shallow. "sam." is all you could whimper out, he knew exactly what it'd meant.

"i know, baby." he all but whispered back. "'s okay, let go f'me."

and when you came undone around his cock, he felt himself do the same.

even when everything was done, when the feelings floated away into the air and everything was replaced by this heavy weight of tiredness, he stayed inside you for a few minutes. he stayed inside of you until finally, he realised he was going to fall asleep if he didn't move.

and when he did move out of you, he still kept you close. his large hands trailed up your body, holding it as close as humanly possible.

"really did miss you, sammy." you whispered in the utter darkness.

it was enough for him to think. to really think. perhaps the life he lived wasn't worth it. if he had to give everything up just for a few moments like his with you, then he would.

"missed you so much more, angel."

and with the soft movements of one another's breaths, you fell asleep rather quickly, unable to fight of the tiredness that washed over you both.

sam made sure you didn't leave his embrace until the sun began to rise over the horizon.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ CALEBS FAVORITE KINKS !!!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: a list of what i think are calebs top 5 kinks !

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+, incest , oral sex , bondage , collaring , orgasm denial , porn w/ no plot

a/n :: these are not in order !! :)

1. INCEST :: now, this might seem a little bit overboard , but to caleb ? it's nothing new . after knowing you for so long ... growing up together , living in the same house , sharing everything with each other .. it's like a normal thing to him. so normal to the point where he'll call you his 'sissy' during different times of day . " sissy , could you grab my water from the table for me ? thank you, love . " it just rolls of the tongue !! especially during your alone time, too . it slips out more than you or him could count . when he first moaned it he never even payed attention to it , thinking of it as nothing . it was only when you gave him a look that he couldn't quite read did he notice what he accidentally said . "o-oh my god pips im.. im so sorry. that was fucking weird and i shouldnt have said it... im a damn pervert." shame flooded his face ... but he knew it would happen again , whether he could control it or not .

2. BONDAGE :: listen , he doesnt want to be tied up because hes horny , it's because he trusts you so much ... and that kind of turns him on . the fact he can willingly submit to you and trust you without having to worry about what you're doing . although he likes to be restrained , he'd never do it to you .. only if you asked him . he'd do anything you asked for (within reason) , whether thats strapping you to the bed with ropes , chains , a belt (his) , cuffs .. whatever you please . all he's worried about is them scuffing up those pretty wrists of yours . "nono wait baby .. your skin, it's red . do you need me to stop ? i'll stop right now for you , you look like you're in pain . let me kiss it better pips .." is what he'd say on any other occasion .. but the times when you didnt look so in pain , thats when his freak comes out . "you cant run away silly .. stop trying to run from me . i wont allow it , and neither will those restraints you begged me to use on you . i actually quite like the way you look right now... all tied up and cute for me ."

3. COLLARING :: i feel like this is the most canon you could ever get . he'd seriously be into making you wear a collar for him , wanting everyone to know who you belong to & to not try with his girl ! also , he'd want one with a bell .. just so you couldnt escape without being noisy ;) . buuuut he's up for wearing one for you as well , he also wants to let people know who he belongs to . i think he'd get one for the both of you regardless of you wanting one or not , his need to get people off of you is too strong, as he is alarmingly obsessed with you . the collar isn't just used as man repellent , it turns him on so fucking much . knowing that you're practically his property gets his dick hard to the point of ache , he'd definitely make you wear it during sex . mumbling incoherent sentences about how much he loves the way it looks on your gorgeous neck .. how he never wants you to take it off . "as long as you're here, with me, you aren't touching it . fuck , you're so good for me .."

4. ORGASM DENIAL :: hear me out . it's late at night and he notices your location isnt on ... he texts and calls you multiple times without an answer . eventually , he tracks you down and confronts you about going out without his knowledge / consent . after he's done scolding you , that night , he'd drag you into his car as soon as he could & not let you cum . he would adore hearing you beg for him , solely because it feeds into his desire for you to need him as much as he does you . he wouldnt be too fond if you ended up doing it to him ... maybe as revenge or something , but nonetheless , he would be in pieces . pleading , begging , writhing , all of the above just to feel your perfect cunt squeeze around him one more time so he can cum . he would never put his hands on you , but he would just get so desperate ... he might have to move you himself !! at that point , all he would manage were whimpers and prayers . "ohmygod pips please .. im sorry! okay! im sorry .. i can't take this anymore baby , i need to cum . i need it so fucking bad ."

5. FACE SITTING :: caleb takes "the best way to die is by thigh" way too seriously . he would happily pass away while in between your thighs ... he loves eating you out so much it's kind of concerning . the moment his lips are on your core hes not letting up until you've cum over and over again on his face .. hes addicted to the taste of you . his deep obsession with your juices is so bad that he has to have you suffocating him , almost breaking his nose , using his face as a toy ... he can't get enough . i think this roots from the fact that he jerks off to your voice all the time & that makes him so attached to all your moans . especially when you call out his name while you cum .. he thinks about those moments way too often .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in conclusion :: caleb would really do whatever you asked , aka hes into anything , but these are the ones he really enjoys . <3