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gutsby · 2 months ago

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High Risk

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your dad finds out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv/a. Age gap. Daddy kink. Sneaky sex. Breeding kink. Anal. Use of various sex toys. Joel Miller eats it from the back like a gentleman should. Slight pain kink, but it’s consensual. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!

Word count: 15.0k

Read on AO3

Joel Miller had the willpower of a sack of flour.

If you beckoned, he came. If you called, he answered.

No matter the hour of day, any time or place, that man would be there, no hesitation and no questions asked.

Hell, he might’ve had a couple qualms about fucking at a gas station off I-10 in the middle of the day, but his devotion to you quickly overpowered any better sense. He just unzipped his jeans in the front seat of his Bronco, let you climb across the center console and into his lap, and, parked directly next to a gas pump somewhere just shy of Webster, Texas, he let you ride him for six minutes.

That was all either one of you needed to get off. With his keys out of the ignition and the thin, frigid air of a winter’s day soaking straight through to your bones and his, you needed to move quick to keep warm. You buried your face into his neck and whimpered repeatedly, ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ and Joel had no choice but to oblige, really. He stroked the back of your head with one of his big, warm palms and told you he was right here, ‘m always here, sweet pea. That helped you climax fast.

It also didn’t hurt that you’d nudged the hand cupping your ass to start touching somewhere lower, inside there

Joel’s fingers brushed through the wet, sticky glaze from where your bodies connected and started rubbing someplace new—at your request, of course—and his heart damn near burst out of his chest when you let out a wanton moan at the touch. His cock twitched, and your walls clenched around him when his index first petted that tight ring of muscles. You squirmed in his lap.

“Fuck me there, Joel. Push it in,” you whimpered.

At least half of that sentiment must have been the pre-climax talking, Joel reckoned, but he couldn’t deny that he felt equally enthralled by that spot. It was more just curiosity and mindless need, wondering what you’d feel like wrapped around him in that new place. His fingertip breached the tiny ring, and the two of you groaned into each other. It was mind-numbing. He might’ve plunged his digit in and out all of five times before you were both pushed over the edge. You came with a shuddering cry, and Joel filled the condom inside you in thick, hot spurts.

Joel’s vision blurred for a second with how hard he came

He was still blinking, still breathing like his ribcage might cave at any moment, and you were lifting off him gently.

A little squelch and a sigh from your lips were all that he heard over the rush in his skull. Absently, Joel plucked the rubber off and looked around for a tissue to put it in.

He’d just secured it, and was zipping up his pants to step out of the car and toss it in the trash, when he saw you turned, peering out the back window. He chucked the condom and returned to find you in the same position.

“We should try anal next,” you said simply.

Clinically.

Joel almost dropped his keys turning the Bronco back on

“Try w—” He choked on the last word and stumbled for the third and fourth, sputtering. “What do you mean?”

Finally, you shifted back to face the front, to face him, and a smile was playing at your lips. Your nose wrinkled.

“You don’t know what that means, Joel? Pretty sure the mechanics are about the same as any other type of fucking, just like…in my butt,” you said teasingly.

Like hell it was.

You were no more than forty-five minutes away from your destination in Galveston. Your dad was already at his timeshare down there and would be expecting you soon. Both of you had been a little off-kilter ever since the man had called out of the blue that morning and offered you, Tommy, and Maria the weekend getaway at his place, but still. This? Where the hell had you gotten an idea like that in your head, when the focus was supposed to be on laying low the next couple days? Keeping sex to its usual bounds, not doing anything risky near your dad.

You and him had a pretty bad track record in that.

All the same, trying anal at your dad’s beach house sounded more than just crazy. It was plainly absurd.

Joel was planning to tell his best friend that he was in love with you not too far in the future. How was that conversation likely to fare if the man happened to catch him with his dick in his daughter’s backdoor beforehand?

“I ain’t fuckin’ your ass,” he mumbled grumpily instead.

He turned on the car and cranked the tunes to drown out any protest from you—and to quiet his own wild musings

What if he could, just once?

Would you even like it?

Damn, it might not—

“You need COOOOOOOOLIN’, baby I’m not FOOOLIN’.”

Thank you, Robert Plant.

The song started playing, and he felt especially grateful.

Actually, Joel might need the entirety of Led Zeppelin’s discography to clear his head of the nonsense currently coursing through it. He gripped the wheel tighter in his fists and started out of the gas station parking lot then.

You drummed a mindless beat with your fingertips on your thigh. Your legs were crossed, and you occasionally flit looks over your shoulder. At what, Joel had no idea.

“Take a left on General Acacius Way,” you said casually.

“What?” Joel turned to you.

Your finger was already pointing in the direction you wanted him to take the car. Your shoulders were relaxed, and that mischievous glint in your eye was unmistakable.

“Left on that road, then there should be another parking lot just behind the auto shop. It’s right beside the…yeah.”

Yeah.

Joel turned the wheel to pull onto the nearest street, and suddenly, he saw it. Right across the intersection, no more than a stone’s throw away from where he sat, there was a storefront that nearly made his eyes pop out.

He never considered himself a prude before.

In fact, he’d always thought he was pretty adventurous when it came to sex and being open-minded about stuff.

But this was fucking nuts.

There, on the corner of General Acacius Way and Clint Avenue, he saw a store with flashing pink-and-white lights and an even bigger, gaudier neon sign hanging above them, blinding half the street and making sure that it was seen on even the brightest, sunniest of days:

‘Mandalorian Sex Emporium: This is the Way…to Pleasure’

You had to be fucking joking.

You weren’t joking.

You’d gotten the idea driving to Galveston—or, rather, seated on your boyfriend’s lap and having him finger you in a place he’d never done it before—and then ran with it.

Sprinted, more like.

Your life and Joel’s were rife with stressors and uncertainty and fucked up paternal concerns galore. You’d been thinking nonstop about your dad’s latest conversation with Joel and about the possibility of him finding out about your secret relationship, and it had nearly sent you spiraling. You needed a distraction.

Was it the wisest idea to have that distraction be Joel’s dick in your ass? Probably not. But there were certainly worse ways to be spending your time, and sitting around wondering why the hell your dad had never bothered to tell you that he might not be your biological father, or that Tommy fucking Miller might have been, was useless. You wouldn’t know a thing until you talked to him yourself—and that conversation would have to take place later. This weekend, probably. Presently, you were perusing an aisle full of water-based lubricants, smiling.

Joel wasn’t quite scowling, but he certainly had that look

Like a father himself, far from approving of this scheme.

“Y’think flavored is the way to go?” you asked casually.

You held bottles of Beskar Berry Blast and Coruscant Cotton Candy in either hand and held them up for the purpose of getting your old man’s opinion on them, but his eyes glazed over both. His gaze penetrated yours, and then it flitted down to what he held in his own hand.

His phone.

Also, he had on his reading glasses.

They sat perched atop the tip of his nose, and from that look alone, you knew whatever came next would be good

Joel cleared his throat.

“Sugary lubricants are much more likely to cause a bacterial imbalance—infection, even—and with the heightened risk of microtears in the anal cavity—”

“Jo-el.”

You groaned.

Joel didn’t blink.

“What? If you’re grown-up enough to want anal sex, you need to be able to say the words. I mean it, sweetheart…”

And with that, he straightened. His back audibly cracked. Though he didn’t wince, you could tell that he’d felt it, as his brows were furrowed returning his focus to his phone

He was even more serious than normal, you could tell. Swiftly, you sidled up next to him. You looked down.

In the search bar on Joel’s phone, you read:

How to do anal first time painless & safe

Peering up, you saw his lips were in a line. He was scrolling through results like this was of the utmost importance, and your heart clenched, realizing just how much he cared for your well-being. On top of that, you sensed there was more to his nerves than just the sex.

“We don’t…have to do it, Joel,” you told him softly. “Seriously, it’s OK if you’re uncomfortable. Or worried.”

That last word carried the weight of the sentence, and at length, Joel met your look. His shoulders sagged a little.

He pocketed his cell. Put his glasses in his breast pocket.

“No. I’m alright. Really. Just thinkin’ of stuff,” he replied.

“Like Dad?”

“Like him shovin’ a shotgun up my ass.”

And both of you smiled some, but it was tense. Strained.

That momentary relief of humor between you two was, by force of circumstance, dampened by some weightier considerations. Like maybe this detour was a bad way to distract, and you shouldn’t be seeking that out right now

Maybe sneaking around your dad was risky enough.

Hell, maybe even the truth about you two had to wait.

It was a thought born of fear, but an honest feeling all the same—and, seeming to sense this, Joel’s expression softened. Suddenly, his hand was reaching for yours.

“I’m not havin’ second thoughts about tellin’ him, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” he resumed, eyes on you.

“We just need to…go slow,” you finished. Questioning.

The fingers threaded through yours squeezed them.

“If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it, sweetheart.”

Slow.

Steady.

Setting an even pace for everything to come.

You couldn’t help but see some parallels, to, well…this.

You set the flavored lubes aside. You took Joel’s advice—got some simple, no-frills stuff. It wasn’t about being in a rush, or needing this new, fun thing to be a diversion from the reality you were currently facing. You did it because you wanted to. Because Joel was open to it, too, and though he was being extra cautious, you knew it all stemmed from the love that he had for you. It always did.

You picked out toys. You had to bite back a smile seeing your old man take in the sight of some thick, ten-inch plastic shafts and whistle quietly to himself. He picked out vibrating panties he thought might be fun, and you got two different sets of plugs and beads. By the end of your little excursion, both of you were calmer and content. You strolled out of that Mand’alor sex shop feeling more at ease than you’d been for a good bit.

In the Bronco, back on the road and hitting the homestretch of your trip down to the beach, you did feel like a weight had been lifted. If not completely dissolved, your anxiety, at least, had seemed to take the backseat.

With Joel up front and occasionally squeezing your thigh, telling you just how excited he was to spend the weekend together, you wanted to forget your worries.

You wanted it to be you, Joel, and no one else for a while.

Tommy picked the worst goddamn times to show face.

It was either that he had the worst timing known to man, or he secretly relished catching his brother in the most compromising positions—like the one he was in now.

You and Joel had gotten to the house around noon, not long after you were expected to arrive. Your father was already gone when you got there, having shot a text to say he was looking at bike rentals and that he’d made reservations for lunch at a restaurant down the road—head on over in twenty minutes, and I’ll meet y’all there.

Naturally, with the code to unlock the front door and almost a half hour to spare, a quickie had been a must.

You’d gotten busy in the first guest bathroom you could find and washed off the sex toys you’d just bought, too.

It was incredible how fucking arousing the sight of a little silver plug with a jewel at its base could be to see inside you. After a few slow pumps of his fingers while he fucked you up against the sink in doggy, along with a dollop or two of lube, he’d worked it in you. He thumbed at the spot where your hole was stopped up and smiled.

Then his brother had barged into the house downstairs.

“Who’s ready for some fuckin’ gruuuuuub?!” he’d yelled.

That had been over an hour ago. Now you, him, Tommy, Maria, and your dad were all finishing up said grub at a little cafe on the beach. You were dining outdoors, and the sun was shining bright, but not oppressively. A gentle breeze blew. The food was so good Joel could’ve sworn that his eyes had rolled back in ecstasy twice.

You, too, were squirming—but for very different reasons.

Before you’d left, you put on the vibrating panties. Joel had the remote that controlled them, and he’d been turning it on and off, up and down, all at his leisure.

He wasn’t going crazy, though.

The two of you had agreed you needed to be careful this weekend and couldn’t take too many risks near his friend

But, then again, you were you, and Joel was Joel.

Of course, you’d be fucking around a little bit.

Your dad was calling for the check presently.

You’d just reached for your glass of sweet tea, now nearly empty, but the second the rim touched your lips, your grip slipped. For a beat, Joel thought you might drop it.

Shit.

Dial that down to a…four, maybe?

The settings went all the way to ten. Apparently shocking you out of nowhere with a six was enough to make your eyes bug out and a cough to push itself out of your chest

“You alright, kiddo?” Tommy asked beside you.

You coughed again and forced a smile.

You quickly nodded back at him.

“Fine. Just—fine.” And at the last, your gaze shot to Joel.

You fucker.

He deserved that.

Under the table, holding the remote to your panties, he notched the toy back down to two, just to be nice. You visibly relaxed and pried your eyes off of his, but not before narrowing them briefly. I’m watching you, Miller.

Joel hoped you’d do a lot more to him than that by the time he was done. Just when your dad reached for the bill being handed over by the waitress, he intercepted it.

He slid his card out and stuffed it inside the little folder.

“Meal’s on me,” Joel announced without ceremony.

His friend gave him an appreciative, if not slightly objecting look. He looked like he was about to protest the offer, when Joel tucked his wallet—along with your underwear’s remote—into his pocket. He handed the check back to the waitress and told her not to accept a penny from his friend. Your dad barked a laugh at that.

“Joel, you know I’m fine to—”

“Fucking shit.”

The words leapt through your gritted teeth before you could even think to stop them from coming, it looked like

Joel’s eyes were on you the same second you said them, and as soon as he did, he saw you grip the edge of the table. You blinked hard and coughed a third time. Loud.

He hadn’t even…

“Language, young lady,” your dad snapped. “What is it?”

He gave the same look Joel had seen his own father give him and Tommy countless times growing up—the kind that said we’re out in public, don’t be showin’ your ass.

It wasn’t really your fault, though, if Joel had to guess.

Shortly, he was feeling around for your remote.

Next to you, Maria had a hand on your back.

“You need some water? Here.”

And she offered you hers.

You shook your head vehemently, and shifted in your seat again. Cursed again, though bit your tongue with it.

“Motherfuckin’ piece’a—ah, ah.”

You clamped down at the last.

Was that a moan at the end?

Joel fished around his pocket even quicker. At the same time, your dad ditched his fork from trying to shovel in the last couple bites of his mahi-mahi and glared at you.

“Is there something you’d like to share, sweetheart?”

No the absolute fuck there isn’t.

Where is it, where is it, where is it?

Joel had just been holding it a second ago. His pants pockets weren’t that deep. If he could just grab it and—

“No!” you cried. Actually, it was more like a plea. Your expression pinched, and your fingernails dug into the table, and right as Joel got his hand on the little pink remote, you almost jumped sideways out of your chair.

Fortunately, the waitress arrived with the check again. She handed it to him, thanked them for stopping by, and while your father was momentarily distracted, Joel found the remote. He clicked the button and realized that it had been cranked to ten as his ass was crushing it under him.

Whether you were about to climax on the spot or bawl your fucking eyes out was anyone’s guess at that point.

Joel shut your undies off.

You let out a heaving sigh.

Your father eyed you incredulously. Frowning.

“Any other stunts you’d like to pull before we go biking?” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t expecting a reply.

You gave him one anyway.

Answering your dad but looking directly at Joel, you said:

“I don’t think I wanna come, actually. I’m too tired now.”

***

It was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him on the spot.

If looks could kill, yours just might have done him in.

Lunch had ended without event—well, as much as could be said for your father occasionally stealing looks your way and seeming to wonder whether you might not have gotten drunk during the meal—but still, you made it out. Of course, your dad had roped you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria into riding bikes that afternoon, despite your protests, and despite the fact that the man was still recovering from an injured femur. Your dad had agreed to ride an e-bike to minimize strain, and he’d seemed as cheerful as anything to get going. Joel felt your sidelong dirty looks the whole walk to the rental bike place, and though they weren’t the dirty looks he liked, he still managed to maintain a happy demeanor himself.

He’d even gone so far as to squeeze your elbow playfully and say, ‘Bet I’ll beat you in a race down the beach, kid.’

He did make sure it sounded as platonic and innuendo-less as possible, though. If there was any time to ensure you kept things G-rated and non-suspicious, now was it.

Evidently, you weren’t having it.

Still shaking from your almost-orgasm at lunch, and likely dreading having to sit on a bike an excruciating hour or three, it seemed you wanted nothing more than to make Joel’s life misery now—in a sweet, discreet way.

He should’ve known it when you first peeled off your shirt getting onto your bike, leaving you in nothing but a lime green string bikini top and your shorts. Technically, it had been Tommy who started the trend by claiming it was ‘hot as shit’ and proceeding to rip off his own tee, but Joel sensed from the look you gave him as soon as you shed yours too that you meant to torture him. If he’d had his fun with a vibrating pair of panties, you could do the same showing off your rack while you rode this bike.

And you did. You’d pulled up right beside him no more than ten seconds after your dad had started off down the path to lead the way, and you’d arched your back, pretending to stretch in your seat before setting off yourself. You’d made sure Joel saw your tits in all their full, heaving, teasing beauty, and then you’d leaned in.

“What do I get if I beat you down there, daddy?”

You’d said it quietly; Joel didn’t hesitate.

“Whatever the fuck you want, baby.”

He might’ve been in for an afternoon of torment, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tempt you right back—he would get a moment alone with you one way or another today.

Still, as expected, the bike ride went on forever.

Joel’s balls ached, and it wasn’t just from the triangular-shaped, hard-as-shit seat underneath him. You rode beside him, in front of him, weaving back and forth with ease and showing him everything he couldn’t touch with his best friend no more than fifteen feet away from him. It was agony. And it didn’t improve when your group hopped off their bikes an hour later to stop for ice cream. If anything, the torture just took on a bittersweet tinge.

You were talking to your dad again. On the bike ride, along the boardwalk, at the ice cream shop—for what had seemed like the first time in ages, you were really speaking to your old man and seeming to enjoy yourself. Joel knew there was a lot more to be ironed out between you two, and that would come eventually, but for now, you got to relax. On top of this absurd, mind-numbing attraction he had for you, he also felt oddly content to watch you bond with your father like this, in front of him.

Joel hoped he wouldn’t be the reason it all went to shit.

You were licking cookies and cream ice cream off the side of your cone, then your wrist, where the milky substance had trickled down a little bit. Joel was fighting like hell not to make that sexual in his mind, but it was difficult when you’d sucked him off dozens and dozens of times before. Your dad laughed at something you said; he practically wheezed, and then he’d pinched your nose affectionately. You wrinkled it in response, still grinning.

Joel loved you.

He was seconds away from sporting a raging erection under his shorts, and he loved you more than anything.

He really didn’t want your relationship with him to be the reason why you lost your own with your father, and for a moment, Joel wondered if it might not be a good idea for the two of you to wait. Until you were a little older, out of college, maybe making some money of your own and able to decide for yourself if he was what you really—

“Sweetheart!”

That was your dad.

But it wasn’t for you.

It wasn’t spoken to you, but rather behind you, where the ice cream shop’s front door had jingled with a new arrival

It all happened faster than Joel could process it—your smile had been so big beaming back at your father, reminiscing on some old memories together, and then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Lost. Dropped off of your face completely the second you turned around.

His friend rose to his feet and went for a warm greeting; at the same time, Tommy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Beside him, Maria’s did the same.

So he’d told her about Helen, then.

Your dad had just pulled the woman in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. Helen had smiled appreciatively at first, then a little sheepishly as her gaze darted over the four other people sitting at the table.

Your look was as deadened as Joel had ever seen it—leagues worse than when you’d been mad about the vibrating panty situation. Your whole demeanor had taken a nosedive, and your back straightened reflexively.

You lowered your ice cream cone and eyed them both.

“Maria, I don’t think you and Helen have been introdu—” your dad started to say, but even he, in all of his affable humor couldn’t ignore the way your chair scraped back.

You stood and tossed your cone in the trash.

Then, without saying another word, you left.

It wasn’t particularly dramatic, loud, or angry. In fact, your movements were as mechanical and unaffected as if you’d just felt a cool draft and wanted to take a step outside. It didn’t look like you were annoyed at anything.

You got the fuck out of there, though.

You discarded your frozen treat like it was nothing, and, without thinking, Joel did the same starting after you.

Dimly, he was aware of the bell over the door jingling a third time with his exit. He felt the sun on his face and a breeze through his hair as he followed in your wake. It seemed you’d considered your bike outside for all of one second before quickly diverting your path; you decided you’d walk. You did walk for several yards in front of him.

Joel called your name.

You were off at a fast clip, so he had to jog to catch up.

When he did—and that didn’t take long—he reached out.

You jerked your arm away: “I’m not doing this shit, Joel.”

“I know.”

Another step closer.

Another pass for your elbow.

You didn’t fight it at first, as you’d gotten better about trusting him in moments like these. You’d improved your general reaction to bad situations and had managed to leave the shop without causing a scene. Still, old habits died hard, and in a second, you were pulling away and starting off even faster—further from him, to the beach.

Speed-walking at this point, like you needed to blow off some steam and couldn’t do that anywhere but near a body of water. Joel watched you scrub at one of your eyes and could sense something brewing inside you.

“He knew,” you spat, words harsh several strides ahead. “Motherfucker knew what he was going to do, so he took me to my favorite ice cream place from when I was a kid, talks to me like we’re—we’re good again, then fuckin’—”

You reached the boardwalk leading to the beach. You curtailed your speech just long enough to take a quick, ragged breath, and then you climbed the wooden steps.

“He’s a fucking asshole,” you muttered.

Joel could only see your profile, but at least you’d slowed down. You were maybe four feet ahead, and you had your mouth in a tight line, like words were getting difficult to say. He knew that look. He knew tears weren’t far away.

“And we’re—FUCK!”

At the last, you’d nearly made it all the way to the sand but had gotten your shoe stuck on a crooked part of a plank walking up, and you stumbled. You fell down, hands instinctively flying out to catch yourself.

Joel’s did the same.

As soon as you went down, it seemed, he was right there with you on the ground. If he’d acted a second faster, he might’ve been able to prevent you from hitting the sand at all. Unfortunately, you’d been a little too far ahead of him to make a catch possible. He dropped to his knees beside you, and his hands were reaching again. Grasping.

Holding, and not being nudged off this time. You cursed.

“Fucking sh—” you started, going in for your knee.

“Baby, hey—hey.”

Fear must’ve flashed in his eyes, because the second you met it, you were blinking hard—expression softening the slightest bit in spite of the pain probably shooting up your leg just then. You pulled your knee to your chest, but you let Joel hold it, too. You let out a labored breath.

“You OK? Lemme—” Joel brushed some sand off your leg. “—lemme see it, sweetheart. Just let me see, OK?”

His words were as soft and placating as he could manage it; it was silly, really, since a couple seconds’ inspection of your knee revealed you’d suffered no more than a minuscule scrape from your fall. Still, he leaned in.

And as soon as he reached down for your ankle, checking to make sure you hadn’t twisted it or anything in the process, he heard another sigh. It was softer.

A little more strangled, too, by the sound of it.

“We’re doing the same thing, aren’t we?”

Your voice was small. On hearing it, Joel’s hands stilled in place, and his gaze flitted up to yours. His brow furrowed

“What?”

“Lying,” you said, somehow even quieter. Frowning, but not on account of any pain. “Hiding. Just…just like him.”

Now it was Joel’s turn to soften his expression looking at you—he couldn’t help it. Your face was mottled with a mix of warring thoughts, from anger to fear to shame, and it made his chest hurt. He hated seeing you hurt.

“No. We ain’t like him.” He shook his head.

Your dad destroyed his marriage and upended your life for a love he should’ve fought to keep or left in the past.

You didn’t know that. Joel had only learned the truth the night before, and the story was fraught with so many other deeply personal things, he didn’t think it was his place to share it with you himself. You’d have to hear it from your father when you talked to him, and he knew that that would be soon. You’d already learned part of it.

“We ain’t them, sweetheart. Nothin’ even close to that.” And as he said it, his hand lifted to your cheek. He cupped the side of your face and thumbed at it gently.

You sniffled. You looked like you might jump into his arms and demand a hug, which Joel was more than happy to give, but then you stopped. You had to, shortly.

More footsteps down the way. They thundered fast and loud down the creaky, sunwashed stretch of boardwalk and came clambering to where you and Joel crouched.

Joel’s hand jerked back.

He didn’t want it like that, but he had no choice. Your father’s voice was booming overhead, concern laced in every word as he approached at a lightning-quick pace.

“Honey! Hon—fuck—are you alright?”

Then he was at your side. Reaching for you in that same, urgent way Joel had, only Joel was helping you up. The two of you shared a final look before you turned to him.

You were already waving your father off, “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Did you trip? What happened? Is your ankle alright?”

At least a half-dozen emotions were all flickering over his face at once, like the man couldn’t pick which feeling to stick to, but each one was born of fear, Joel could see.

As a matter of fact, Joel never saw his friend’s features betray such bone-chilling concern than when he happened to be worrying over you. It showed again.

Your father was fretting and fawning for no reason at all—no matter how insistent you were that you just tripped, that’s it, now lay off, Dad, please. It was clear that your admonitions fell on deaf ears, one right after the next. You were persistent, but you got that from him, and he wouldn’t let it go until he’d held you steady in his hands and checked your legs and feet and told you, sweetie, you could’ve hurt yourself. What were you thinkin’?

Running off like that was what he meant, surely.

Joel had to force his gaze away when he saw how earnest your father was on those last couple words. He was stooped a little, bent to match your height, and his eyes were glistening with a paternal apprehension like he’d never seen. It almost seemed too much. Overdone.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

And he wasn’t talking about you taking a spill on the boardwalk anymore, suddenly. His expression softened.

True to your stubborn self—true to being his daughter—you just shook your head and sniffled once. Then you tried to nudge him away again, your movements wooden

“I don’t ca—”

“Can we talk?”

Another sniff. Another step away.

“I don’t wanna talk.” You sounded resolute.

Your dad was even more adamant: “Well, I wanna talk.”

And that made both you and Joel stiffen involuntarily. It wasn’t necessarily the words that he spoke but the way in which they were said; your father’s voice nearly broke.

“We need to talk, pumpkin.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Something tugged at Joel’s chest that felt like a blade. Your father straightened and cast a look around, eyes scanning the sunny, colorful scenery like he was thinking, and then he quickly reverted his focus to you.

Joel wasn’t sure if his friend’s gaze had missed him on purpose, or if there were something more beneath it.

He was paranoid.

Insane.

“Five minutes. Then I’m going home,” you said coldly.

Whether you meant the house on the beach or the one back in Austin was anyone’s guess. Frankly, Joel was only aware of his surroundings in the vaguest, dullest sense, and the rest of his body was buzzing. He couldn’t stop blinking, fearing what was coming next for you both

A breath got lodged in his throat and he almost choked when your father turned his way, at length. He coughed.

“Miller, you—”

Fuck, this was it. The end.

Your father paused to cough, too, though this time, it looked natural. He appeared to be clearing his throat.

“—mind giving us a minute? Shouldn’t be too long.”

Oh.

“Sure thing, man.”

Shouldn’t be too long.

This was the last thought ringing through his skull as he turned to leave. He couldn’t bear to meet your look for longer than a second, for fear that your father might change his mind and suddenly out you both for fucking each other’s brains out these last three months. That would be horrific, and Joel wasn’t about to test his luck.

From what he could glean from your expression in the glimpse he got, you were feeling about the same as him.

Your voice was small—and growing more faint as he started to walk off from the way you two first came.

Down the boardwalk, haunting him all the way back:

“So what do we need to talk about, Dad?”

Your head hurt.

The talk ended up taking more than five minutes.

At the start of that conversation, you swore you’d tell your dad to fuck off and then head back to Austin before he could even utter the name ‘Helen,’ but here you were.

Staring blankly at a wall recalling every last minute detail of the exchange, hours later, and wondering what the fuck any of it meant. Freshly showered and splayed out over the front of a big, familiar frame and inhaling his scent. Laying with your head on his chest and your cheek growing hotter the longer it stayed in place.

You blinked and wanted to forget everything.

A hand stroked up and down your back, moving slowly.

“Your dad loves you, sweet pea. More’n anything.”

Joel murmured that into your hair, then kissed the crown of your head. Instead of giving you a good, warm feeling or making goosebumps break out across your skin, the gesture hardly registered. You could only stare harder at the wall beside the bed and recognize how numb you felt

“Even though I basically ruined his life,” you replied dully.

“Hey.”

Your head was nudged to turn up to Joel’s. Reluctantly, your chin came to rest on his chest, and at the same time, you felt two broad palms cup the sides of your face.

Joel’s eyes pierced you with a marked, solemn sincerity.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped.

“It’s true. I wrecked everything.”

“You didn’t wreck a single damn—”

“He doesn’t even know if I’m his daughter, Joel!”

Those words were spoken with an even harsher edge. Louder, like they needed to get out. You shifted a little.

“How the fuck am I not supposed to feel guilty when my being born was the only reason he chose to stay with my mom at all, and then it turns out, he might not even b—”

It was too ugly to say aloud. It was too foul, too shameful, too fucking gut-wrenching to think that your very existence was the reason for another’s unhappiness—and that that whole premise might’ve been built on a lie. Stupidly, you scrubbed at your cheek and pushed to sit, like the act and the new posturing might make the chances of you breaking down crying any less likely.

Joel sat up with you.

His arms wrapped around you, and you didn’t have the strength to push him off or tell him you were fine, really.

Shoulders sagging, you simply leaned in and buried your face in the crook of his neck. You let him hold you close.

“‘S’alright, sweet girl,” Joel cooed. Stroking your hair like he’d last done running his hand up and down your back. “He’s still your dad. You’ll always be his, no matter what.”

At that, the first crack in your exterior gave way.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but a sob racked through you, and your body melted into Joel’s bigger one. Your numbness fled, and it left you feeling raw.

Needy.

Clinging to the old, heather gray shirt your boyfriend had on and hoping that your tears wouldn’t soak the material.

Carefully, Joel slid up the bed with you tucked snugly in his arms, and he leaned back into the headboard. He let you cry, probably because it felt appropriate, and also because he loved you more than words could express.

For some reason, that made you want to cry even harder.

Joel continued to stroke your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear, and the pit of unease in your stomach grew more and more painful as he did.

You fisted his shirt fully in one hand and wept. After some seconds or minutes passed, you could hardly decipher what had brought you to tears in the first place, but you knew what kept you there—what made you want to curl up in a ball and sob your eyes dry on the spot.

There were words sticking to your throat, begging to claw out, so in the next second, you ended up blurting:

“I don’t—I don’t wanna be like him, Joel.”

The sound was a little muffled against Joel’s neck, but it must’ve reached his ears all the same, because suddenly he was shifting the slightest bit and drawing back gently.

“Wh—”

“I don’t wanna lie like him. Keep…fucking things up.”

“Sweet pea, I promise you’re not—”

“I don’t wanna lose you.” And your voice was alarmingly steady, despite the tears you’d shed and the uncertainty you felt; you didn’t know how things would go with your dad, and neither did Joel. “I— I just love you so much.”

Hell, you might’ve heard his heart splinter at that.

You might’ve seen his throat work and his eyes glisten and the same feeling you’d expressed in words flood his features in a look—that he didn’t want to keep hiding this—but you also wouldn’t see it for long. Joel kissed you.

His lips crushed yours at first, the force of it so strong that it almost knocked you off balance. Sharp, gray stubble, parted lips, probing tongue, searching hands, and a rich, woodsy smell all overwhelmed you at once.

It wasn’t a question of if you kissed back but whether you could keep up, and you could feel it in every breath.

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned against your lips, as if pained. “More than you know—I love you. I love you.”

This quiet refrain continued well into the kiss, as he laid you down and crawled over your frame. You melted beneath him. Your legs fastened themselves tightly about his hips, and you brought Joel in—welcoming him.

It wasn’t an altogether uncommon thing to be meeting each other with such urgency and need—in fact, these days, it seemed to be your favorite way to approach sex—but here, in your family beach house, on the brink of sharing something new and terrifying and unable to be walked back with your dad, you grew doubly restless. Your fingers threaded messily through his hair, and you tugged those soft, salt-and-pepper locks like your life depended on it. You opened your mouth wider and whimpered into the kiss; Joel ground himself into you.

“T—Tommy. And Maria?” you managed breathlessly, in between kisses and feeling Joel’s tongue explore every crevice of your mouth. Trying not to lose all your sense. You wanted to make sure the house was totally empty.

“Dinner. Probably—” And Joel had to stop himself just long enough to fight a chuckle, though a smirk remained. “Probably makin’ babies afterward, if I’d had to guess.”

“Yeah? That serious?”

“He plans on marryin’ her.”

“Never pegged him as the marrying kind.”

“Well, when you find the woman you want forever.”

As Joel said it, his gaze flitted from your lips to your eyes. You weren’t in a state to even attempt to decipher that look, so you didn’t. You leaned in and kissed him instead.

He tasted like wanting and something more. He moved his mouth over yours like his oxygen supply had come from your lips and tongue, and the rest of him was captive to your every other touch. You moved, and he followed. When you drew back to try and catch your breath, Joel swallowed and watched you just as closely.

“Dad should be out a few more hours,” you added, soft.

Joel didn’t speak, though his gaze trailed your body as you started peeling off clothes, beginning with your top.

He undressed quicker despite not being able to take his eyes off your body the whole time, and you felt need burrow even deeper inside you. The room got warmer.

The two of you were stripped down in a matter of seconds, and still, the temperatures seemed only to have increased and left you basking in a scorching heat. There was familiarity and ease, having done this so many times before, but nothing could ever really prepare you for when Joel spread your legs and slotted himself between them. There was his bare skin on yours, absurd amounts of warmth, and your head resting gently on a pillow, peering up at the man with wide and excited eyes.

Joel’s hand reached between your thighs, and your expression only brightened with the movement of it.

You canted your hips upward at just the right moment.

Joel sucked in a breath. Blinked hard, as if remembering.

“Honey…” His voice tapered off with just one, lone word.

You were glad he hadn’t completely forgotten, and you didn’t miss the way his length twitched against your hip. He liked what he felt, evidently. His fingertips had grazed the little jewel notched into your back entrance, and he was reminded, in no uncertain terms, that you wanted it.

You wanted him there.

Needed him, you hoped he knew.

Joel already had the pad of his thumb pressed up against it, and he was starting to stroke it. Considering.

“Want me to…keep this in while I fuck her?” He lifted his knuckles to brush the seam of your cunt—the ‘her’ in question, obviously—and when he did that, a shudder coursed through you. Your walls clenched around nothing, and more warmth trickled out of you.

All but blinded with desire, you still managed to get out:

“No. Want you to fuck me in there, Joel. Please.”

It was a borderline obscene request, but you didn’t care. He knew this was what you’d been wanting him to do, and so long as he was on board, you hoped it would happen. You ached to feel his cock someplace new. Claim you in a way he hadn’t gotten to do before.

When it seemed a warning might not be far from Joel’s tongue, you rejoined with equal warmth, even needier.

Lifting your hips again and digging your heels into the soft, white comforter beneath, saying, ‘Daddy, please.’

Joel was as good as sold hearing that, if you’d had to guess, but you went even further to seal the deal for yourself. Reaching down and touching the plug, pulling on it, gently, all while your gaze remained plastered on his. A soft whimper slipped past your lips when you did.

“Help me get it out, Joel. Wanna feel you—”

“Shit,” Joel panted. Shortly gritting his teeth.

At a glance, it seemed the man was primed to drop face-level with where you were currently playing with yourself. Maybe lick a stripe up your wet, aching slit and then tease the toy out with his fingers just like you wanted.

To your shock and dismay, Joel stood up from the bed.

Your body lurched with confusion at first; another whine might’ve escaped. Your mind was a wild and wanton place in that moment, filled to the brim with ideas of your father’s best friend having you any way he wanted. The thought that he might be planning to tease you now, or leave you hanging in this terrible, tireless deprivation altogether, was almost more than you could bear. You pushed to sit, eyes widening and lips about to protest.

Joel nudged you back down.

He turned and opened the top drawer of the nightstand.

Then, before another moment could clue you into what was going on or what Joel might be trying to do with the item he’d pulled out, you felt it: a hum between your legs.

A mechanical buzz and a palm pressing to your hip.

Joel ducked his head just in time to catch your lips in a kiss, soaking up the startled sound that had been quick to claw out. You couldn’t help it, of course—whenever Joel took a vibrator to your clit, you were putty under him

Joel also knew you loved the feeling, so he kept it there.

He kept his mouth pressed to yours through the initial shock of it, swallowing a moan or two, but then, almost as quick as he’d stunned you with the buzzing vibration, he pulled back. He waited until your eyes re-focused and your lips were trembling lightly, dying to whimper or groan or tell him, as best you could, that you needed him to push inside you, now, now, now, before he spoke.

“She’s already drippin’ for me, baby,” Joel said, near- mournful. Rolling the vibrator between forefinger and thumb and causing a shockwave of pleasure to course through you. Teasing up and down the slick, puffy seam. “So wet and needy, wantin’ to get stuffed full’a me. Be a real shame if I neglected my sweet girl now, wouldn’t it?”

It was true, your cunt needed him just as badly, and your walls were fluttering and aching with every twist of the vibrator’s tip on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

Still, when Joel flipped you, sliding a pillow under your hips, you felt that urge for something more. Your back arched mindlessly, and you clutched the sheets tighter.

“Just—just give her a kiss,” you stuttered into the bed.

“Just a kiss?” Joel repeated, hands gripping your hips and lifting you toward him. If you’d had to guess, his face was hovering somewhere close, wearing a conceited grin

Then you knew that it was; his lips connected with your throbbing, glistening folds from behind, and his hold tightened. Sharp stubble—all mostly silver—tickled your thighs, and after that, a soft wet pop graced your ears.

Then a chuckle.

“How ‘bout a couple more?” he drawled out, teasing.

“Just fuck me, please.” You wriggled helplessly.

And you thought, as needy and visibly aroused as you were, Joel might oblige. He could extract that little jewel without issue, slick himself up with lube and plunge in. Simple as that. You arched your back again, higher now, and you begged him with every movement, every breath you were drawing in and exhaling, that you wanted this.

Joel kissed you again.

He pressed his lips to that shiny, wet place and sank in. Spread your cheeks with his hands, parted your folds with his tongue, and mapped the whole, weeping expanse of your cunt with that one, curious muscle.

Joel had gone down on you plenty of times before and every instance, without fail, had left you a writhing, whimpering mess—sometimes in a puddle of your making—but this was different. The feeling was new.

This sweet, gentle man was eating you from the back, and every muscle in your body was starting to contract.

Chin pressed firmly to the pillow and eyes staring, unblinking, at the headboard, you stuttered again:

“P—Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“In the ass?”

At the same time, Joel pressed the still-buzzing vibrator to your clit again and started licking into your entrance.

“Yes!” you cried, fingers twisting the covers and squeezing. “Please—please fuck my ass, daddy.”

You sincerely hoped Tommy and Maria wouldn’t be home at all tonight. If your dad came home, well…you might cry

You were about to sob, feeling Joel’s tongue push an inch inside your needy cunt and start stroking gently.

“I—” Joel had to pull back after just a few licks to reply. “Can’t fuck you there til you’re good an’ ready, baby. Gonna hurt you if I don’t. ‘S’alot to fit. Needs prep.”

Fuck prep.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” you huffed defiantly.

Just as you started to curve your spine higher, a wordless invitation for him to go ahead and try it, please, a palm came to rest on the small of your back, gently.

“Sweet pea, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Those words from Joel sounded serious. You turned your head to the side, eyes catching the soft brown irises awaiting you from behind, and you understood it.

You understood him, now leaning back on his heels.

This was a brand new frontier for you both. Not only being here, doing this, but preparing for something else. For a moment, you were transported back to your old troubles from before, and neither of you needed to articulate in words just what that was going to be, as it hung in the air between you with every breath, presently.

It felt like losing your virginity. Taking a new step. Although you knew that nothing would fundamentally change in what you and Joel had, it was still frightening. You turned around to find Joel still on his knees, thinking

Worrying what your father might say to him, probably.

“Come here,” you said, legs spreading wider.

You had ample support in the wall of pillows and cushions behind you, so when Joel crawled eagerly, and draped his body completely over you, you could hold him without struggling too much. You pulled him even closer.

And, with his head on your chest and your fingers combing affectionately through the black and gray strands, you did what felt most normal in the moment.

You told him you loved him, just like he’d told you before.

Joel’s body responded in kind, the way it always did.

It wasn’t lost on you that neither you nor Joel had ever been in a relationship serious enough to use those words, so whenever you said them now, they felt weightier. Particularly after spending so long trying to suppress those feelings, it seemed like you couldn’t get enough. Joel couldn’t control how much it affected him.

For one thing, he was hard as steel against your leg.

For another, his grip tightened protectively over your hip.

Instead of saying ‘I love you’ back immediately, he sat up and tilted his head to meet your gaze. Propped himself up on an elbow and adjusted his body between your legs.

Joel was warm. Broad. Muscular and thick through every inch of his frame, and his length was pulsing gently against your lower belly. His tip was probably leaking.

“Say that again.” It was an order, but nothing harsh.

You knew he was desperate to hear you, not merely asking you to obey, and, shortly, his hand lowered to his cock. He fisted it in a suffocating grip and squeezed it.

“Go on, sweet pea.”

“I love you, Joel.”

Then a tug on your shiny blue jewel. With his free hand, Joel gave it a pull, and he watched you squirm a little.

Still fisting his cock and starting to stroke, he said:

“Again.”

A beat. Another soft tug.

“Push when I pull on it, OK, baby?”

You nodded, not wanting to waste a second.

“OK. Joel…I-I love you so mu—oh.”

You were breathing in through your nose, bearing down like Joel had told you, and then, all at once, you felt a pop

“Don’t move, sweetheart. It’s OK.”

‘S’alright, darlin’, it’s just gonna feel a little different now, rang clear as anything through your ears, and you had to suck in a breath. Damn clueless and stupid as you felt, you hadn’t realized it would be so…weird coming out

Maybe it was best if you took this slow, like Joel said.

Before any real sting could settle in, though, something sticky and cool was being smeared between your legs.

You looked down and saw Joel using his thumb to stroke the raw, slightly stretched spot and soothe the muscle. His touch was tender and easy. Your heels dug a little deeper in the bed, there on either side of Joel’s body, and for a moment, you felt strangely, sorely exposed.

You were, after all, but that was what you wanted, right?

Another sharp breath rattled your chest—Joel’s thumb had notched inside, no deeper than a quarter-inch—and your feet slid reflexively again. Your legs tried to clamp.

Joel kept you open to him, thumb working in circles. Then, likely sensing your discomfort, he scooted closer.

His gaze flickered to find yours, and his look was soft.

“One word and we stop,” he said. “You got it?”

That voice was a little stern, trying to evoke some sense of austerity, but it was an altogether kind tone anyway—you knew Joel just wanted you to be completely safe.

You nodded.

Joel smiled.

“Now tell me again,” he murmured, eyes shining.

You’d nearly forgotten what the two of you had been doing just a few moments ago, but then it hit you. At the same time, while you opened your mouth to speak, one thick, lubricated finger replaced the thumb pressing in.

Joel’s index teased a little, then sank in an inch.

He withdrew, before plunging it back in gently.

Your muscles instinctively contracted around him, and while you did, as if from another reflex, you rushed out:

“I love you, Joel.”

And you did.

The man was eyeing you hungrily, but still with a reverence and a respect all the same. It pained him not to speak those three words back, but he was refraining from saying it so he could focus on working you open. He knew that as long as the anticipation was building, while you were aching to have more of him and growing more needy each second, he’d have an easier time at it.

Instead of talking immediately, he slid a pillow under your hips like he did before and drew close enough to where he could lay down beside you. He got more lube. He plumbed his finger in delicately, watching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain, and when you gradually relaxed into it, he grabbed the bottle of lubricant again.

Wet and slippery as everything was, you still couldn’t help but wince when Joel added a finger—his were thick.

No sooner had your features screwed up than Joel was kissing the top of your head, halting the motion of his digits momentarily, and then grabbing more lube. Again.

“This OK?” he murmured, coating his two fingers.

“I—I think. It’s just…tight,” you answered quietly.

Joel kissed you again, this time on your temple, and his index and middle fingers moved as slow as anything to work your entrance a little more. He was drenching it.

Lathering it with as much slick, artificial help as he could

“I know it’s hard, but try to relax. It’ll feel better that way.”

Joel had a perfect voice for coaching. He wasn’t pushy or gruff, agitated or in a hurry to get you someplace you weren’t quite ready to go. He let your body guide his touch, and he didn’t push for a third finger until you’d visibly gotten your bearings. When you were leaning in.

It started to feel good.

The push, the strain, the stretch. Joel’s never-ending words of encouragement as you fit him inside this narrow and unfamiliar channel. He kissed you more. Groaned into your skin. Said you were doing so fuckin’ good for him, and he couldn’t wait to make you feel better with his cock. You believed him. You wanted it.

And when, after several minutes, a third finger did make its way inside you and you really felt a stretch, you nearly bit clean through your bottom lip trying to stifle the moan that pushed out of your throat. Your head fell to Joel’s shoulder, and your breaths picked up a little more.

You weren’t even really aware when you said it, but then it came out of you all at once, face buried in Joel’s neck:

“Y-Y-You love me, too, right?”

It sounded uncharacteristically meek and almost pitiful to your ears—of course you knew he loved you, why ask?

But before you could chastise yourself, or even think twice about having said it, a warmth enveloped you.

Joel enveloped you, his free arm snaking down your side.

The big, muscular, protective and tender-hearted man with your pleasure in his hands nudged your cheek softly.

He wanted you to look up at him.

And when you did, your worries trickled away.

Or, at the very least, they took a backseat for the time being; Joel was meeting your gaze with the single most kind and loving look he might’ve ever imparted. Mixed in that expression was a tincture of guilt, you could see, like he was sorry not to have made this clearer to you sooner.

He blinked once, then resumed:

“As long as I live, sweet pea.”

And if that wasn’t enough, or else because he wanted to communicate it on your terms, with your needs in mind:

“As long as you’ll have me, and then some. I’m all yours.”

If three of Joel Miller’s fingers weren’t currently buried to the hilt inside you and stretching you wide open for him, you might’ve jumped the man. Hugged him. Squeezed him to your body as tight as you possibly could and assured him that you were his as much as he was yours and you’d never get tired of this, ever, you would have done that. Your eyes likely said as much, growing glossy.

Feeling a lump in your throat, you had only to turn into Joel’s body and try to get the words out, soft and hoarse.

“I love you, Joel. So much.”

Moving closer, though your bodies were practically flush with each other—but Joel didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, a grin just graced his features as he peered down at you. He pushed his nose to yours, and you grinned back.

“I love you more,” he said, not peeling his eyes away.

Before you could even try to reply, ‘Well, I love you most’ like some silly, lovesick puppy, Joel had you beat. He slipped his fingers out carefully from you and shifted in bed, to then overtake your frame and hover above it.

He dropped a kiss on your head, still smiling like an idiot.

“And I’ll love you most, ‘til my lungs give out, alright?”

“You better not be lyin’ to me.” You said it teasingly.

And Joel was just about to answer for himself when the sound of the front door swinging open downstairs interrupted you both. Noisy footsteps followed after, and in a second, you recognized the clamor as belonging to Joel’s brother and his girlfriend. Both were laughing.

The weight of Joel’s body pressed even heavier to yours.

He wasn’t stiff, for once, likely because you didn’t have to hide from those two anymore. And he’d locked the door.

“I ain’t lyin’, baby, swear on my life…” he went on softly.

Now his lips were at your ear, grazing your cheek, lowering toward the hinge of your jaw at a maddening pace. He didn’t seem to pay it any mind when Tommy and Maria went bounding up the stairs and retired directly into the bedroom next to his; he was busy.

You’d almost forgotten you were about to fuck.

With any luck, the couple next door wouldn’t be doing anything like it—or at least keeping their activities quiet.

“Get ready to hear some bullshit,” Joel supplied shortly. His face was buried in your neck, as if annoyed, but you could feel his smirk. “Probably makin’ babies right n—”

“So are we,” you hissed indignantly.

“Last I checked that can’t happen in your ass, sweeth—”

“Joel Miller.”

Technically, he was right.

“Less talking, more fucking, OK?” you added swiftly.

“Yes ma’am.”

Then he did.

It took more than a couple seconds for the levity and amusement of the moment to die down between you, but eventually, you both settled down. You got calmer.

You were reminded that the insides of your thighs and cheeks were completely smeared with lubrication, your walls were fairly well-stretched, and you were ready for it.

You were ready for Joel, and Joel was ready for you—or as close as he could possibly get while checking in to make sure that you really wanted to do this. He angled his cock and brushed the tip through your slick-drenched folds. Above you, his stomach muscles clenched, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his thick, soft middle looked in the glow of the lamplight. How the smooth and veiny member jutting out from a shock of dark curls looked absolutely delectable. Your bodies were almost connected, but not quite. He was hovering.

Gently, your legs beckoned Joel in. They spread wider.

Not even really knowing what you were doing or how you planned to fit all of this man from root to tip inside you, your gaze focused on the place Joel was lowering to.

The head of his cock nudged that tiny ring of muscles, and you sucked in a startled breath. You hadn’t meant to.

Next door, you could hear the Star Wars theme song—Tommy and Maria must’ve been watching the new Mandalorian movie, curled up snug in bed together.

Seeing your face, Joel hesitated. “Baby, we don’t hav—”

“I want to,” you said, breathlessly. Then you looked up. “Want you to have every part of me, even if…if it hurts.”

Joel didn’t seem too crazy about that last part, and he blinked back slowly. He braced a hand beside you on the pillow and used the other to grasp the base of his cock.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead again.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said softly.

You knew it wouldn’t be the easiest to keep that promise—at a minimum, discomfort seemed almost a given—but of course, Joel managed it remarkably. It was like he understood your body better than you ever had yourself.

The first push of his hips got him no more than half an inch, but the feeling was fine. He’d applied more lube, moved as slow as he possibly could, and grabbed your toy, which had been tossed to the side on the bed. He turned it back on, and, while notching in the head of his bare, slippery cock, he pressed it to your clit. You jolted more than a little at the buzzing—and you focused on it.

You weren’t even thinking of the stretch, as the sensation blended with the pleasurable vibrations between your legs, and you visibly relaxed. Your muscles softened.

Thanks to that, Joel was able to glide in another half inch, and his tip fit snugly inside you. It didn’t hurt.

In fact, it actually felt pretty…nice.

Tight.

Strange.

But also very, very right. Like you’d unlocked some secret bliss, and Joel was guiding you through it.

The buzzing struck you in just the right spot, and that only amplified the feeling as Joel pushed even further.

“See?” he murmured, voice the slightest bit strained. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, sweet pea. Lean into that feeling.”

Another minuscule slide, another tight smile from Joel.

He was really trying not to go too fast, or cause pain.

“Just…relax f’me. Let me in,” he coaxed you gently.

You tried. And it almost felt like you were losing your virginity all over again, so odd and unfamiliar and new was this pushing, pulling, contracting, and tightening, the last of which couldn’t seem to have been helped.

You were giving him something in a way, though an uncharted physical boundary wasn’t all that it was.

Joel met your gaze, and he clearly felt it, too.

“I love you,” he said, nose brushing yours.

I love you, I love you, I love you, he seemed to say with every strange, painstaking inch. You accepted him, and you drew in a labored breath, lips parting to say it back.

“I lo—oh fuck.” Your words tapered off in a moan.

Joel was down to the hilt, completely sheathed.

Your muscles clenched one more time, and—

“Damn. Oh, shit. Fuck. Fuck, I-I love you.”

Your arms snaked around Joel’s neck, and you held on tight. You gripped him even tighter below, and your eyes trailed down, momentarily, to see how he’d made this fit.

Joel chuckled.

“Like how we look?”

“I love it,” you panted back. “I love having you here.”

And really, you’d never seen a sight more mind-numbing—whenever Joel was inside, balls deep and filling you up to the brim, you got lightheaded just watching him—and knowing how close you were, physically and emotionally, made it even better. Joel looked down with you and stroked the back of your neck. He helped tilt your head.

“Where?” he said. Teasing. “Where’s daddy, baby?”

And shit was he smug. Handsome as anything.

You knew just as well as him what kind of effect your words would have when next you told him, tone soft:

“In my ass. Feels—feels so good, daddy.”

Acknowledging the fact alone was enough to make your breath hitch, and Joel’s cock to twitch inside you as he let out a groan. He drew back, just an inch, and both of you grunted with the friction. You clung tighter to Joel.

“Fuck me now,” you begged him. “Please, daddy.”

Maybe you weren’t ready. Maybe you were still getting accustomed to the stretch and the sting and the weight of Joel Miller’s broad, warm body pressing into you then, but at that moment, you didn’t care for perfect timing. You didn’t need it to be ‘right’—you just wanted Joel a panting, groaning mess above you while he worked himself in and out of you, repeatedly. You wanted more.

“Gonna cum if I move too fast,” Joel confessed, sheepish

“That’s alright. I’m close, too.” And it was the truth.

“Yeah? Y’like gettin’ this ass fucked that much?”

Of course you did. Clearly, you liked it a lot.

You nodded your head, and you held onto Joel’s gaze. He didn’t waste another second drawing out, almost to the tip, then plunging back in. And again, again, and again.

You couldn’t lie—it burned a little. It felt like Joel’s girth was searing a hole inside you, stretching you tight and leaving you sore, over and over and over with his thrusts.

Still, you liked it.

You loved the pain in a way that wasn’t really hurtful—you just enjoyed how Joel’s cock was invading you, breaking you in and making you his like nobody had.

And Joel liked it, too. His movements seemed to have taken on a more possessive edge as he fucked you into the mattress, bed shaking with every punch of his hips.

“This all mine?” he mumbled against your lips, panting.

Another stroke. Another crash of wood to the wall.

“All yours,” you repeated back. Voice cracking.

Your legs were wound tight around Joel’s lower half, and true to how you two normally had sex, the eye contact was constant. Your faces were inches apart, and Joel’s expression was strained. He swallowed, watching you.

“Ain’t—ain’t nobody else for me but you, baby,” he said, while his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and a fine dusting of gray stubble shifted with it. Muscles tensed.

You knew he wanted to say more. Then a door opened.

Thank fuck it wasn’t yours.

Still, you jumped.

You and Joel froze in place as the sound of footsteps echoed in the room directly beside yours—not Tommy and Maria’s, but your father’s bedroom on the other side. Time seemed to speed up and slow at once, and then the door that had opened in the other room slammed closed.

Through the wall, you could hear your dad groan.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and he blinked once.

‘Well…fuck’ that look seemed to say.

You hadn’t been expecting your father back for another hour at least. This, paired with the fact that the man was probably buzzed from whatever outing he’d taken with Helen and keen to stay up, made you nervous. Of course, you and Joel had been banging in secret for ages, but…

“Keep goin’.” It tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it. Your heels dug deeper where they were planted, and the once-sharp stinging between your legs had ebbed to something more like a dull, tender throb.

Joel’s eyes shone above you.

Then, like he always loved saying: “Yes ma’am.”

He fucked you softer this time—most likely to keep the headboard from screaming—but with as much purpose. His thrusts succeeded at a steady rhythm, and his chest pressed closer to yours; his body weight draped over you

Your ankles locked behind his back, and you drew him even nearer, not wanting to miss one moment of this.

At the same time, a bed frame squeaked with someone’s weight dropping onto it. Again, it wasn’t your bed at all.

It was your dad’s.

He was in the room next door, and of course, his king-sized bed was pressed directly against the wall where Joel’s was positioned on the other side. Your father budged an inch, and you could hear it clear as day.

The walls were paper thin. What if that meant—

“Gotta be quiet,” Joel said through his teeth.

You were both so close to the edge that you were a mess of trembling limbs on the bed; Joel was panting, sweating, telling you over and over again how good you felt, how perfect you fit him, how nice it was going to be to feel you squeezing around him soon, and would you be able to control those pretty moans when you came?

“Gonna scream and let him hear? Have dear old dad come bargin’ in, see what I’m doin’ to his precious girl?”

Oh, fuck.

It was one of the worst things to imagine, you both knew. The thought of your dad catching you in the act, after everything you and Joel had done to keep this under wraps, well…it was nothing short of nightmare fuel.

As a matter of fact, it was horrifying.

It also pushed you both to the brink of climax, trying harder than anything to keep your sounds confined to strangled breaths, your movements to the quickest, quietest bursts, and your words no louder than whispers.

“What? Like finishing in my ass?” you taunted him, low.

Joel groaned. He probably shouldn’t have.

“Gonna let me, sweet pea?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Those two little words were all it took, for either of you.

It seemed like the sound of it was all you needed to hit your peak, and before you knew it, a coil was coming undone; a dam was breaking, and suddenly, shortly, a series of pulses and a rush of hot blood in your head was all you could feel. And then a wetness, spreading deep.

Shooting into the furthest recesses of your body while you fell apart beneath him, Joel’s heat was scorching and soft. It flooded your insides in thick, white ropes.

You wanted to scream with how good it felt. Joel’s expression above you was suffused with just as much pleasure—and pain, trying to contain it—and at the same time tiny dots started to flood your vision, the man’s words were a quiet, constant refrain for almost all of it.

“I love you, darlin’. Always, always gonna—”

“—love you,” you finished for him. “I love you, Joel.”

You might’ve said it fifteen times that night, and it still didn’t feel like it was enough. Your bodies were damp with sweat pressed together, and Joel’s eyes were flitting between yours, searching. In between breaths and lightly peppered kisses, you could tell that he was thinking hard.

You could hear your father cough in the next room over.

There was no better time to say it. As sore and satisfied as you were, as soft as Joel’s lips were grazing yours to soothe them, and as terrified as you both were for what was to come soon enough, the words just tumbled out.

“I’m ready to tell him, Joel,” you whispered.

A beat passed, and Joel blinked.

Then, slowly, a smile crept in.

“Y’mean it, sweetheart?”

“I mean it. Tomorrow.”

Mark never claimed to be a good father.

In fact, from the first moment he held you in his arms, on the day that you were born, he was almost certain he’d be the shittiest dad there ever was—holding a baby so perfect and sweet, how could he possibly deserve you?

He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t, and still, he’d decided just as fast that that didn’t matter, because he would be trying his damn hardest to act like the kind of father you needed to have. You were his entire world, and he’d told you as much all throughout your childhood and beyond.

He should’ve seen Joel coming a mile away.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it the first time.

It might’ve been in a glance he’d caught this fall when Joel thought he wasn’t looking—watching you, and smiling so big that his cheeks probably hurt him a little after—and then the sound of his laughter around you.

It had been easy to chalk it up to superficial attraction, seeing as you were a beautiful young woman. Mark told himself that those kinds of feelings always faded in time.

Then they didn’t.

Mark could say your name aloud once, and you’d think someone had just told Joel he’d won the lottery; that was how his eyes would always light up. Of course, the man would quickly try and snuff it out the second his expression was set ablaze, but Mark caught it.

It might last an instant or five, but he always caught it.

Joel hadn’t batted an eye at the bachelorettes practically throwing themselves at him at the bar the other night. Hadn’t cast a look their way or even attempted to entertain their antics, all while nursing a drink and looking mad as shit. Mark had teased him. Told him he oughta get laid, chase a little tail—put himself out there.

Probably without meaning to, his best friend had given him a look like he was out of his fucking mind to say it.

It was in that moment that Mark realized he had a much bigger problem on his hands than the one he’d expected.

Joel didn’t just have a crush.

He was almost certainly infatuated.

What was worse, it wasn’t just attraction that had him.

What caused Joel’s face to flush each time your name was mentioned, his expression to flare with indignation at the mere idea of being with someone else, and his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull when Mark told him that Tommy might be his daughter’s biological father—complete bullshit, by the way—was what assured him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Joel Miller was guilty.

Mark had invited him down to the beach to confront him.

Then you’d taken a spill yesterday, and plans changed.

What was originally meant to be a showdown with Joel ended up being a heart-to-heart with you, telling the whole ugly truth about his relationship with your mother, Helen, and the very slight possibility that he wasn’t your father. Before that, though, Joel had rushed to your aid.

Out on the boardwalk, in the middle of a bright and sunny day, as if Mark needed another flashing neon sign telling him, ‘Your best friend is head over heels for your daughter,’ he found the two of you together: Joel crouched beside you, his eyes scanning you in a panic.

That look wasn’t far off from the one Mark had been wearing himself. It made him wonder even worse things.

Was he—

No, he couldn’t.

He didn’t even know you like that.

It couldn’t be that his daughter had reciprocated anyway.

You were a good girl, and there wasn’t a chance in a million years you had the faintest inkling about any of this nonsense—of that much, your father was certain.

Now, strolling down to the same beach in the same clothes he’d had on yesterday because he hadn’t been able to sleep, Mark was deep in thought. It was 7 A.M.

The sun had just begun its ascent in a sky painted tangerine and pink, and the breeze on his skin was soft.

Calming.

Mark knew he’d have to have one of the most soul-draining conversations that day, telling his best friend that his daughter was completely, unequivocally off-limits, and that he never stood a chance with her, ever, and still, he tried to stay optimistic. Tried telling himself that nothing too bad could happen in a place this pretty.

Idly, he scanned the horizon. His eyes roamed everyplace they could, watching the waves make their way to the shore and lap at the sand every other second, gently.

Nothing too bad.

Nothing too terrible.

Nothing a simple, straightforward conversation couldn’t be able to fix, and then things would go back to normal.

Mark’s gaze drifted to the shore. A couple stood at the water’s edge, huddled together, and presently, he took a sip from his travel mug. The coffee’s heat soothed him.

One day, his daughter would find someone her own age.

Someday, Mark hoped, Joel would find his person, too.

His attention shifted from directly in front of him to the tumbler in his hand, and only vaguely was he aware of some far-distant splashing. He read what his mug said.

Emblazoned on the side, in letters a bright yellow shade:

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

You’d gotten him that in first or second grade for Father’s Day, if he was remembering correctly. Mark smiled at the memory, recalling how pleased you’d looked handing it over to him. Two gaping holes between your front teeth, grinning like he was the single most important person in the world and your hero, for life.

He’d keep trying to be that guy for you.

No matter what happened, he always would.

Just as old memories began to fade, his gaze lifted.

Still smiling, still reminiscing and trying his best not to worry too much about what was in store for him that day, Mark fixed his focus on the beach out front, and to the happy, laughing couple now chasing each other down it.

The girl stumbled; the guy snapped her up in his arms.

“Daddy, stop!” the former shrieked, giggling.

Then Mark’s face drained of all its blood.

“Daddy, pleeeeease!” you begged for mercy.

There wasn’t a chance you were getting out of this.

You’d defaulted to using your most cloying, affectionate voice with Joel in the hopes of making it out of his grip and not ending up in the ocean, but that seemed unlikely

Impossible, really, as Joel squeezed you tighter to his chest and started stalking toward the water’s edge where waves were hitting the sand and your worst fears were being realized. You squirmed harder in his arms and kicked your feet like you were being dragged to the chair.

“You asked for this, sweet pea,” Joel chuckled softly.

In point of fact, you had. You’d asked him to take you swimming at 7 A.M., just after the sun had started to rise, but on the journey over, you’d changed your mind.

It was chilly as shit, and the water looked uninviting.

You’d thought a quick dip—possibly naked—could’ve been a fun little sidebar in an otherwise nerve-wracking day for you and Joel, but now you just wanted to be back in bed. Under the covers, kissing each other, grinning like two lovesick fools as you planned for the future, maybe…

“Let me go!” you wheezed. “I’ll—I’ll do anything.”

Joel had just made it into the water up to his knees. He was cradling you in his arms, smiling as he peered down.

“Anything?” he repeated.

“Anything!”

In a moment when some dirtier thoughts might’ve been starting to take shape in Joel’s mind, you decided to capitalize on the opportunity: you jumped up. Out.

While Joel was momentarily distracted, you got away from his hold and went stumbling toward the water. Narrowly, you kept your body upright and grinned.

Then, like a crazy person, you dropped to your knees.

It was meant to be a joke, obviously—waves rushing almost to your hips at this depth and a surge of murky, ice-cold ocean water all but chilling you down to the bone—and Joel laughed. He tried not to trip when you yanked him by the swim trunks and tugged his groin closer to your face, and then you were going to stand.

You were freezing your ass off, but you couldn’t resist giving Joel one, teasing wink as you looked up at him.

“I’ll suck your dick right here, real quick, if you—”

“MILLER!”

One word pierced the cool, windy climate like a blade.

What was once quiet and easy all at once became a cacophony in a single sound—your head jerked to it.

Your hands and feet flailed to get you standing back up.

Joel almost fell backward trying to make some space from where you’d just been kneeling in front of him, pretending to blow him at the worst possible moment.

You hadn’t seen it at the time, but now you did.

Your dad was standing on the shoreline, aghast.

No more than ten feet away on the hard-packed sand and staring on in horror, he remained there, motionless. While you regained your bearings and Joel shifted on his feet, probably trying to hide the boner poking up through his swim trunks, it seemed as if your father would never speak. He was so still, eyes wide and jaw hanging slack.

Then the scene changed faster than you could blink.

Your father was a blur of blue and gray, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he had on the day before, and Joel was stationary. Shirtless. Entirely unprepared for when the former sped forward and, like something out of a nightmare, went for his neck with one, hard hit.

A stainless steel tumbler in the other hand made for an easy weapon; you recognized the shape of it immediately

Just as that travel mug struck the side of Joel’s skull and gave an audible crack, you saw the words fly by in a haze

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

“DADDY!” you screeched as the old, weathered steel came down on Joel’s head a fourth time, unforgiving.

Joel was cowered in the water on his hands and knees, having been knocked off balance with the third full hit, but he wasn’t moving away. Wasn’t fighting his assailant.

As a wave rolled over his frame and soaked his back and shoulders, you saw him lift a hand, and it was trembling.

Not venturing to fend off the blows to his face but rather making a plea of a kind, Joel tilted his head to his friend.

The shock that had had you paralyzed up until that point snapped then. Before you knew what you were doing, you were trudging over in the water, motions graceless.

Your father raised the mug again, and your vision blurred.

You didn’t sound like yourself, screaming: “Stop! Stop!”

The words hardly felt like yours at all, or seemed to have been heard. Your dad did drop the tumbler, but only to yank Joel up by the back of his head and stand over him, threading fingers through wet locks of salt-and-pepper and pulling hard. You saw Joel wince, and at the same time, you realized you were seeing his face on full display

Still crouched down in that frigid ocean, face no higher than a half-foot over the water’s surface, Joel was forced to turn his head to your dad, and the whole left side of it was streaked with blood. Saltwater splashed over his face and seemingly blinded him. The mug must’ve struck Joel right near the temple and torn the skin, because the whole length of his cheek was bleeding.

His head was hardly up for a moment before it was shoved back down, under the water, with brutal force.

This time, you grabbed your dad. Sank nails into his arm.

“Daddy, please. Please don’t hurt him, pl—” you started.

“My fucking daughter?!” your father roared over you.

Joel’s head might’ve been under for a second before it was jerked back up, and you saw him spitting up water.

Your dad was asking a question. It came again.

“My fucking daughter, you fucking—”

And the last part cut out, swiftly.

Joel’s head went under again, and simultaneously, you shoved as hard as you could to get your father off of him.

For a second, you did.

Joel’s head was released, and he resurfaced.

Your father took a hard breath and gritted his teeth.

And, just when you thought he might be reconsidering, or else slowing his attack, he went right back. He lunged for Joel and forced him under the water again, and every nerve-ending in your body seized with fear. Instincts kicked in, and you were about to reach over toward your father in a more demanding push. Maybe yank his shirt, shove him hard, tell him this isn’t Joel’s fault, let him—

“Go,” your dad snarled, pulling Joel back again. “Tell me.”

You expected another hit; maybe a kick to the head.

Instead, your father stunned you then, shouting:

“Are—are you fuckin’ in love with her, Joel?!”

It should’ve been low. Harsh. Threatening. And it was all those things, but underneath it, for the first time, you heard hurt commingled with it. Your dad’s grip tightened in the hair at the nape of Joel’s neck, and he bent down closer. He brought his face within a foot of his friend’s.

Joel, for the first time since he’d been hit, didn’t hesitate.

“I love her.”

As fast as he’d asked, your father kneed him in the face.

Joel’s head jerked back with the force, and at the same time, blood spurted from both nostrils. He blinked hard.

You wanted to strike the man standing over him even harder, and presently, you tried. You stepped up to your dad, about to take hold of his arm and yank it back, when suddenly, sharply, he turned to you. His eyes were ablaze

“And you?” he hissed.

He grabbed Joel again.

You didn’t have to think.

“I love him, daddy, I love him.”

Your father shoved Joel under a fourth time, as if punishing him for your response. Your stomach lurched.

And, in much the same way sheer impulse had guided your last answer, your body moved without considering itself. Your limbs moved of their own volition, and not thinking, it moved closer—this time, not to your father.

You dropped beside Joel.

He resurfaced a second later, sputtering for air.

His face was mottled with blood. Even with a near constant surge of water and being submerged every other instant, the bleeding was profuse. He kept blinking.

And, thanks to all the hits he’d taken, he hardly seemed to see the world in front of him at all. He coughed again.

More blood.

More blinking.

Scarcely conscious at all, he inched closer to you.

Over the lapping of waves, your pulse thudding in your ears, and sobs racking through your chest, you couldn’t hear much at all. Still, you saw his lips move limply then.

“‘M’sorry—”

The sound stopped and started with a strangled breath. One from him to exhale at first, and another to suck in some air while he was able. In the next second, before either one of you could think, his head was forced under.

It was held underwater, hard, by your father.

Tears nearly had you blinded, but you saw it.

Time might’ve slowed a little more, and your sense of seconds and minutes could’ve skewed, but it was still clear as anything to you that your dad was keeping Joel there, unable to breathe, and he refused to move an inch

You blinked, and the body in front of you had gone limp.

In summary:

#‘YOU NEED COOOOOOOOOOOOOLIN 😩 BABY I’M NOT FOOOOOLIN 😤’ actually changed me as a person the first time i heard it LOL #led zeppelin and b*tt stuff……….for the culture #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller

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writerpeach · 18 days ago

Text

Voracious

IVE An Yujin x Jang Wonyoung x m!reader

25k words

Part 10 of IVED Vanilla Latte

pick me up, daddy

That’s it. No please, no emoji. Just the assumption that you’ll drop everything and come running. And the worst part is—Yujin knows you will.

So you grab the keys. Most people wouldn't be caught dead in this, the obscene price tag, absurdly polished leather interiors, the ostentatiousness of it all—

But the prying eyes can't help but stare from all sides once you pull into the parking lot. The way everyone looks, wondering who the hell would bring a Ferrari to a college campus, let alone a pink one—it's almost laughable.

Then again, when the roar of the engine hits, you have to admit sitting behind the wheel of this ridiculous thing makes you feel something—a strange sort of excitement. A power you can’t put your finger on, the urge to let your foot get carried away and peel right out of the parking lot. But the reason you’re here isn’t to show off or attract attention—you're here for Yujin.

Parked outside of the library, you don’t need to say a thing. Because who would miss a bright pink supercar showing up here? Not Yujin, not anyone, you're certain.

This was the obvious choice, and she's not disappointed once she comes into view, emerging from the library doors and heading down the stairs with an amused smile. That's her in a dark hoodie and pleated skirt, legs bare despite the chill in the air, full thighs on display when she stops right in front.

Even in a snowstorm, this girl isn't going to wear pants. Not that you'd ever complain.

"Really, daddy? The Ferrari?" Yujin asks as she slides right into the passenger seat, tossing her bag into the backseat. "When I said I needed a ride, this isn't exactly what I meant. This thing stands out like crazy."

"Sorry, it was either this or a cab. Just got whatever I could find the keys to."

Yujin doesn’t seem to mind the extra attention as she buckles the seat belt and rests her head against the cushion, kicking off her flats so she can rest her feet up on the dash. "And Wonyoung let you borrow this?"

You glance her way and just shake your head, starting the ignition and hearing that deep, powerful roar of the engine again. "You think I asked? She was still asleep by the time I left."

"You wore her out, didn't you, daddy? Poor thing." Yujin laughs and rolls the window down, tying her hair up into a loose ponytail.

"I didn't do anything. Woke up, went to class, then came home to grab this. When I left, she crashed on the couch. From studying too hard, I'm sure."

Yujin rolls her eyes, a hand covering her mouth to hide the obnoxious smile spreading on those pretty pink lips. "Yeah, sure. Wonyoungie studies—sure thing, daddy. Studying how hard you can fuck her, maybe."

You start to protest when the car pulls out onto the main street, pushing well above the speed limit. "She can't get through finals on her body alone. Everyone studies sometimes."

"She can sure try though. Maybe if there's an oral exam—"

"Both of you would probably ace that," you reply, hearing Yujin's delightful snort right after.

"Damn right we would. Top of the class, guaranteed."

Yujin laughs again, head turning so she's facing you, enough to catch you staring at those long legs perched on the dash, her tight little skirt exposing so much flesh. She looks delicious, even in this casual outfit, but that's the case no matter the day, no matter the season or occasion. "Eyes on the road, daddy."

"Easy for you to say, brat.”

Even caught red-handed, you have no intention to play dumb once Yujin is aware of the gaze you can’t take away from those scrumptious thighs. She crosses one leg over the other, giving this not-so-innocent little smile, with those dimples so prominent that it almost draws your eyes right off the road again. Almost.

"Poor daddy. Never able to focus around us. Must be awful, being trapped in a car with little ole me, wearing this short thing.”

Yujin enjoys the tease, not moving her bare legs from that spot on the dash where they look right at home. She's playing with fire when that hoodie gets unzipped, exposing a black tank top riding high, showing off way too much midriff to go unnoticed.

You sneak in another glance, one that lingers when you stare at those legs, and that deadly figure that has no right being so fit and curvy—your concentration’s worst enemy. "You really want me to crash this car, don't you? Wonyoung would kill me."

That playful smile widens, turning wicked. The hoodie gets tossed into the backseat without a thought, and the skirt—no doubt deliberately, rides higher up those thighs.

"Then maybe you should watch the road instead of gawking, huh, daddy? Are my thighs that distracting to you?"

You have no response, although there's plenty of temptation to pull over, throw Yujin down on the backseat and make her moan, scream your name so loud everyone passing by can hear. But you need to keep those thoughts locked away, staying focused on the road—a battle that's not exactly fair with Yujin making it more difficult.

"I'm not distracted,” you scoff, not sure you even believe your own words. “Nothing you do could distract me—not your thighs, not your pretty face, not even your tight little ass. We're almost home, Yujinnie. I can give you all the attention you need then."

Yujin looks almost giddy. Delighted, really, being dared to destroy your composure. You’re not threatened, because what more can she do but sit there and look like a delicious feast, begging to be devoured?

You'll find out, you wager.

Once the car stops at a red light, the windows roll back up when the chill starts creeping in. The click of her seat belt is the first warning, the second when Yujin starts crawling across the center console, inching closer to your lap. What can only be described as your fault—giving Yujin a perfect opportunity to see if you really have the power to focus or not.

"Nothing I do would distract you, hm? Then I'll show you how distracting I can be..."

There's no escaping this—not with the light still red, traffic frozen. Yujin looks downright ravenous in this position, the delicious arch of her back while her fingers get a little too familiar with the zipper to your pants.

"Yujin—"

"Just focus on driving, daddy. Don't mind me.“

There's no way she's seriously going to do anything—and yet, right as the light changes to green, Yujin tugs that zipper down, unbuttons your pants, and slips her hand straight into your boxers. "No accidents, please. Would hate to total this fancy thing."

She says this the very second her delicate fingers wrap tightly around your shaft and start stroking, just slowly enough to bring you to complete hardness. It's this moment that you regret challenging Yujin to her own game. It's when she pulls your cock right out, pumping in agonizingly slow strokes that force you to stare at the road, no matter how difficult it is.

"This isn't too distracting, is it?" Yujin asks, and even without looking over, you know there's a grin on her face. You almost refuse to answer, hands on the steering wheel gripping tight, foot just a bit harder on the pedal.

"N-no, not even a little bit. This isn't distracting at all."

Oh, you'll probably regret that the second the words leave your lips. Not that Yujin needs the encouragement. She could have you a mumbling mess of heavy breaths even without a challenge.

"You sure about that, daddy? Don't you need to pull over because your cock is getting too hard?" Yujin isn’t going to hold back, you know that already, and you can already feel the struggle, the way her thumb rubs such a lazy circle against your sensitive head.

You won't give her the satisfaction just yet, staring straight ahead to keep these tantalizing thoughts from running rampant. Nor are you going to taunt her more than you should.

That mouth is the worst possible distraction.

You've got little choice but to push onward as Yujin pumps steadily, tight grip never yielding, and you can sense those dangerous lips inches from your swollen cockhead, hot breath grazing far too close. But the only person you have to blame for this is yourself, for springing your own trap in the first place—you should have known better by now. So now, you'll have to endure whatever she decides to put you through, throbbing between her fingers, knowing she won’t stop just teasing and tormenting you to no end.

"Daddy—take the long way home. I'm having a little too much fun over here," she hums as her hand pumps with this adorable giggle, and the worst part is you're far too reluctant to tell her no. "Take the longest route you can think of—or better yet, just take a couple laps around campus. Drive real slow for me."

You shouldn't. That's a fact and the voice in your head is yelling that exact message. Yet it's quiet compared to Yujin's innocent request, the little flicks of her tongue along your slit, warm breath all against the tip of your dick. With all that you have, you take a deep breath and oblige Yujin. It's a little absurd to realize your own control in this situation, even more that you're heading back in the same direction from before so she can drive you more insane.

Sighing is the only response. This is only the start of what you're in store for—because this is Yujin you're dealing with, and no telling what sort of chaos her devious mind will have in store. Her hand is more confident now as she strokes faster, almost as a reward, twisting around, squeezing tight.

"Make sure you signal," Yujin reminds you in this mocking tone that gets your teeth gritting as she applies the smallest kiss right on your leaking tip. As if that's what matters most. "Wouldn't want to be in any accidents on account of me, now do you?"

Before you can even finish the next turn, her mouth is on you—lips parting around your cock without warning, sinking down in one swift, hungry motion. That warmth engulfs you as she takes you deep, all the way to the back of her throat, your grip on the wheel tightening as she pulls off with a wet gasp and plunges right back down.

"Jesus, Yujin—" you groan, knowing the next breaths you take are bound to be a struggle. One hand grips tight on the wheel while the other reaches down, tangling in Yujin's hair so you can force her head further down. She makes this muffled moan when her lips press flush to the base of your cock, throat so deliciously tight—so fucking warm that you can hardly focus on anything but that perfect fucking mouth.

Another turn has you passing by the science building, where Yujin takes your cock deep without pause, bobbing her head, tongue dragging along every sensitive part. And contrary to your previous belief, it's far too distracting. Far too fucking difficult to stay focused while Yujin slurps your cock, without any reservations, humming through every inch she swallows whole.

"You're insane, Yujin," you hiss out through clenched teeth. "Do you know that? Fucking insane."

Nothing but those cute, playful little giggles echo in the car as she gets you nice and coated with her spit. "I know."

Your eyes stay glued on the road as much as you can manage, until you can't anymore, close to losing it when her mouth finds your balls and her tongue lavishes each. And if you weren't following the speed limit by the book, you're not sure how you'd survive this—

Yujin’s warm fucking mouth working its magic feels too good, her spit glistening all over your swollen shaft as her mouth sinks down your cock with such practiced ease. Up and down—a long slurp, back up to the swollen head to swirl that tongue along the most sensitive spots she knows so well, then down once more. Those silky lips sink further down your length, sucking in deep breaths whenever her nose isn't buried in your crotch, and you have to fight every urge to let the car drift when she gets too carried away.

All while you're waiting for some oblivious pedestrian walking by with no idea you have your cock lodged balls deep down Yujin's throat. Another long slurp is too much—especially as you head further away from the quieter side of campus.

"God, that fucking mouth," you groan in pleasure, unable to keep your focus on the road while Yujin takes you so fucking deep, holding you there for a few tortuous, excruciating moments. Only coming off your throbbing cock when she has to suck in the faintest hint of air.

"This is your fault, daddy, can't deny it feels good. Or are you too distracted while I'm choking down this massive cock?” Yujin mumbles through a series of sloppy, audible kisses, those perfect lips finding all the best spots. "Mmmph—it's okay, you can admit it.”

Not a fucking chance. You can hold on, ignore the warm lips sliding back up, the flicks of her tongue over the sensitive underside—you can stay calm until Yujin is trying to get every inch down the slick entrance of her throat, bobbing and slurping loudly, to really drag that groan out.

Or maybe you can't.

Not when she's so intent on swallowing your shaft, licking up and down, kissing every spot she likes so much. One hand squeezing at your balls. You can try to pay attention to anything else—a car, another street, another person in front of you, but nothing is helping. You barely have it in you to resist the urge to just pull over and fuck her throat until there's not a drop left in you to shoot.

"How's that focus?" Yujin asks, interrupting your thoughts as she breaks away for just a moment, only to drag her tongue down the whole length in one long stroke. Your knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel, her moans so filthy the whole time she sucks your cock. It's everything, and too much at the same time, the warmth of her mouth just too much to endure.

And now you're stuck waiting at a red light, right by the admission office where anyone could see you with your cock out, buried to the hilt in Yujin's inviting throat, taking it without any shred of hesitance. At least the interior is so dark that nobody should notice anything outside—it's only obvious when she raises her head up that the sunlight catches the shine on her greedy lips from the sheer amount of spit dripping down her chin.

"You're unbelievable, Yujin, seriously. You and that bratty fucking mouth," you grumble out, wishing that traffic would hurry up.

"Me? You're the one who couldn't stop drooling over my legs the whole time. If anyone's to blame, it's you, daddy."

The light turns green again. You don't get a chance to argue when Yujin's back to blowing you. Just putting on the most sloppy, vulgar, reckless, indecent fucking display you've ever seen. "Almost there, aren't you? Better find us somewhere to park real quick then. If you can, with that dick so hard and buried in my throat."

You should have known this would be nothing but hell.

Not that you're not getting any less close—maybe even closer, despite every effort you make to pay attention. The closest lot ends up being the rec center, and that'll have to do. You manage to swerve in, parking right in the back row through every motion that gets your shaft rammed harder in her warm little mouth.

"Should have made you fucking walk," you growl as you unbuckle your seat belt, finally able to enjoy Yujin's undivided attention.

"Daddy would never make a pretty girl like me walk," Yujin says as her hand gives your cock a squeeze, those dimples coming out while she smiles like a smug brat. With the engine cut, the windows up—there's not much keeping you from giving Yujin what she wants and more. But the glance out the side mirrors confirms how risky the whole situation is, and nothing makes her happier than that.

You’ve been through the ringer. This fucking desperate urge to unload inside that pretty fucking mouth, and watch her smile through tears and hot streams of white spilling from her lips. But she doesn't let you cum—pulling her mouth away at the last minute with an unashamed lick of those lips.

"Yujin, why the fuck do you think I parked, if you're not gonna swallow—" you snap in this low growl, wishing you had her mouth back where it was. But her lips remain closed—only parting for a giggle when she climbs back across the passenger seat, bare legs stretching across and feet meeting to rest in your lap.

"Because it's more fun to tease you like this," she quips, then presses her toes right against the head of your cock. There's nothing in the way anymore—an abrupt gasp when she slots you right in between her silky feet and squeezes. "Don't worry, daddy, this'll get the job done too. All the hard work I put in doesn't need to go to waste."

You can't say this is entirely unexpected—or unsatisfying in any case, how perfectly your cock fits between those delicate arches. How the friction sends these chills through you the second Yujin slides her gorgeous red painted toes up and down the head, slow, calculated, not needing much power or force behind her movements. They feel so goddamn good, so soft against your cock with that wide smile on Yujin's pretty lips.

“F-fuck—“

Those are the noises Yujin wants, the desperate moaning, watching you try to hold on as much as possible—as if she already doesn’t know this is where she needs you to spill. That's why her toes are on your dripping slit, gripping hard and rubbing slowly with an evil giggle.

"Gonna make you cum,” she simply says in her most innocent, adorable voice, like there isn’t a choice in the matter. The act doesn't match the expression on her face, not with those painted toes working magic as they tighten and flex to force out more moans. "Just relax, daddy—you deserve this. After being so patient, so very not distracted... "

Yujin won't relent, nor is she afraid to use whatever she needs, looking far too comfortable while she alternates pressure and teases this extra sensitive spot against the head of your cock. No more games, no more drawn-out moments where you're about to explode, but still hold back.

"God, please—" you can only beg as her feet squeeze a little tighter, this deadly combination of her pillowy soles and long, perfect toes, every inch being stroked to perfection in ways you can’t fathom.

Your moans sound so pathetic and Yujin doesn't give you time to speak any more, shifting forward until she keeps your cock trapped, one foot holding you firmly in place, while her other one keeps jerking off the head with relentless, nonstop strokes, painted toes all around your aching cockhead. Again and again, so merciless, your slit drooling over her toes and the bottom of her foot, so soft, all slippery and warm it’s not going to take much longer.

“Look at your cock, daddy. It looks so good throbbing between my pretty feet. It’s so easy to get you off this way, isn’t it?”

There’s nothing you can do but watch. Your gaze locked at how her toes grip your shaft, the soft sole of her foot gliding along, cock so impossibly hard when she presses down on the sensitive tip. “G-gonna—“

And then you explode. Your dick throbs, your head falls back, and you groan like Yujin has never heard before as your seed bursts across the top of her feet. Hot streaks color her painted toes, spilling more with every unyielding stroke, one burst after the other as she milks out as much cum as she can with a proud smile.

When it’s all finished, you're a shaking mess, one that Yujin revels in, arching that foot to collect what still oozes out. She never takes her eyes away as it drips everywhere, across her beautiful red polish, already getting between her toes that have yet to stop stroking.

"There you go, daddy. Making such a mess on my pretty feet," Yujin praises, rewarding your efforts by easing the pressure around the head of your pulsating cock—then admiring the sight, a creamy white clinging to her toes, smearing it all over every part of her feet. "And I didn't even have to use my mouth."

"F-fuck, you're too good at that—"

"Of course I am," is all she can respond, all confidence and no shame in it. “Daddy should know I wouldn’t ever let him leave the car without blowing a huge load.”

That's the whole problem with her. How fucking addictive she is—how she can make you cum with any part of her body she chooses. And now here you are, with her sticky feet resting on your lap while you catch your breath.

"O-okay, we can head to the apartment now—Wonyoung is probably wondering where her car is..."

Yujin seems to pay no attention as her red-polished toes curl and massage your cock for another moment, amused by how you've splattered her feet all over with your load. "Oh, daddy. As if I'd ever give your cock a rest. Wonyoungie can wait."

There's something delectably sinister about Yujin's tone, especially after you've thought this is over. Because it’s far from. The smirk that follows proves it, especially when your oversensitive cock can’t stop throbbing under that merciless rub.

"I wore this skirt for a reason, daddy, not just so you can drool and stare at my legs,"

Before you can even think of an answer, Yujin’s already sitting up, hand slipping beneath that tight little skirt and hiking it above her waist. You already know what’s next. She hooks a finger into her lace thong, and drags it down to show off the soaked mess she’s made of it, then tosses it carelessly into the backseat.

You get an eyeful, drinking up every filthy little detail—her cunt bare, soaked, and on full display.

"My cunt needs your cock," Yujin growls, a demand that won’t go ignored no matter how sensitive you might still be. ”More than my mouth. Don't leave this pussy neglected, daddy. Need to fucking fill it up. Put a load in me until it’s dripping all over this seat.”

Yujin makes her way across with one coordinated motion. That deadly skirt stays on as she climbs into your lap, thighs spreading around you with ease as she shifts her weight and finds the lever under the seat to lower the back until it's to her liking. You can’t take your eyes off her, even more so than usual. In fact, it's impossible not to watch, now that you don't have to concentrate on steering a multi million dollar car through campus.

"You're really testing the limits today, aren't you, brat?"

Yujin responds to that with the only way she knows—she guides your shaft between her dripping lips, the head teasing just inside for only a few moments. "I don't believe in limits, daddy. Gonna fuck you right here, in this car, right in the school parking lot. If anyone sees—even better."

And it's not like you can do a damn thing to stop her. The moment her hips lower and your cock slips past her tight entrance, there's little else you ca do but look in her eyes while she rides the absolute fuck out of you. Little else to do when every part of you is quickly enveloped in the intoxicating warmth of her soaked little cunt.

In Wonyoung's car.

In the front seat, no less.

In plain sight of whoever might be looking.

But Yujin gives not a single damn, and you don't get the chance to before her hips bounce up and down, dragging you all the way in, before rising up only to slam right back down. "You'll never get enough of me, daddy, never will, will you? Not me, not my tight cunt, not my thighs, and definitely not cumming deep inside me—“

It's so good it feels wrong, sitting in someone else's car, watching this girl bouncing so desperately in your lap. The squelch is unmistakable with Yujin's perfect, wet pussy swallowing every inch.

"Fucking hell, Yujin, go slow. I just fucking came—"

But the look on her face tells you exactly what you should already know. That this is gonna happen the way she wants it, rough, desperate, your poor cock forced to go through it. There's a thirst in Yujin that's a bottomless pit, and you're not enough to appease it. That’s impossible.

She rides your cock like she's starving for it. Up and down, hard slams of her hips, making sure you feel every movement while her fingers tangle through your hair.

"Slow? Don't even know what that word means. Your cock too sensitive, too drained from emptying such a huge load on my pretty little toes? Must be," she says, then shuts you up when she grinds her hips back down, dragging you as far in as physically possible, hitting your cock against her cervix while that smile goes lethal.

“Of course, you little fucking brat."

She gasps in faux surprise at the words—before you get a squeeze in, grope her plump ass and spread open her cheeks a little, where your cock impales so deeply. Not once does the pace fade, and her hands tug at the hem of your shirt so she can pull it right off, joining the heap of discarded clothing in the backseat. Zero shame in anything she does.

“Only fair I get something to stare at now, isn’t it? Need something to drool over when I bounce on your thick fucking cock."

You couldn’t agree more, as your hands move up and explore her body, the sweat on your fingertips only adding fuel to this already burning desire that can’t be cooled off.

"Fuck, Yujin, the way your pussy fucking devours my cock—"

“And your fat cock drives me crazy," Yujin moans out through each desperate bounce. Her hands find your chest, fingers digging in, every inch of Yujin dripping for the way you stuff her tight cunt. "Love daddy's huge, hard cock. Need it to fill this greedy cunt more than anything."

Yujin brings her mouth crashing back to yours, unable to resist any longer, teeth nipping your bottom lip. It draws this pathetic noise from your lips, but she's right back into it, her hips never ceasing while she continues to bounce, to sink your cock inside the warm depths of her wet cunt.

Her mouth and that tight cunt have far too much control over you. Too dangerous, too good. You could kiss these pretty lips for hours—could plow into her soaked entrance forever, thrusting up with your hands squeezing those wide hips, until you have no energy left in your body.

"Feel my pussy gripping all of your thick fucking cock, daddy? Feel how wet you get me, even after you covered my pretty feet all over?" Yujin continues, a barrage of sin and lust that gets you more worked up with every syllable.

"Brat. Love when you talk like that. Say it again, tell me what my cock does to you."

That mouth knows you far too well by now. Knows how much you adore that dirty mouth, and Yujin couldn't play along more perfectly. Her moans drown out the rest of her words for a moment—moans she gives when your cock pistons upward, hitting every angle.

"You make me so wet. Fucking love daddy's huge cock stretching my pussy open. L-love it when these balls feel so heavy and slap against me when you thrust—" Yujin spares no details, nothing left unspoken, getting so sweaty while the windows fog and every inch is slick and smothered.

Fuck, this girl is a dream. A force far beyond anyone's ability to contain her, you think, considering her voice alone is threatening to take you apart with little effort. Those words continue right into your ear while her tongue drags its way out to lick along your earlobe, getting another pitiful groan out of you,

"Love daddy pounding my wet cunt until he fucking creams deep inside. Love knowing daddy always fills my womb full with a huge load..."

"Love when you ride me like you can’t control yourself," is what you say, and give her tight ass a squeeze, bucking up into her when it's just so easy to.

That just makes Yujin bounce harder—your hips moving just to keep up, slamming upwards to meet with her delicious wet warmth that can’t stop devouring your entire cock.

When Yujin grabs the hem of her tank top, it’s the kind of anticipation you’d never get tired of. Even when she doesn't fully remove it, no—just bunches it up over her bra, because that's just as satisfying, giving a good enough look at that gorgeous skin, enough cleavage and detail of her toned abdomen and everything her tank top doesn’t reveal. It's plenty.

Yujin likes being seen, loves showing her body off, even while her cunt takes and takes.

And you take, too—mouth locking onto the curve of her throat, sucking hard at the heat-slicked skin. You know she won’t cover the marks after, not a chance. She’ll wear them like a trophy. That alone gives you permission to go all in, to leave proof of every bite, every bruise, every bit of payback for all the teasing she’s made you endure.

"D-daddy," Yujin mewls into your ear, pressing you closer against her, with nothing to hold her back while she bounces relentlessly.

You bite down hard to cut her words off and let that whimper simmer.

More of this is inevitable. You can see the appeal of this, skipping class just to bury yourself inside Yujin in the backseat. A quick blowjob before lab doesn't seem quite so unattainable. Neither does her climbing into the car after lunch, especially if these slutty little skirts have something to do with it.

"What would Wonyoung think? Seeing this pretty pussy dripping cum all over her nice car?” There’s a laugh when Yujin whimpers, her tongue flicking at the shell of your ear, salacious moans filtering into every little space they can.

"She'd probably ask where the camera was," Yujin counters, snorting through her soft little moans. That pussy of hers squeezes hard, holding your throbbing length captive in this incredible heat and not letting go. There's no fucking escape—only these rapid, relentless motions and Yujin's full hips working overtime.

"Both of you," you sigh, head tilted back against the cushioned seat and lost in the moment. "Are going to be the end of me. The absolute end."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, daddy. Two pretty sluts keeping your balls drained—such a rough life for you. It must be so hard getting to wake up with two sloppy mouths wanting their breakfast," Yujin laughs. "How cruel, am I right?"

When she says it out loud, you really have nothing to complain about, do you? Not a single fucking thing. Both her and Wonyoung happy to get their throats fucked every chance they get—bent over and taking it, filled to the brim or left covered in cum. There's not a real downside.

Those perfect asscheeks bouncing in your lap interrupt the thoughts, an unending tempo, your throbbing cock impaling Yujin's cunt while those thick thighs put in the work, speeding up the process. This really isn't so bad after all. You can't help staring, those lips parted when she hits deep, the only time that mouth ever shuts up. This visual perfection riding your cock like it belongs to her, tits almost spilling out of her bra from the impact, tongue never denying you its presence.

“Daddy, g-give me—“ Yujin doesn't finish as her moans turn deeper, get all breathy while she leans against the steering wheel and gets leverage, trying to swallow you even deeper. "Need this fucking cum inside me."

"Then fucking take it already, you greedy little slut."

That earns a rather hard, brutal slap on her ass, these noises loud enough to draw attention from outside—attention you'd welcome at this point. Yujin takes every inch of your cock with every perfect bounce, her cunt tightening impossibly more as her thighs tense and give you everything she's got.

"That's it, daddy, right fucking there—gonna make you shoot so deep inside of me. Need your fucking cum deep in this little cunt. Can't get off if you aren't filling me with so much it leaks everywhere."

"You're insatiable, Yujin," you say, both praise and accusation, getting closer and closer by the second.

"That’s why you love me, daddy. And your balls are just begging to empty inside me. Can tell the moment I sink onto this perfect cock. You’re just as greedy as my pussy is.”

Once again, she’s never wrong. Your next climax is so near you can taste it. You’re rather proud how long you've lasted buried in this wet fucking heat, but even then, a little part of you wishes for it to keep going, to show Yujin up and prove you’re capable of much more. Impossible, of course. When her cunt feels like heaven, the wetness that engulfs and suffocates your shaft, there's just no resisting.

"L-Love feeling daddy so deep,” Yujin pauses to moan out, slamming down, ass crashing back against your thighs, that slick heat taking all you have to offer. One more harsh slam makes her quiver, every squelch echoing. "Every fucking inch splitting me open—"

There’s nothing left for you to do but groan out, before you can't take any more, when your cum pours into Yujin, when your balls tighten and spill their heavy load.

Shot after shot into her dripping cunt, so deep, thick streams erupting inside that tight wet flesh clenching tightly around your cock. Fuck, her tight cunt deserves it, so does Yujin, for the way she keeps fucking bouncing while that delicious pussy just can't stop swallowing your load.

There's so much. Far more than usual, despite already having cum once before. Every heavy shot adds to the growing mess, but she refuses to let you escape, just keeps bouncing in your lap, just keeps wringing everything out. She can't contain a thing—and clearly doesn't even try, milking out all that thick cum, all sticky and hot inside, so eager to drip down your shaft.

"S-so good, daddy," Yujin breathes out while all that cum goes right down her insides, clamping around your length as it continues to throb with each new spurt, sending so much into her tight entrance that you're a shaking mess. "All this thick fucking seed where it belongs. So much, fucking fill me up. Nothing better."

Yujin is taking it harder than you are when her tight body quivers through every little sensation, all too much for her clenching walls to endure when her orgasm rips through her. She can't stop clinging to you, each shudder stronger than the last—with no concerns for anything other than how fucking deep she has your load pouring, helping it sink all the way to her womb.

When Yujin collapses and finds your neck to hide away in, burying her head there, you pull her closer. Move all that messy hair away to feel the sweat clinging there too, her breathing ragged, panting right into your ear.

“Can't believe you came that much. You’re still throbbing.”

It takes a while to form any proper response while Yujin just basks in the afterglow, not about to move a muscle, either. And now she seems quite comfortable with that.

"You were riding my cock hard," you mumble, wanting to lay back and collapse right here in the front seat of this expensive car with Yujin, listening to the sounds of cars driving by outside while you do.

"Oh, poor daddy. Did I break you?" Yujin laughs at your state—heaving out a mutual exhausted groan as her cunt squeezes one more time in a futile effort to milk out more cum.

"Always do, every damn time, Yujinnie." That gets a wider smile when she leaves one more messy, uncoordinated kiss, her lips trailing along your jawline for a moment. "This was—such a terrible fucking idea."

Yujin says nothing for the moment, not with your cock buried and this fucking mess starting to drip out of her tight cunt. And even in the heat of the car, the windows a little too fogged up from the effort, you don't bother moving from this position.

"The best kind of terrible idea. Like daddy always loves."

She looks gorgeous, even when sweaty, and it's a view from so close you can't take your eyes off. With this alluring mess of her hair, strands of dark locks sticking to her forehead, skin all glistening and sticky and still catching her breath while she stays there, you'd lick her clean without hesitation if there's even the slightest strength left.

"Fuck, you're crazy," is all you can get out, giving Yujin's ass another hard slap, making the soft flesh jiggle.

"Yeah? Crazy for this huge fucking dick that ruins my guts—"

You roll your eyes, not expecting anything less, even as her words hold a bit of that exhaustion. Yujin laughs and kisses the tip of your nose, trailing her lips down to steal a few pecks at the corner of your mouth, barely enough to call this a kiss.

"Get off me, so I can get us out of here. Before someone sees." The least you can do is suggest it, but you know the words do nothing to dissuade Yujin as she looks at you in amusement. "Yujin, this isn't a suggestion—fucking move, you brat."

All Yujin does is keep her arms around you, grinning wide without a care in the world.

"What if I don't wanna? What are you gonna do, carry me out of the car with your dick still in my cunt? I'd rather have you stay stuffed inside my tight little pussy a little longer..."

It's these moments that confirm you'll never really defeat her, and Yujin fucking loves the victory of that. Being stubborn and giving you absolutely nothing you ask for. So you sigh, and shift around, gritting your teeth a bit harder when Yujin has nothing more to do but sit there with a wicked expression. "Yujin, please. Get off?"

That doesn't get any movement on your part, and Yujin takes pleasure in her non-compliance. In every desperate, pathetic moment while her lips remain teasingly close to yours, leaning in to cup your face. "But I just did.”

Insufferable.

"Brat."

She nods in response, like the word is supposed to offend, to somehow deter her from acting any more like herself. Like that's ever fucking worked.

So if words don't work, there's no other option than to try to force her off. Which goes about as well as a pink Ferrari in a parking lot at not attracting attention. The moment you bring your arms to those overworked hips, she catches your wrists and holds them up above your head. "Nuh-uh, daddy. Don't want to get up—so we're staying like this."

You're too weak, too exhausted to offer any real resistance, especially with the way she's looking at you—the sweet, innocent stare that is anything of the sort. As per usual, you’ll accept defeat, only giving her a small glare and sinking back against the car seat. But you at least get the chance to start the car back up and begin blasting the cold air through the vents, too tired to deal with any of Yujin's antics.

So you’ll just sit here, exhausted and sweaty, with your cock trapped inside Yujin’s messy warmth, hoping not a single person is around. You're half tempted to drive like this, pants still around your ankles, with this impossible girl still seated on top of you—but you can't even see over the steering wheel, nor can you reach the pedals.

For now, there's just silence. Yujin's pretty smile, these soft kisses along your cheek that are as gentle as you need them to be. Maybe it's the lingering high, the lack of energy, the smile that can’t stop off her face. This does feel nice, to just bask in the attention, and you'd savor it just a bit more—

Until the screen lights up and flashes an incoming call—it's Wonyoung.

"Speak of the devil. Probably missing you," Yujin chides, leaving you only to sigh and hesitate. You lean forward and put it on speaker, and within seconds you hear that familiar voice echo through the car.

"Daddy—did you steal my car or did Yujin? Where the fuck are you?"

There's not much more than a low laugh before you answer. "Which car would that be? You have like, a dozen or more—"

Yujin has to stifle a laugh, pressing her hand over her mouth and trying her hardest not to let Wonyoung know about her presence. You aren't going to tell her that she's here and still keeping you nice and cozy with her tight fucking cunt—not yet.

"The fucking Ferrari—what else? Did you take it out? Are you driving it? Daddy—"

You sigh, running your hand up Yujin's bare thigh to play with the skirt around her hips, getting a little grab of that tight ass to make her squirm. "No idea what you're talking about, princess. I'm just studying, here at the library. Maybe Yujinnie borrowed it."

Her palm slaps your arm—a reaction you saw coming the moment you threw Yujin under the bus. At this point, it doesn't matter who takes the fall because Wonyoung knows either of you are a suspect.

"Uh-huh. You two do realize cars can get tracked, yeah? It shows where you are on the app—and right now my car is in the fucking parking lot right across the rec center," Wonyoung explains, the fury in her voice a little bit louder each word. "I swear to god if you two took my fucking car and—"

The call suddenly drops when Yujin presses the 'end call' icon. Which finally lets her take a deep breath and sigh, that boisterous laughter filling up the entire car once she gets the opportunity. "Tracked, huh? Who knew?"

Yujin's a little too carefree with that information. Wonyoung is surely rushing on her way right about now, knowing for sure you have her precious car right at your fingertips. That's the final encouragement Yujin needs to move, to lift off you, a groan leaving when she’s empty.

Her hands tug her tank top back down, taking a little too much time crawling into the passenger seat—so you can gawk at her body from behind, that delicious ass sticking out so shamelessly while your load trickles down those thick thighs.

It doesn't stop once she slides back into the seat. Not even a single attempt to clean herself up while her cunt drips over the expensive, premium leather, like she enjoys leaving evidence of what the two of you did inside.

"Daddy, stop staring and drive already," Yujin says when she catches the momentary stupor, tossing your shirt back to you while sliding the seat belt comfortably over her frame. "We have to get your spunk out of the seats before Wony finds us..."

"My spunk? What about the fucking mess between your legs you made? It's fucking everywhere—"

“Don't worry about the details, daddy.” Yujin can't stifle another laugh while she adjusts her skirt and throws her legs back up onto the dash, shameless as ever. And those lace panties are a lost cause.

The engine growls as you floor it out of the parking lot, with somehow not a single person around to witness exactly what transpired. "Maybe next time don't fucking drain me empty in the fucking front seat. Someone could have seen—"

"If someone saw us," Yujin cuts in with another giggle and that devilish smirk returning. "Then they should've said thanks."

You don't even have the energy to roll your eyes. So, while keeping a watch on the side mirrors for Wonyoung following behind, you head towards the nearest car wash, which is right down the street. Where hopefully, you can get rid of all the evidence of the crimes you've committed in her precious car. "Tell the brat to meet us at the apartment in ten minutes. I'll deal with her—"

Sure, that means admitting Yujin is to blame just as much, but there's no point hiding anything at this point. For now, you’ll focus on what the hell the two of you have to do to clean out her seats without raising suspicion.

"Already one step ahead of you, daddy. Told her to give us thirty and you're taking her out for ice cream. She'll forget about everything with the promise of sweets." Of course, Yujin's got the solution figured out to a problem she caused.

"Bribery solves everything with her. I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"I think we've established that reason is my charming personality and smile. Oh, and my tight ass."

"Obviously. Your ass is definitely number one."

Back at the apartment, you drop Yujin off and take a moment for one last inspection, making sure the car looks perfect from every angle. By the time you return, Wonyoung is nowhere in sight, which means, thankfully, you’ve got a few precious minutes of peace left before she'll barge in and demand answers.

Yujin changes into a comfortable pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, no time to shower as she joins you on the couch.

"Do you think she's going to buy it, daddy?" Yujin asks, lying on her stomach with her phone in hand, trying to appear as casual as possible, like you've both been here for hours and didn't just defile Wonyoung's priceless car.

"Absolutely fucking not, Yujin."

It doesn't surprise you when you hear a beep, Wonyoung having unlocked the door and storming right in as she drops her bags on the floor, not even bothering to remove her heels as they clack against the wooden floor. "Okay, whose bright idea was it? Which one of you took my—"

Yujin, who can never hold back her laughter at the best times, is the first to speak up. "Took what? Your car? Princess, it's still in the parking garage, can't believe you're accusing us."

Folded arms, raised brow, it’s the whole package. Wonyoung seething the moment she walks in.

"Alright, if you two wanna play dumb, we can play dumb. I'll go check the footage—that'll show the truth."

That only leads to Yujin laughing again, and this isn't going the way either of you had planned. "Daddy, Wony thinks she's got the evidence. Do you believe that?"

You're not even going to begin to go along with this, already dreading the consequences once Wonyoung learns the full truth. At this point, it'll save some time for you to confess now, and endure the aftermath as best as possible. "Yujin—is to blame. She needed a ride from the library."

"Daddy! Traitor!" Yujin says, that expression of betrayal when you throw her under the bus. Again.

"The library? Then why the fuck did it stay parked at the rec center for twenty fucking minutes?"

Yujin shoots you another look, the first time you've seen her lose that sense of confidence. Because she could get out of murder just by batting her eyes at anyone. Wonyoung is a different story, though. "Well, Yujin wanted to get a workout in, so we took a little detour before coming back home. That's it."

"Uh-huh." The girl raises an eyebrow, and clearly isn't convinced, and now she's glaring daggers, as if there's even the slightest chance you could both survive what's to come. "A workout? That's what you're gonna go with? You're telling me nothing fucking happened in my Ferrari?"

"Nope. Just some cardio, a shower, then back here," Yujin quickly responds, putting that smile to work, not even going to bother putting in effort into trying to lie. Wonyoung gets a little closer to the couch, leaning down between the two of you and getting in Yujin's face.

She takes a long look. And then the reveal comes out of nowhere—Wonyoung dangling a pair of panties in front of Yujin's face, black colored, lace trimmed, and just fucking ruined in every possible way with her fingers around them.

"Cardio and a shower got these wet, huh? Care to explain, Yujinnie?" she asks, and a silence takes over the room, a few intense moments before Wonyoung throws the scrap of fabric into her lap.

"Oh hey, you found my panties. Was wondering where they ended up, silly me." Yujin giggles at the wrong possible time, showing no remorse for how they managed to be in that state, and Wonyoung does not look amused in the slightest.

"In the backseat. They were in my fucking backseat. Is that where you two fucked? Is that why my car was parked at the rec center for half an hour?"

"Not in the backseat, obviously." Yujin offers this insincere, hollow little grin, eyes batting prettily as she hesitates for a moment. "Like I said—we were getting a workout. I rode daddy in the driver's seat. Until he emptied his balls. Well, until I did."

"Unbelievable. You two couldn't wait to fuck at the apartment, so you had to go at it in the parking lot like a couple of horny fucking teenagers?" She shakes her head, incredulous. "I swear, you'd both fuck on my bedroom floor if there wasn't a perfectly good bed."

And now you can't believe what you're hearing. That Wonyoung of all people is lecturing about self control in public, like she's forgotten the time she dragged you to the stairwell landing by the art wing so you could fuck her throat before class.

The nerve.

With a deep sigh, Yujin takes the lead this time to save you the struggle. "Fine, guilty as charged, princess. But your car is cleaner than new—we did a full detail too. There's not a single bit of jizz..."

Wonyoung covers Yujin's mouth before she has the chance to continue with that explanation. "I didn't need the fucking details. Gonna pretend like I never heard that. We all good here, or is there anything else I should know about?"

"That's everything," Yujin answers with a devious smile, enjoying not having to give much in the way of an apology. "Turns out daddy can drive really well when his cock is down my throat. Gotta remember that for future road trips—"

This time, you're the one covering Yujin's mouth, knowing that's a little too much information than needed.

Thankfully, Wonyoung doesn't seem to mind, or maybe she's just ignored it entirely. "Great. So I heard I was being treated to ice cream? I want mint chocolate chip—"

Oh, if only all of Wonyoung's complaints could be solved with the promise of ice cream. Then again, maybe things would be a little too quiet around the apartment.

"We're taking a different car, though. I'm not gonna sit my ass in cum-stained seats."

And she's back to normal in a flash.

Yujin hops off the couch, being dragged along with Wonyoung by the wrist as her bubbly attitude shows no signs of dissipating. As if none of this is a big deal at all.

"Coming, daddy?"

"Hey, that's not fair," Yujin whines, clutching a plastic spoon tightly as she scrapes every bit of mint chocolate ice cream left at the bottom of the bowl.

"Neither is stealing my fucking car for a quick fuck." Wonyoung snatches back the spoon in retaliation to try and find any last remnants, not having any luck. Ice cream parlors and petty fights—suddenly, you’ve got déjà vu.

"It wasn't a quick fuck," Yujin counters, trying to get out of those with her best weapon, her charm and that smile. "I needed a ride, and you weren't answering. So daddy graciously came to my rescue."

This argument's going nowhere fast, and it's not really yours to be having anyway. Yujin can win or lose, no difference will change anything. Although, it's rather comical how similar the two of them can be—arguing over the same damn thing and you stuck in the middle.

"It doesn't matter what kind of a fuck it was," Wonyoung lashes back before shooting you an accusatory look. "What's done is done. So like I said—now I get daddy for the rest of the day. The whole night, as an apology."

"That's not even close to fair, and you know it. Don't act like you've never gotten railed in anything I own, princess."

That has Wonyoung scoffing in response and tossing the empty ice cream container right into the nearest trash can. "That's fucking different. And I at least have the decency to make daddy pull over so he can rail me against the hood and not in the backseat!"

Now the two of them are yelling, and attracting the attention of practically the whole shop—although their words start to blend into nothingness.

"It wasn't the backseat, like I said. I rode daddy in the driver's seat after I blew him on the way back," Yujin insists, and just by the way they're moving closer to each other you can tell this is only going to end badly. "So if anything, you should thank me since we made the car even cleaner."

"Oh, that's even better! Thank you for leaving me sticky fucking seats, you greedy little whore," Wonyoung argues right back, shaking her head in disgust. "You owe me a new fucking car to replace that one. I can't even buy another since I'm still blacklisted just for wanting a pretty pink one."

Now Yujin can't even stop laughing, this ridiculous notion that Wonyoung genuinely is going to hold her liable for something that had both your approval. And your head is starting to throb the more this goes on.

"You can have daddy for two hours. Two—uninterrupted. Then I'm getting in on the fun whether you like it or not. You steal him enough as is."

And once again, you're being offered like property, like you have no say in what happens next. Wonyoung at least looks happy that Yujin's agreed on a compromise of sorts, even if it comes at your expense. Not that claiming your time is necessarily the worst trade-off.

"I don't steal—whatever, so long as he's filling me up, I'll be satisfied. Deal."

Once again, you're stuck in this weird, albeit envious predicament that has them tugging either side of you. Two hours with Wonyoung as your 'punishment'? You can think of worse things. No doubt most of it will be her moaning from whatever place she chooses this time to spread her legs—a sacrifice for the greater good.

"Here? You want to do this here?”

Wonyoung just scoffs, like you're the one being unreasonable. Of course she'd come back here—a petty little revenge trip, dragging you right back to the scene of the crime. She takes the stairs ahead of you, the hem of her white dress revealing more than necessary. All deliberate, of course, while you have the perfect view of her long, shapely legs.

It's nothing flashy for once, simple, sleeveless, a little clingy in the right places, but it’s enough to get you staring.

"Being banned from one library isn't enough?” you ask, as if you actually have a say in this.

"What, Yujinnie can study in here all she wants, but I can't?" Wonyoung asks while the two of you head up. The sound of her stilettos hitting the steps gets amplified, a clack with every step that grows louder, her annoyance the motivation that carries her upward.

"Studying? What exactly are you wanting to study here, princess? Other than that dress barely covering your ass, I can't think of anything worth studying here."

Wonyoung sighs and keeps walking, stopping when the both of you reach the top step. "Pervert. Fucking pervert, you are," she says, and glances over her shoulder with a look that says the exact opposite. And then—a single twirl, one fluid motion that catches the breeze enough to flash a hint of pink lace and the curve of her ass, gone as quickly as it appears.

"Me, a pervert? Sure. I don't see you complaining," you remind her, like there was a chance Wonyoung forgot who had instigated this. "What is with you two and public places, today? Is the bedroom too mundane for your taste?"

There's that angry stare in her eyes that appears right as your fingers interlock with hers, Wonyoung trying to guide you to wherever her heart desires. "Why would I need a bedroom when you're ready to plow me right wherever I say, daddy?"

You have nothing to deny that accusation when Wonyoung squeezes your hand and grins wider. This other library across campus is just another box to check off. And wherever else it's about to be after this.

At least she has the sense to admit it. It's the least you could expect for being dragged here.

With Wonyoung pulling a few steps ahead, you make it to the third floor of the library, a floor she reassures absolutely no one spends any time in an old and run down area like this one is. You can’t say she’s wrong about that. The lighting is dimmer up here, half the overhead lights flickering, the shelves old, dusty, and full of books no one ever reads.

And aside from the two of you, the only sign of life is the head librarian—tucked behind a desk in the far corner, too buried in her monitor to care.

So you head deeper into the back, past the 'no food or drink' sign that's the least of your concern, too focused on those heels that clatter past the shelves, and those mile-long legs of Wonyoung tempting with every step. She stops on a dime, a secluded little corner that's going to be nothing but trouble.

"This should do," Wonyoung muses, dropping her bag on a table right next to her, and her cardigan on the back of the seat as she glances around just in case of any stragglers. None in sight, thankfully. "Sit, daddy. We have some studying to do."

Yeah, studying. Even with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the hardback leather bound encyclopedias collecting dust, this location couldn't possibly be anything more than a front. But you'll indulge the brat for a fleeting moment, and sit down across from where she is. And for once, she's playing the part of student, taking out her laptop and at least pretending to focus, if only for show.

"What are we studying, princess?" Nothing but a loud slurp of Wonyoung's iced coffee answers, obnoxious as she is pretty. A few more sips as those perfectly manicured fingers clicking away at the keyboard, entirely in her own little world.

She's silent. Too quiet. This girl who can't go a single moment without hearing her own voice. Something is off—you can just tell that whatever Wonyoung has brewing in that pretty head of hers is never any good. Never.

More sips of her drink, without a word spoken in between. Even when she removes her heels, one at a time, kicking them off as they fall to the floor with a little thud. Not a sound when she slides her barefoot across your thigh, inching higher up until it's right between your legs—and her toes curl right against your crotch.

“Wonyoung.”

Nothing said. Absolutely nothing. Another sip of coffee while she just presses her foot harder, rubbing against the fabric of your pants and stroking along the outline of your cock. Your pants tighten against your own volition, and you're not even looking under the table, not giving the satisfaction. Instead, you stare intently, try to make her falter even for the smallest moment.

"Studying? Is this what this is, princess?" More sips, fighting for the last drop while you're trying not to make a sound from the teasing touch her pretty toes dole out.

"Studying, yes. Studying how hard you can get. Good start,” Wonyoung finally replies, eyes still locked on the screen. She doesn't look at you—just keeps her foot pressed firmly over your crotch, studying all the twitches you make, growing harder by the second.

"If you wanted me hard," you start, pausing to stifle a moan escaping your mouth, knowing you can't make the slightest sound here. "We could have stayed at the apartment—“

"Where's the fun in that? It's called research, daddy. And I get two hours to do as I please. Without Yujin butting in."

That foot between your thighs just gets bolder and bolder, more forceful as she drags her foot up and down, making your pants painfully tight. There's no denying just how fucking hard you're getting. Wonyoung doesn't even give a glance at anything but her screen, as she keeps stroking up and down with those perfect, glittery pink painted toes, gripping hard, doing everything possible to get a groan.

"Remember—quiet," Wonyoung taunts as she doubles down, pressing against every throb she can feel through your pants, while you do your best to pretend it’s not happening. But you can't. Not when you finally bring your gaze to where you're getting teased and god—you grab her ankle, not to push her off, but to keep her in place, keep that pressure right where it belongs.

Wonyoung doesn’t miss her chance to flex her toes one last time, then just like that—she pulls away, not even sparing you a glance.

"Think I've had enough studying for today…” Wonyoung says as she shoves her laptop and the rest of her things into her bag. She saunters around the table, still barefoot, until she’s at your side. A quick lean in so the softness of her lips drops a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, before she lifts herself up to sit on the edge of the table, legs parted enough for you to glimpse what's in between.

Those little pink panties are barely covering her cunt, just the thinnest fabric right between those creamy thighs. You can almost see every detail, especially with the way she keeps her legs spread just for you—and now your dick aches even more.

"Look what daddy did to me, got me all wet. Guess it's time for a study break."

That's all the encouragement you need to get up from your seat, kick the chair aside, then drag her back enough, ass right to the very edge of the table, legs dangling over the edge. "If I'm responsible, then so are you. For what you started, brat."

You place a palm against her bare shoulder and push her back, a simple gesture that lays her out flat on the table with a smile. And she doesn’t need direction as she hikes her dress up herself, letting it bunch around her waist so you can tug her panties down with ease. Down her luscious legs and thrown to the side.

Wonyoung parts her thighs, offering her bare little cunt for the taking, already glistening and dripping with need already, every delicious inch calling to be devoured. Gorgeous, absolutely mouthwatering, the kind of perfection that brings you to your knees—quite literally.

"Remember, princess—quiet."

That's the only warning she'll get before you dive in, without the faintest fucking care in the world who's here, or where you are. All you care about is making this brat lose it, make her realize that there are consequences for teasing this hard and not following through. So you lean in and go right for a taste, taking a long, generous lick across her wet slit, savoring her sweet nectar and wanting more.

"D-daddy!" Wonyoung groans as she grabs the back of your head, letting her legs fall over your shoulders while you eat her out, and she nearly bucks right off the table. You've done this enough times to know how sensitive this girl gets, the way her taste becomes stronger every lick, all the easiest ways to have her quivering, to make her pussy drip right into your mouth.

You take another slow lick of her cunt, this one right up to her swollen clit, letting your tongue tease around it before drawing circles—little laps, flat swipes across that have her writhing. Wonyoung knows better than to be so fucking loud in a place like this, but that won't stop her from moaning your name so shamelessly, arching her back right off the table and getting a good grip of your hair.

"Oh my god," Wonyoung whines, eyes wide as you pay no attention to those desperate pleas, letting them fuel you as your hands grip around her thighs to keep her from squirming away, eating that delicious pussy like you're starved. You have the brat helpless, with a hand tight on the back of your head, the other covering her mouth to muffle the shameless noises spilling out.

Wonyoung just moans right into her palm, choking back the desperate cries for more while you lick away and plunge your tongue deeper inside her wet cunt, almost daring someone to overhear this pretty girl losing it.

Fuck, she tastes amazing, and her entire body quivers from every messy lap of your tongue, a growing mess dripping down your chin that's only going to get worse. No matter how quiet she's trying to be, this girl's never been anything less than a loud, trembling mess the moment her legs spread, and this is no exception.

The risk is secondary to how much you love burying your head between her legs, licking up every part of her cunt that glistens like a feast that you can't get enough of. You’ve got Wonyoung far too worked up to care about anything but grabbing your head, unabashed by how you eat her out without mercy.

She'll learn her fucking lesson if you have to make her gush over and over again on top of this table. And even when she tries her hardest to close her legs and wiggle away, you'll do it again.

Wonyoung can't keep that one word from spilling out, moaning 'daddy' over and over and crying out how fucking good you are at eating this delicious pussy. Each swipe of your tongue feeds your arousal more than ever, lapping at her cunt, slurping on her clit that gets all the best noises out of her, her thighs clamping around your head and pinning you exactly where you belong, just face-first between these legs of a goddess.

It's almost laughable how much effort she's wasted trying to keep her volume low, yet her entire body surrenders to your mouth. One harsh slurp of her sensitive clit has her grabbing a fistful of your hair in desperation, head falling back on the hard surface of the table and biting her bottom lip, a useless attempt to contain the pleasure.

There's no letting up, not after getting her so ridiculously wet—sucking hard on her clit between filthy, relentless licks, eating her out like this isn't happening in a library, like it's just another day of breaking Wonyoung down and making her melt.

She's trying to ride your face, fuck herself on your mouth with these frantic, uncontrollable jerks of her hips that almost force you to tear yourself away just so you can have a moment to breathe.

But you don't need that. Not when her hips only move out of control, and the grip in your hair gets even tighter while she squirms. She's right where you want her, and if you really wanted to, you could drag this out a little longer to prolong every tremble and whine until she's in tears. That's a risk you're not willing to take, given she might alert the entire building to where you two are.

Instead, you'll have mercy, if you can call it that.

You offer no chance to gather her senses, focusing on the sensitive bud between your lips, that little part of her that’s more than enough to drive her right over the edge. Looking up, there’s that perfect view of her pretty, flushed features, a girl far past falling apart while you suck her clit hard, dig your fingers into her creamy flesh and send her hurdling right over the fucking line.

"F-f-fuck—fuck, gonna cum, fucking gonna—"

Wonyoung is incoherent already, hardly able to keep those frantic cries held back, thighs locked around your head, toes curling when the orgasm hits hard. In seconds, she's gushing all over your face and spasming hard, hips bucking desperately against the greedy laps of your tongue to contain the arousal you’re drowning in. Let anyone walk by—you welcome it, you’ll thrive on it, because you’re not stopping.

The sheer pleasure becomes overwhelming as Wonyoung rides it out, thighs trembling, body shaking so violently that even the table shifts, breath so shaky she could collapse any second. When it's done, Wonyoung can't even speak, trying to shove your head away, but you're not letting up—certainly not done with this delicious treat in front of you. "Daddy, stop—too m-much—"

There's not a chance you'll listen. Not after this fucking tease from earlier.

You’ll lick up every drop of her juices from her soaked cunt and ignore the tremble in her thighs that loosen their grip, only to clamp back shut when she reaches the edge again. Any more words spoken, any more pleading, everything dissolves the longer this goes, eating her out without relent, even after she’s too sensitive to endure any more, not given a second of rest.

"D-daddy!" she cries out, eyes rolled to the back of her head when she cums on your face again, harder than before. Lips parted, shuddering and digging her nails into your scalp, Wonyoung grabs anything to try and free herself, the overstimulation far, far too much. The way her voice wavers—you can't think of anything more beautiful, one more lap at her cunt to give a final suck on her swollen, throbbing clit, forcing her to ride out the orgasm with your mouth all over that little bud.

Wonyoung can’t help but force more pleas out, body overwhelmed beyond her control. Once your mouth pulls off her cunt, you get a good look at the delicious view left behind, as you leave kisses on her messy thighs, the shaking yet to subside while she lies there on the table, breathless, unable to even move.

"You're so fucking delicious, princess," you growl, noticing her expression when the fingers gripping your head finally let up and she collapses against the table. "Couldn't get enough of your pretty cunt."

Wonyoung can't offer up a single word, still sobbing quietly, writhing with the aftershocks yet to cease. Her entire body feels too sensitive, drunk off pleasure and an utter trembling mess underneath, still yet to stop the desperate little spasms of her hips at what you did between her legs.

"That mouth of yours is fucking dangerous," Wonyoung sobs out, not bothering to lift her head to even glance at you. This girl that normally commands a room can't do anything but lie there—a pathetic, overwhelmed, mess, all sprawled out. "C-can't—can't fucking believe you made me cum like that.”

"You know me, princess. Couldn't help myself."

A faint sigh is all she has to give. It takes a moment, but she somehow manages to sit upright, eyes glazed when she looks up, the poor thing utterly ruined after one round. "Fuck, I’m still shaking. That’s how good daddy’s mouth is…”

You can't help laughing at how spent Wonyoung has gotten from just your mouth between her legs. A rare occasion. "Then maybe we should cut the study break short for today, princess."

Wonyoung perks her head up and stares at you, looking rather disappointed. "Hey, wait—you're still so fucking hard. We're not leaving until we do something about that. Come on."

Well, there's no denying that, even in her disheveled state. And she's not going anywhere without it being dealt with properly, already unbuttoning your pants and impatiently trying to tug them down. "Here? Still?”

"Where else? If we haven't gotten caught at this point, it's not going to happen. Yes, here—dummy,” Wonyoung says, recovering enough to give your cock some relief when your boxers meet your pants around your ankles. “Fuck me raw on this table. Right now.”

That rapacious look of hers is too much, every set of long strokes working wonders to get you desperate for what this girl's willing to offer up. "This looks pretty painful, daddy, doesn't it? Your cock deserves some gratitude. For what that mouth did to me."

But before you can even get a word out, she leans back again—this time raising both feet, pressing each sole against the swollen head of your cock. Nothing you can do but grunt when her delicate toes squeeze the head just so, her other foot stroking the entire length, coaxing precum that drips down.

"So fucking hard. Might just burst if my pretty little feet keep jerking you off, huh?"

Wonyoung knows exactly what you crave—and knows too well what a tease like this does to your cock. Just those small touches against your most sensitive spots, little strokes of her toes that urge you right where she wants you.

The way her toes tease the tip, slide down to play with your balls, getting them heavier before dragging back up with one sole caressing your cock again, is downright dizzying. "That's what you fucking love, isn't it, daddy? These soft feet all over that huge dick of yours—"

She has you in the palm of her hand—always has and always will.

"Princess, quit teasing," you groan, unable to do anything but watch as she places both feet flat on either side of your cock, stroking up and down the sides while keeping the head right at her toes. This is absolute bliss. She watches with those big, doe eyes, observing how you can't keep from throbbing, her toes toying and sliding everywhere they possibly can.

"Then do something about it," Wonyoung tempts, keeping those long legs raised and stroking your shaft with both her soles. Until you grab those legs and hoist them on your shoulders, wiping that grin off her face when you line her tight entrance with your needy, dripping cock.

And now you're the one teasing, nudging your cock just inside the silky lips of her cunt, getting enough of that wet warmth around the head before pulling away.

It draws a breathy moan from Wonyoung, with her legs anchored onto your shoulders, slick juices all over your tip each time you brush through her slit. The way she mouths out a 'please’, begging for you to shove that cock between her folds and stuff her little cunt—makes you prolong this delicious torment for far too long.

"This what you wanted? For me to do something about your dripping cunt?" you taunt, rubbing your cockhead against those drenched lips, loving the desperate whine when you slide in enough to make her want more before you pull right back out.

"Just fuck me—shove it in. Quit playing already."

"Oh, you don't wanna beg? Fucking brat can tease me but not the other way around, is that how it works?"A deep sigh follows when Wonyoung grows annoyed each time you drag along her slit and tease a few thrusts to slide right in.

"I don't need to beg. That's your job, I just need you to plow my fucking pussy," Wonyoung demands, trying her best not to whine with each denied attempt at entry.

"That's the fucking plan, brat,” you growl as you push further inside the heat of her slick, well-devoured cunt and bury the rest of your cock, getting a deep gasp from Wonyoung who welcomes every thick inch with little resistance. That tight pussy swallows every inch in an instant, wrapping around every bit you give her, so warm, so inviting, drenched and perfectly clenching around you.

"Tight fucking slut, god. How can you still feel so damn good no matter how many times I'm inside you?" Barely a few thrusts and Wonyoung feels so wet, drenching your cock that's suffocating in this slippery heat.

"Because you're fucking addicted," she answers, smirk fading fast while grabbing the edge of the table and losing herself with each pump of your hips.

"And you can't live a day without this dick—" That's what gets the loudest cry out when Wonyoung clenches tighter, those never ending legs spread on your shoulders while your hips crash right into her as you thrust deep into that wet little hole.

"Because it's mine."

You can't disagree, not at a time like this. With her eyes locked on yours, her lips part to spill these needy moans, cheeks flushed a deep pink. You’re buried inside her, every inch claimed by the kind of heat and insane grip that makes it nearly impossible to let you escape.

Wonyoung is perfect, always is, perfect to be fucked deep and raw. Perfect to bend over whatever is in reach, using whichever part of her gorgeous body she wants you in. And now these legs feel so natural resting on your shoulders, one on either side, locked behind your neck to make the angle even deeper.

“Daddy feels so deep inside, fucking wrecking my pussy," is all Wonyoung can get out in between heaving breaths while the whole table jostles each time you hit the deepest parts and plunge through these walls to stay buried.

There's no objection in how you pound into her, nothing but pure, unrestrained lust, not a single care with every noise coming out of her mouth, every squelch that echoes as your heavy balls slap into the curve of Wonyoung's tight ass.

"Princess, fuck, so good—love this tight fucking pussy. Love your filthy fucking mouth and your pretty face and all of you. Love fucking you here on this table," you say, the praise spilling out without even trying. And Wonyoung has been far from subtle the moment you started driving your dick deep, mouth never shut—the heavy moans, the loud gasps, every deep breath growing ragged with every new thrust.

"Love when you fuck me so hard," Wonyoung murmurs back, doing nothing to tone down her reactions as she demands your cock claim all of her tight, impossibly soaked cunt. The feeling is very mutual. There's not anything better than these hot, slippery lips trapping you inside, tightening around every part that's throbbing.

All in a library, no less. One that’s neglected, but the lack of concern only makes you pound this tight cunt faster. Maybe you’ll check off another banned location from your list, because the studying going on here is anything but academic.

"Fuck, fuck, you're stretching me so much—rearranging my guts, daddy."

"Library, princess…" you remind her, words she doesn't hear or even care about. Not that you give any more of a damn. Your hips don’t either as you keep slamming away, lost in the feeling of how good every thrust feels, nothing less than balls deep while you grip her legs for leverage. She clenches harder the deeper your thrusts hit, until her voice stalls, and she lets the moans get a bit too loud.

Wonyoung just can't contain herself and gushes all over your cock, forcing you to fight through that mess that floods out all over.

It gets everywhere—all over your thighs, the table, her bag, even the floor. Wonyoung can't stop trembling, eyes rolling back, legs shaking hard, all this messy gushing that's threatening to shove you out if not for her cunt desperately holding you inside.

"S-shit, daddy, couldn't help myself. Your huge cock feels too fucking good. Too fucking deep in me," she gasps out when her legs give out on their own and those ankles detach from your shoulders.

"Made such a huge mess, princess," you say, not stopping the steady, deep pumps even as her legs now rest limply against the table. Each thrust turns her into more of a whimpering mess, overstimulated in a way that makes her toes curl, legs continuing to shake when you fill her to the hilt and keep fucking her.

"That's your fault, not mine. You love fucking me wherever I want, can’t help how good it feels.”

No rest for either of you then, it seems. You're right back to it, holding her thighs apart to slam into her pussy in a relentless rhythm, smacking your hips into her tight little body, pistoning hard enough the table rattles. And there's no time for Wonyoung to do anything other than lose control.

"Daddy can't stop fucking me," Wonyoung taunts in the middle of her heavy panting and moans, tongue out, drool spilling past her lips with each hard slam. "You love my tight little pussy way too much to stop."

As if she didn't just fucking gush like a hydrant a minute ago.

Wonyoung doesn't get anything else out when she opens her legs as much as she can, finding enough strength to wrap them around you, tight as can be to get you even deeper inside. There's not a chance she would allow this cock anywhere else with how hard she squeezes and makes sure not an inch slips away.

"Daddy's not going anywhere, not with my fucking legs locked. Not letting you fucking leave or ever pull out—"

"You think I could ever leave your warm little cunt when it feels this good? Not a chance, princess." You can't possibly look away from those expressive eyes, full lips open with heavy, desperate groans, staring right at you as you keep sinking inside, every throb met by a delicious squeeze that demands you give every fucking drop.

This harsh rhythm, the sound of flesh against flesh, a cacophony of groans while Wonyoung keeps those legs wrapped tight leaves you drowning in this pleasure.

"Want you to fucking cum right inside of me, daddy. Can't take it anymore—just fucking pump me full, pump my womb with all that hot fucking seed, make me leak all over this fucking table. Breed me right here in this fucking library, right now. Please, daddy—please."

When she begs so prettily like that, with you buried so deep, what resistance is left in you? Nobody has these pleading eyes like Wonyoung, trying to squeeze your cock as tight as possible to empty you inside.

This isn't a study break, but a full on performance by both of you. The library is the worst place for this, and yet it doesn't stop you from pumping harder into Wonyoung's slick cunt, like you're just asking to be heard at the back of the third floor.

"Gonna fucking fill this pussy," you growl, powerless to stop the inevitable with how tight these walls cling around you, downright impossible to not erupt when she has you right where she wants. Those legs around your waist expedite it even further.

“P-please, right now,” Wonyoung begs one final time, giving you just enough time to look up, to see the way those eyes are looking at you—not pleading anymore, but a sense of desperation in there.

Not another moment to think. Not another second to stop yourself from doing just that. With a final, unapologetic slam that hits as deep as her body can take, you unleash everything inside, heavy spurts flooding right into her tight, greedy cunt. That voice that has you pumping hot, messy streams of cum from your aching balls into the girl who craves it more than anything.

It's fucking endless, it always is. Her cunt swallows your load with every violent throb, greedy walls squeezing hard to wring out the spurts you pound even deeper inside.

And that's just what Wonyoung deserves, taking your load with pride. The relief is undeniable, second to the way her pretty face glows, lips parted as the last of your cum disappears into her well-fucked pussy, never, ever getting tired of the grip that demands more.

"Every single drop…” Wonyoung murmurs as you fill her up, legs locked so tight around your body to make sure all of that cum stays inside, a hot, sticky, pearlescent mess flooding her insides. No pulling out. Not until you're totally drained, that's her demand, and that's non-negotiable.

"So thick, so fucking warm, daddy. Keep fucking it all deeper, wanna feel it leaking." There’s little you can do but that, move your hips in small movements, to make sure your fresh load finds its place deep between those creamy thighs.

Your thrusts slow down by the end of it, all this combined pleasure that's finally taken its toll. Finally having the chance to catch a breath, you close your eyes and revel in the softness wrapped around your sensitive shaft, in the sweat you can feel trickling down the side of your face. There’s no better satisfaction than pumping this pretty pink cunt to the fucking brim.

"Princess made me cum so damn hard. You just couldn't wait to empty these balls into that tight fucking cunt, could you, brat?" you whisper against the shell of her ear, face buried right against her bare shoulder when it's just the two of you defeated by exhaustion, no break from the grip her legs won’t give up.

"Daddy always gives his princess always gets what she wants. Love when you use me to drain those heavy fucking balls."

You don't know what it is with these two today—these demanding, greedy brats craving the seed that's pumping into Wonyoung and oozing right from the tight little hole it fills, but there’s no complaints. None whatsoever.

"First your car, then the library. It's like you both hate the apartment now," you tell her, earning a little giggle betraying any sense of decorum.

"Or maybe we’re just two insatiable sluts that love daddy fucking us wherever possible," she fires back with a tremble in her voice, and a little peck to your lips, finally freeing the hold her legs have around you. You don't pull out quite yet, taking a moment to savor the warmth and the mess you’ve left inside before easing out—

You watch the most sinful little sight when you do, a flood of thick cum without cease onto the library table, those beautiful thighs, everywhere it chooses to defile.

There's definitely not the smallest bit of remorse or modesty, despite the huge mess the two of you have just made. The mixture of your cum and Wonyoung’s floods through this table, no doubt ruining anything in the near vicinity. At least it'll be a fun story to explain to Yujin why you're banned from a different library entirely.

But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you're too focused on the sight of your cum dripping down Wonyoung’s thighs, watching as her fingers trail through the thick white between her legs, shoving whatever escapes back inside. There's silence while she does so, save for her loud, uneven breaths and your own.

You lean in to kiss her, this time a longer press of your lips as you cradle her face, tongue invading past her parted lips, lost in this lust for what seems like forever.

"This is a library, you two know—"

The sudden interruption has you pulling away in panic, because it's not a voice you know. Wonyoung, however, doesn’t look the least bit bothered when she glances to find another pair of eyes staring right at the two of you.

"Yes, very fucking aware," Wonyoung replies in a rather calm voice given the circumstances. You follow her gaze, seeing it hone in on a figure not too far from what you’ve done to this poor table.

It's not the head librarian at least, the only relief you can have with your pants around your ankles.

Whoever it is takes a step closer to reveal herself, a younger woman, student if you had to guess, judging by the book she holds (or rather, embraces), and the backpack slung over her shoulder.

"Then why are you two defiling my favorite study spot?" the girl asks, coming closer. There's annoyance when there should be shock, her concerns clearly involving any inconvenience and not how compromising this position is.

“Shouldn't you be a little quieter then? This is a library after all," Wonyoung fires right back, returning her gaze with a finger still mindlessly running through those creamy folds, until one pops right into her mouth. She doesn't give an ounce of embarrassment or the slightest consideration to this other woman inches away.

"Yes, a library. For the purposes of studying. And it looks like there's been a fucking orgy happening on this table," the other girl says in return. There's a trace of sarcasm, one that matches Wonyoung well while she inspects the damage, to where the table has a thick trail of fluids that's not going away.

"And what would you know about studying? Don't exactly recall seeing you in class once this semester, sweetie."

"How would you—" the other woman starts, stopping herself. She stands there with arms folded, both of them hesitant for a moment until she gathers her thoughts. "We have economics together. Every Tuesday. And every week, you're off getting dicked down somewhere or I don't know, whatever other hobbies you have that involve spreading your legs."

"Sorry for having a social life. Maybe you should try it out, Gaeulie."

This girl laughs a little, leaning against a dusty bookshelf. "Gaeulie? No one's called me that since—"

"Our senior year in high school, I know. But it's the same Gaeul, isn't it? Still the shy, nerdy girl with the same smart mouth, huh?”

And now it all clicks together in an instant, even without knowing a thing about her. Someone who clearly can handle Wonyoung, knows how to handle her without being the least bit bothered by any of these insults, clearly used to such attitude.

"You'd be surprised. Things change," Gaeul starts, gaze traveling around the table. It falls onto you, and she takes a second, studying.

Wonyoung just stares.

"Yujinnie mentioned something about a guy she was banging lately, said she was sharing him with you. Thought it was just a one time thing, but looks like you're still here, yeah?" Gaeul asks, with that gaze glued right where it is, on you, between your legs and for longer than just a cursory glance. "With a huge cock, apparently. Guess that's as good enough reason as any."

It doesn't make you uneasy as it should, perhaps because you're still processing this all. But the way she ogles your body, that's what does, not wanting to strike up a conversation all exposed like this.

Her eyes just follow wherever she pleases, and doesn't even attempt to hide her blatant stare.

With your clothes back on, now you can at least look at this girl named Gaeul for more than a second. Not bad to look at, honestly. She's rather attractive, but the polar opposite of Yujin and Wonyoung in her casual hoodie and jeans, glasses neatly atop her face, long blonde hair and a shy smile to go with it. A smaller stature compared to the other two and just a general timidness that's clear, but not without enough confidence to go head-to-head with Wonyoung.

"Hi, I'm Gaeul," she reiterates. "Nice to meet you. Enjoyed the little show. Sorry, didn't mean to stare at your cock that long. Impressive though."

This is awkward, to say the least. Meeting an acquaintance of Wonyoung when you're naked from the waist down. That's a new one.

You have not a thing to say, just a quick nod while you shake the extended hand, meeting this mysterious woman. Gaeul can only let out a giggle, and you think this might be more embarrassing than being banned from another library.

"Well, as much as I would love to stand here and chat, it smells like a goddamn porn set back here, and I've got an assignment to complete. Unlike someone who skips class just to get a dick down their throat," Gaeul says, smiling the whole time she speaks. "We should grab a drink sometime. And maybe—"

She gives a glance towards you, then back between your legs. "Maybe you could bring him too. Oh, and don't worry. I won't tell anyone what happened here. That librarian forgot her hearing aid, probably. Besides, who would ever believe a cute little nerdy girl about a study corner getting used for this kind of debauchery?"

Before anything gets answered, Gaeul's already out of view, leaving a last little wave behind her and heading out. And that's when you can finally breathe again.

"Don't say a damn word," Wonyoung warns the same moment you even think about opening your mouth, hopping off the table. She scans the room, eyes landing on the soaked, crumpled panties tossed among the wreckage. Without a word, she stuffs them into her purse, adjusting her dress like nothing ever happened.

"Time to go, daddy. We have an hour left, and that cock isn't done spilling cum in me. Let's go find another place. Preferably one with less dust."

For now, you're too exhausted to object, being led back out of the library, in search of your next potential place to desecrate.

Which turns out, is no easy feat, when your options are rather limited, given it's past midday. Public bathrooms are overdone at this point. The science center is a bigger no, as is every lecture hall that is entirely too occupied to even enter. The cafeteria is dead at this hour, but even for Wonyoung that's far too risky, even with that one spot she keeps insisting on, the one she swears no one will ever wander back to.

A quick text to Yujin to check in, and she replies back asking how many times your balls have been emptied, with not much more advice than to try the auditorium. Which apparently Wonyoung takes up on—and that's always a dangerous thing, judging from the way she tugs on your arm.

So now your back is against the bright, white wall of the racquetball court, another ‘abandoned’ space that she’s taken you, a term that you aren’t even sure means anything anymore. Nowhere near as exciting as that one time Wonyoung dragged you into the pilates studio—when the only stretching involved was her leg hooked on the ballet bar and your cock buried in her tight little cunt, each thrust rocking her petite frame against the mirrored wall.

And this is more of the same.

Your pants might as well live around your ankles these days. The racquetball court has seen better days, with paint peeling from the walls, floorboards a little worse for wear.

Not to mention the lights dim and flicker, but it’s still bright enough to catch the obscene sight of Wonyoung on her knees, drool spilling from her lips as she devours your cock. Like it hasn’t even been five minutes since you last emptied yourself inside her.

"You’re greedy, today. Getting my cock in your mouth the second we step through the door," you point out, running a hand through her hair as the sound of that sloppy mouth gets louder with every bob of Wonyoung's pretty head. And these walls echo with every slurp that spills out.

Her eyes peer up through the mess of spit that drips down, two fingers rubbing at her pink slit while she slobbers over every inch. She's messy in the cutest of ways. Lips pink, parted, and pouty as they slide down your shaft, right to the back of her wet throat. Her cheeks hollow as she works nice and slow, grabbing your hips when she stuffs your entire cock in her mouth with only a tiny bit of a gag.

All the little choked gasps, the effort she makes to take you deeper, those eyes that get all wide when you help force her head all the way to the hilt.

"I'm greedy everyday, daddy. Haven't you realized that, yet?"

Hard to realize anything but how good those soft fucking lips feel wrapped around your cock. That warm mouth spilling plenty of drool over every inch, so utterly soaked, pink little tongue dragging along every vein when Wonyoung runs those luscious lips right back down. Until her nose is buried against your pelvis, leaving no room to breathe as she keeps your dick in the heavenly depths of her tight fucking throat.

It’s easy to indulge that greediness, when your cock aches just as bad, forcing her head down the way you need, with your fingers through that silky dark hair, threaded right through.

Especially when you press her up against the court wall, with a handful of hair and fuck into her slick, needy cunt, sinking in deep without restraint. No need to hold back when the soundproof walls swallow up every obscene noise, not when Wonyoung is demanding to be ruined, begging for more with every pathetic gasp.

Neither of you giving a single fuck how loud you can get, yanking back to expose that pretty little throat that Wonyoung leaves all vulnerable, the marks from earlier still noticeable, even more vivid on that pale flesh when your teeth dig in.

The best part is how all your thrusts amplify in this large space, each rough pop of your hips forcing her slender body against the padded court wall. It's the sweet sounds that escape her mouth, loud moans and gasps and filthy praises spilling from those swollen lips. How wet she gets with every thrust pinning her to the wall as she cries out 'daddy' like a mantra, cunt only gripping tighter the more your hips slam into her ass.

And she tries—to get her hand underneath, to rub against her swollen clit but you move her wrists above her, pressing her body flat against the wall. "You'll cum on this cock when it's time. No help."

"That's not fucking fair." The tone Wonyoung says it with doesn't even matter, not with how helpless she looks against you.

"Too bad. Bad girls don't get to decide the rules."

That makes her cry out another moan, her tight cunt clamping even harder. "How am I supposed to not touch myself when you keep destroying my fucking pussy like this?"

"Quit whining, brat. You can take it, can't you?"

"Of course I can, daddy. I just—oh god, it's so good. Just wanna cum on your fat cock, please."

A weak argument at best. "You think that's not gonna happen with how fucking hard you're getting pounded into this wall? No chance.”

“D-daddy, please—“

A slap lands so hard across her bare ass that she yelps into the surface her cheek rests against. Another even harder comes after, no relent or consideration, one that she'll feel at her next class, regardless of when she decides to show up.

Wonyoung is in her element here. A public space but contained, making as many noises and shameless sounds as she pleases.

Panties ripped off and thrown somewhere on the court, with heels, of course. This time they stay on her feet, so they do little more than add an extra little thud when you deliver every slam inside that delicious, soaked cunt that can barely take all of you.

“You’re throbbing—which means I get another load. Fill me where I want it,” Wonyoung pleads, like she’s so sure she’ll get anything. Even with the loud spanks on her ass that cut through her moans, leaving her with red handprints and bruised flesh that just makes her whine for more.

"No—"

Another slap on her tight ass, another loud gasp she offers up in return, a tug back so you can whisper in her ear. "Princess doesn't get another load in her cunt—this one belongs all over your pretty fucking face."

So a clench of her dripping wet walls is what you get in reply, because she'll take your cum however she can. Nothing gets her cunt drenched more than imagining your cum spilled across her.

Then it’s one final, frantic thrust before you pull out, and Wonyoung doesn't hesitate at all, dropping down to her knees and awaiting her favorite reward. She watches the way you stroke your cock in front of her angelic face, and that sultry pout on her full lips is more than enough to get you there.

With one hand through her hair and the other gripping tight around your cock, you keep Wonyoung as close as can be, her eyes wide as she patiently waits and anticipates every bit of your cum, offering her whole face as a canvas.

The first thick blast hits Wonyoung's face right away, landing all over her cute nose and splattering white streaks across her plump pink lips. Next comes her forehead, shooting a double of long, sticky strands all the way up to her dark hair, cock still gripped firmly so you can target every gorgeous fucking spot on her.

Each heavy spurt paints her perfect skin, spurts that end up all over her cheeks, on her chin and that outstretched tongue to leave this brat properly covered, just as promised. Your load clings to those lips that shine under the bright lights, unable to contain a giggle from how proud she is to get decorated.

She's gorgeous. There's never enough time to savor this incredible sight, Wonyoung with your cum painted all over her beautiful face.

"Love how your cum feels all over me. Love when daddy blows his big, heavy load all over my fucking face."

Wonyoung strokes your cock against her cheek, pulsating right on her face and wearing every spurt across her smooth skin like a trophy. A dizzying sight, her messy smile and your cum streaked across that pretty face, the kisses she lands on the sensitive tip of your cock that sends more shudders through you.

The lights buzz overhead. Somewhere above, shoes squeak faintly across the floor, sounding so much louder when Wonyoung's fully distracted, lazily stroking your sensitive cock.

"Well, well, well—"

Interrupted again. But this time, there’s no mystery when you both glance up at the viewing balcony above you. Who else but Yujin leaning against the railing with a clear view down, ponytail swaying as her head drops to get a better look.

She’s dressed in what looks like workout gear, a black sports bra and pink yoga pants that cling far too tightly around her thick thighs and shapely ass, slinging an athletic bag over one shoulder. There's a sheen of sweat on her skin like she's already spent the better part of an hour on a treadmill, yet looking gorgeous as ever. "Funny seeing you two here. Is this the premium courtside experience, or do I need to pay extra?"

Wonyoung says little, nor does she acknowledge the third party while she keeps her position, kneeling on the court floor. "My two hours aren't up yet. So unless you're going to stay and watch..."

"Trying to get rid of me? I paid for the full-access pass, so I better get my money's worth, princess," Yujin teases right back, already striding down the flight of stairs, heading in your direction. In seconds, she's down on the first floor of the court and making a beeline right towards the two of you.

You're the most vulnerable one in all this, cock out, pants around your ankles with Wonyoung still stroking your shaft at a steady rhythm. That little laugh from Yujin catches both your attention when she sees the mess covering Wonyoung's face.

"Jesus, princess. You're a fucking mess.”

"You'd be too," Wonyoung defends, offering no apology as she slides a couple fingers through the cum dripping down her features before shoving them in her mouth to clean them, slurping lewdly. "If you saw what we were up to. My ass still fucking stings."

Yujin only laughs. "Good."

Wonyoung rises from the court floor then, only to be met with Yujin who leans in with a little smirk and plants a greedy kiss on those cum-smeared lips, getting a good taste without hesitation. Then it’s just pure lust as their tongues collide, swapping saliva and the lingering taste of your cum they crave more of.

And now you’re the one just watching. Standing with your dick still out in the open while these two make in front of you—Yujin's fingers sliding between Wonyoung's legs to plunge them inside, eager for another taste from somewhere else.

"Daddy didn't wanna cum in your little pussy, huh?" Yujin taunts, like she can't see the mess that's still present on Wonyoung's glazed features.

"He did already. Filled me so good a little while ago, and now he wanted my pretty face all covered—don't be jealous just because you didn't get yours."

Not like Yujin has anything to envy, watching Wonyoung fall apart at the feeling of her long fingers buried between those wet lips, not even giving a care to your presence. "Daddy came inside me first, though. In your car, remember? He couldn't help it while my tight cunt kept riding his huge fucking dick..."

That's the best way to get Wonyoung to shut up—still annoyed at what the two of you did in her car. Yujin slips out the two fingers coated in Wonyoung's juices, then licks them clean without breaking eye contact.

"So fucking what? What are you even doing here, anyway, Yujinnie?”

"Other than watch you two fuck like animals? Thought I'd get an actual workout in, and see what you two were up to. Are those your panties?" Yujin asks, laughing as she glances down to a small pair of discarded underwear that can't possibly qualify as anything.

It's Wonyoung's turn to laugh now. "Might be. Daddy kind of ruined them."

You roll your eyes, gathering your senses back and finding some semblance of modesty that the other two clearly don't seem to grasp. "You begged me to. Rip them off and pound my pussy like a whore is what you said to be exact, so—"

"Shut up, daddy. I said no such thing—"

Yujin can't wipe that wide grin off her face, looking between you two with a judgmental shake of her head, acting like she hasn't said similar things. "Since we're not heading back to the apartment anytime soon... there's a locker room, down the hall. You know where that goes. We've got the place all to ourselves."

There's never a real break when the three of you are together, when Yujin gets that familiar gleam in her eye, pulling her ponytail free and letting that dark hair cascade down her back.

That's about all Wonyoung needs, and all it takes for you to follow. She doesn't even attempt to make herself presentable, dress left hiked up and disheveled. Those clothes are all coming off anyway. "Hurry up, daddy."

You'd rather get out of this pathetic looking court sooner rather than later. So off to the locker room you all go, bags and belongings in hand. Your two leggy roommates saunter ahead of you, your gaze shamelessly aimed at Yujin's ass in those tight pants that hug every delicious curve to perfection.

You'll never get cleaned up—not if these two have any say in it, but maybe you're okay with that.

“Come on, it’s empty,” Yujin says as she leads the way into the locker room that’s surprisingly luxurious, with marble counters and large mirrors, rows of shower stalls and padded benches. It smells faintly of citrus and lavender—a surprising contrast with the neglected condition of the facility.

You're the first to follow Yujin and her deliciously swaying hips as she slides those yoga pants off, glancing over her shoulder to make sure you're watching before sliding her sports bra off. Now in just a tiny little pair of panties and nothing else, the small fabric does its best to cover that perfectly shaped ass, and those legs a sight you could stare at forever. She stretches her long limbs up above her head, toned arms flexing and offering an even more tantalizing glimpse of that bare back, where your hands always gravitate towards, all that smooth, flawless skin that feels so nice underneath your fingertips.

"Enjoying yourself, daddy?" Yujin teases, taking her sweet time to peel those tiny panties off, bending forward and popping her ass up even more.

Your gaze can't stay away from every sinful inch, especially right between her legs, that gorgeous, smooth cunt of hers, and you're tempted to skip on a hot shower and bury your face between her thighs right fucking now.

"Hard not to when you look so good naked, Yujinnie," you answer back, taking a step forward to grope around her curvy hips, then squeeze at her plentiful ass, savoring the slight jiggle when you get a handful and knead those soft cheeks in your palms.

"Then you better take those clothes off too, daddy. Can't take a shower with these on, can you?”

Yujin doesn’t say anything more when she turns around, walking backwards to the nearest shower stall as you get the full view of that delicious body from the front before she slips in and starts the water.

No time to waste. Your clothes end up scattered, shoes kicked off as you finally join Yujin already under the hot water, not afraid to push you against the tile wall and capture your lips in a deep kiss. And you can't wait another second to grab her ass again, feeling her soft flesh up while you enjoy her hungry mouth, steam surrounding you more and more as the hot water rains down your bodies.

"Who said you could start without me?"

Wonyoung's voice interrupts as she stumbles in and closes the curtain. There's really not enough room for three in one shower stall, but you're all pressed in close and it doesn't matter. And hey, you aren't going to say no to having these two naked and all sharing the same water.

"Don't act like you don't love watching us," Yujin says in between the two of you devouring one another, her greedy hands sliding all over your body to find your cock already throbbing and needing her touch. "Was wondering if you were ever going to join us."

"Had to wash this cum off my face, obviously," Wonyoung huffs, stepping closer to join in on the fun. She runs her wet tongue across your chest until her body is pressing into yours as well, all that wet skin sliding across yours and feeling so damn good. You switch from Yujin to Wonyoung, capturing those lips next with your tongue slipping right in to taste.

Yujin isn't idle though, reaching below to grab your cock with her soapy, wet hands, stroking nice and slow. It’s so easy to find yourself lost between their mouths, swapping saliva with each girl while your cock gets more than a little needy. Now it's both of them who stroke, keeping up with the pace Yujin is setting while each of their lips claim yours back and forth, teeth teasing and tongues desperate for attention.

All the hot steam, all the naked skin on display and it's no surprise your cock is growing so stiff as Yujin slowly drops to her knees and positions herself between your thighs. Hot water falls over her, washing soap off your cock and trickles down the curves of her body while her tongue brushes in this playful tease over your dick that twitches with each touch.

"Didn't Wonyoung take care of you earlier, daddy? That huge load on her face and you're still this hard?" she asks, clearly not expecting a proper response, especially when she wraps her lips around your swollen tip and takes you deep into her tight throat all at once. And the moan that follows makes this question impossible to answer.

"That was barely even an appetizer," Wonyoung cuts in, kissing down your wet body, lips tracing down your abs while moving further and further below. The lower she drops, the more she crouches, the closer her hot mouth approaches—

And then her lips surround your aching balls while she begins to suck, drawing the hefty sack into her mouth to show her admiration. "Needed so much more than what he pumped across my face."

More sounds spill from your mouth with this extra attention. Yujin works diligently on your cock, bobbing her head along and drooling over your shaft, with Wonyoung on her knees right beside on the wet floor, lavishing your balls in tandem. Two ravenous mouths that seem to love the task, slurping and sucking without a care. Two noisy mouths kissing, licking, downright worshiping your cock from tip to base and everywhere in between.

"Fuck, you two are—" is all you can say when Yujin leans back to spit a huge mouthful of drool that coats your shaft, her palm stroking it all in before going back down again.

Once she comes up, Wonyoung gets her lips right at one side of your thick cock, while Yujin takes the opposite, the two running those soft, warm lips from base to tip before their tongues dance all over your leaking cockhead together, trying their best to fit as much between their pretty lips as possible.

"My turn," Wonyoung demands, shoving your cock into her bratty mouth without warning. Yujin only giggles and dips back down, no objections when she latches her mouth on one of your heavy balls with a satisfying slurp.

"Mmh, daddy's balls are so full, so delicious," Yujin moans, staring at Wonyoung, sharing that lewd look that'll end you.

The sight, the feeling, this devilish pair of lips treating your needy cock like a delicacy, it’s far too good, far too overwhelming the way their greedy mouths treat your cock. Especially Wonyoung, her mouth all warm and wet, all that tight suction from slobbering on your length without even a pause to breathe.

Her head bobs furiously along your shaft while she stuffs every inch down, straight past the back of her throat with little difficulty, right to the hilt. And Yujin is equally relentless with her attention, relentless in how she sucks at each your balls, running her tongue all over them before releasing with a loud pop that echoes in the shower before wrapping her mouth around again.

There's definitely nothing getting clean, but this is visual stimulation. Their gorgeous mouths competing with each other, two slobbery, soft sets of lips showing no sign of stopping until they get you off.

With Wonyoung choking you down, Yujin doesn't take too long to up the ante, eager to make you crumble with her tongue flicking fast on your balls as she guides a hand to one of your hips, moving between your legs. As she reaches underneath, a wet finger probes right at the spot she knows will make you fall to pieces.

"F-fuck, Yujin," you rasp out when that curious digit circles your puckered hole before dipping just inside, not enough to penetrate but a steady tease.

Yujin withdraws, spitting into the palm of her hand so she can return to your ass, this nice, slippery feeling of her wet finger massaging your prostate to coax the right response out of you. One that she gets immediately, when the pressure mounts, and she traces your rim with the tip of her middle finger, eagerly anticipating the moment when you’ll lose it.

Even with your cock impaling that tight little wet throat, Yujin makes damn sure to draw your attention, finger slowly pumping inside your ass. The wet slurps of Wonyoung’s greedy mouth are one thing, but the way those messy lips wrap around your balls as she continues her advance inside your ass is more than just another level.

"Too fucking good, god, feels so fucking good," you groan as Yujin plunges even deeper, buried all the way in your ass and curling her finger to hit just the right places. "Not gonna last if you keep this up—”

“Then don’t,” Yujin says, and that's clearly their intention. With the way they stare at one another and share an equally filthy smile before locking lips, trading their own sloppy spit between them before continuing their oral assault. One that doesn’t stop, Wonyoung picking up the pace as she works to choke you down her throat, a strangled, gargling moan and spit dripping off your balls, sloppier than you've ever felt before.

There’s no stopping this hungry duo, the greed they can’t stop displaying, each just as desperate for another load of your cum.

Yujin looks up with all that wet hair stuck to her beautiful face, and that expression hits hard. Wonyoung has no other thought in her mind than swallowing this huge, thick load straight from the source as she takes you down her throat with ease, holding for as long as she needs to.

Neither will back off as that heavy throbbing increases, their target clear, both ready to pull the trigger with all this combined effort driving you wild. Neither can resist the temptation to devour your length, your balls—kisses and frantic licks that won't quit, until all that overwhelming sensation becomes more than what your body can handle.

"Let it out, daddy," Yujin hums, greedily drawing out as much cum as she can get with each suck of your balls. "Blow that huge load right down her filthy fucking throat.”

You don’t stand a chance.

All that’s left is to grip tight at the back of Wonyoung’s head, forcing her down as your cock erupts without restraint, spilling everything into her wet mouth.

Her eyes widen when you throb in her mouth, nails digging into her scalp as you erupt down that tight, warm little mouth that demands your hot cum, swallowing it all down with ease. That pretty mouth stays firmly at the base, each eager gulp taking as much of this thick, creamy load that churns out of your balls, shot after shot shooting straight down her throat.

Wonyoung sucks harder than ever through every last twitch, holding your hips to keep you where she needs you, buried down her throat when she guzzles it all down. She doesn't stop, not until she's drained you dry, every last spurt coating her throat, not a drop wasted, not until she's satisfied, opening her mouth to show every last drop swallowed, tongue out to confirm just as much.

Not a moment to rest before they're both all over you in an instant, while their lips converge around the sensitive head of your cock, two greedy tongues all over your cockhead to taste you all over.

“That cum is so delicious, daddy,” Wonyoung says and runs a long lick along your spent shaft, while Yujin savors a nice, slow slurp across your still throbbing cockhead, neither mouth ready to leave you.

"I'm guessing you weren't sharing that, were you, princess?" Yujin asks as she looks at Wonyoung and gives another drag of her wet tongue on your cock.

"Hey, you said daddy came inside you first. And you ruined my car, so I think it's only fair if I get the rest—"

Yujin doesn't even look too bothered as they rise back up together, giggling as they lean in to share a heated kiss, sharing the flavor on each other's lips. "Always a greedy little brat, aren't you?"

"Can you blame me?” Wonyoung replies back, brushing her nose against Yujin’s. “When daddy loves filling us up, it makes it so hard not to be. And besides, you know there's plenty more..."

Even as many times as you've been drained today, it still doesn't make much difference—one look at Wonyoung with those legs, water dripping down her pale flesh and Yujin with her hands all over that soft skin, and you feel just as insatiable as they always do.

You're content to be just a spectator, for now, or at least try to be while the two take all the room under the shower head, kissing slow and deep. Yujin takes hold of Wonyoung’s slender waist, always so easy to grip, and pulls her close, the other hand landing a sharp smack on her ass as the sound echoes through the steamy stall.

"D-do that again."

"No."

"Do it," Wonyoung whines. Yujin doesn't miss a beat, doing just that to make Wonyoung gasp out loud and give her the satisfaction of spanking her harder than before. Even better that she can't help the whimper that follows.

"You really are a slut," Yujin laughs, hand spanking her a third time.

"Like you don't like when daddy makes your ass red, Yujinnie. Like I don't hear the way you beg when he fucks your ass in our kitchen..."

"Point taken," Yujin says, all giggles and gives a few more smacks across each cheek, letting you watch the flesh jiggle before giving one more final loud slap. And now you're really thankful for how long this hot water lasts, the temperature not dipping at all, not even when they both turn to face you and you get an eyeful of their dripping wet, perfect bodies all glistening underneath the running water.

"You’re staring too much, daddy," Wonyoung purrs, that same bratty attitude with her hands all over Yujin's body, groping whatever part she can, no regard for modesty when the two are just as horny and desperate. “Or are you ready to go again so soon?”

"Pretty sure his balls have been drained enough today," Yujin says, dipping a finger inside Wonyoung in a torturous, slow movement so she can enjoy the wetness. "Daddy's been so spoiled.”

“S-shit, never enough. Can never have daddy fill me enough.”

Yujin couldn’t agree any more.

“Look at you, princess,” Yujin murmurs, stopping mid-stroke. “You’re drenched. That greedy little cunt didn’t get enough?”

“What do you think, Yuj—ah, fuck!”

Your eyes go right between those slender legs where Yujin works her open, the wet squelch of Wonyoung's cunt the best sound heard over the fall of water in this shower.

"Still so wet, princess. That big cock must have done a number on you. How many times did you cum all over it? Two? Three? A dozen?”

Wonyoung gasps and clutches at your forearm, nails digging right into your skin for support. And Yujin takes that as an invitation, dropping to her knees right under the spray.

Wall at your back, you hold Wonyoung by her hips and keep her steady while Yujin eats her out.

There’s nothing restrained about it. The sound of water hitting tile gets easily drowned out by the slick, lewd noises between Wonyoung’s wet, creamy thighs. You can feel her tense up, how she tries to stay upright but fails, her legs buckling with every flick.

Her head falls back against you, these beautiful whimpers that escape while Yujin is relentless, one arm hooked around Wonyoung’s thigh to keep her from squirming away. "Y-Yujin, I-I can't, oh god, I’m gonna fall—”

Breathing right in her ear, you tighten your grip, fingers digging deep into the wet flesh as you keep Wonyoung held up. "You won't."

Yujin just keeps at it, tongue buried deep, lips latched tight, licking right at her throbbing little clit, listening to the way she falls apart so easy from a simple swipe. It’s beautiful how fast it can happen, just how much Yujin can break through Wonyoung's feisty exterior like it's nothing.

"I think we’re the ones who are spoiled with how good this pussy tastes," Yujin says between long laps, barely giving a break to catch her breath. You're only there to help, to keep Wonyoung from toppling over, holding her steady for Yujin to devour.

“Y-Yujinnie, f-fuck—don’t stop,” Wonyoung breathes out as she grinds helplessly against the tongue ruining her. “Please don’t stop.”

How could she ever? Even as the sounds in the shower grow louder, more desperate, your attention is solely focused right on Wonyoung, listening to her lose all control and composure so easily. Yujin licks right at her core a little faster, lapping all over, humming with satisfaction in the taste that this needy girl provides.

"Hold her tighter," Yujin instructs as she delivers a harsh slurp on Wonyoung's sensitive clit, one that causes a sharp intake of breath that fills the whole room. “She’s shaking.”

Of course she is—anyone would if they had Yujin's mouth right between their legs, giving everything she has, nails digging in a bit into Wonyoung’s thigh, keeping her exactly where she wants her. Without pause, her tongue darts back in, swirling around that sensitive nub, and hitting the spots she knows will cause the most damage.

And the best part is, you get a closeup view when this orgasm tears right through the pretty girl that's rapidly falling apart right in your arms.

So you do nothing but hold Wonyoung tight, pressing kisses into her exposed neck, a mark or two forming wherever you decide to suck that gets her moaning a bit too loud.

Yujin is nothing but merciless. The more Wonyoung's toes curl, the louder her voice gets, the more frantic Yujin laps, fast swipes, more drawn-out flicks. Then her tongue buries inside her again, never a moment to rest, only devouring her dripping cunt to give her exactly what she deserves.

You can feel the shudders, how Wonyoung is so overcome from this sensation, writhing between your grasp. And it's happening sooner than expected, the little cries erupting through her moans, the desperation seeping in as her body starts to falter.

"Think she’s about to cum—aren’t you, princess?” you ask, kissing right behind Wonyoung's ear, that spot where you know she’s the most sensitive. Wonyoung can't respond with anything but broken moans, so Yujin does it for her.

"Good, want my fucking tongue all over her pretty pussy when she does. Want her to gush all over me." Yujin doesn't slow down for anything, doesn't miss a single moment. Not when those thighs tremble, not when her breath hitches.

"S-so close," Wonyoung whines out, in her cute, desperate voice, knowing it'll drive Yujin's efforts even more. She says little between her loud slurps, keeping a hand on Wonyoung’s quivering thigh to help stabilize the poor thing.

“You wanna cum, princess? Show us how good this is making you feel."

An all-out assault comes on her clit before she can even think of a response. Every single flick of her tongue, everything Yujin can throw her way. Wet, sloppy, utterly obscene sounds echo and fill up the room, sounding more pathetic, more erratic the closer Wonyoung gets, trying to buck those hips further against Yujin's skilled mouth.

No restraint left for Wonyoung to carry as she lets loose at the speed Yujin fucks her sopping wet pussy with her tongue. Those long, slender fingers clutch right at the back of Yujin's head, fumbling through strands of damp hair to anchor her close to her cunt.

It all just feeds Yujin to make her lose it.

All it takes is one last, achingly long lick—Yujin's tongue dragging up from her drooling slit, then sealing tight around her clit. That's what sets the fireworks off, a gentle squeeze of her thigh to send the floodgates free. Wonyoung can’t stop from shaking uncontrollably, and you struggle to hold her upright with just how strong these sensations hit.

Wonyoung cums hard—trembling in your arms, toes digging into the wet tiles beneath her feet while those pretty features contort. Her breaths come out in heavy pants with an overwhelming craving for Yujin's tongue, and gives every drop she releases, everything spilled into her mouth, cumming on her face, soaking everywhere her tongue makes contact.

It's beautiful to watch when she shatters completely. You try your best to keep Wonyoung upright as the violent spasms flow through her, legs all but useless as those moans let out right into the steam surrounding her.

"Your cunt tastes so good when you cum, princess," she praises as her tongue swipes all over those soaked folds, cleaning up whatever she can. It’s too much for Wonyoung, and Yujin is far too good at knowing how to make this high linger, her movements not slowing in the slightest.

And Wonyoung is so beautiful the way she trembles, face flushed, full lips parted, chest heaving when her cunt spills into Yujin’s insatiable mouth nonstop.

Yujin won’t let up, that throbbing clit not leaving her lips until she's dragged out the most pathetic whimpers she can. The sounds are simply too irresistible, the cries and pleas only growing the harder Yujin slurps—knowing her favorite place is in between these thighs that can't stop violently spasming.

"F-fuck—enough. Stop. Please," Wonyoung whines out, fully leaning against you and almost impossible to balance between the two of you. Yujin does eventually, but not until she's made sure to lick every single part clean, only pulling away when those lips glisten with Wonyoung, and not a single drop is wasted.

After it's all over, Yujin lifts her head up and laughs, kissing up the porcelain skin of Wonyoung’s body yet to stop shaking, moving up to share her taste. "Our pretty, spoiled little brat. Always looks so perfect when she's making a mess," Yujin says when they break apart, dipping a finger back right into her warmth to get a little extra overstimulation out of her.

"N-not my fault you're both so good at making me feel good. Have to be greedy when—when both of you ruin me so fucking well."

It's cute, to say the least. How overwhelmed and wrecked Wonyoung gets, trying so hard not to act desperate and failing every time.

You have not a thing to add, enjoying the view far more than anything else, while these two share a moment under the running water. Yujin wipes the tears in Wonyoung's eyes, kisses being placed against the pretty streaks down her face. "We didn't really get cleaned up here, did we?"

"We never do..." Wonyoung answers.

Now you're the one planting kisses on Wonyoung's wet skin, working your way from the spot behind her neck. Over her shoulders, down her bare back, Yujin does the same while she stands there, basking in the shower of attention both of you provide.

"We should get you home, Wonyoungie. Get some food in you, get some rest. Your poor cunt could use a break."

Wonyoung laughs through a sniffle, with barely enough energy to get a nod out. "My legs don't work."

"You'll live," Yujin fires back, savoring the final moments of the hot water before she shuts the shower off. She grabs a towel to dry a helpless Wonyoung, then herself, while the two of you help her to the bench, right over the mess of clothes.

"Oh yeah—daddy met someone, today. After he fucked me silly. Someone you might remember," Wonyoung says. Yujin can't help but be curious as she finishes drying off.

"Who?"

Wonyoung also can't help but look cute with a towel wrapped around her head as she sits down. "Gaeulie. You know, our old roommate. The shy nerdy girl from back when we started our first year here."

And Yujin is quiet for a second. A quick, subtle moment that lasts as long as her drying. "How could I forget? Girl ate pussy like her life depended on it. The quiet ones are always the biggest freaks in bed, I swear."

"She wasn't that shy," Wonyoung starts, fighting through a giggle at how utterly tired she looks. "When she was staring at daddy's cock after she walked in on us."

Well, now you just want to curl into a ball and disappear, now that this conversation is out in the open. Yujin doesn't show an ounce of hesitation to cackle. "Do I even wanna know where that happened?"

You give a stare. A bit of a plea for Wonyoung to leave the details a mystery. But it's pointless.

"The library, the one daddy said you were studying in earlier. All the way upstairs where that art section is that nobody fucking goes to. He fucked me right on the table that was apparently Gaeul's favorite study spot. Like, full on ruined it."

"Hey, you're the one that came all over it first, princess. No warning, just fucking flooded it," you reply, taking over the explanation.

"Not my fault you were fucking me so hard. You should already know how easy it is to make me gush in public.”

Shameless. Even when the exhaustion is setting in. Towels thrown on the ground, you think there's been enough public shenanigans for one day. You could use a night in—maybe an entire week. Some food, a nice, clean bed to spend lots of time curled up with these two brats, not even thinking about classes tomorrow.

By the time the three of you stumble in through the front door, Wonyoung can barely make it to the couch, mumbling something incoherent about ‘five orgasms in an hour is a crime,' before collapsing face down in the cushions. You'll carry her the rest of the way to the bedroom, you suppose. Up every step, down the hallway, right into the Yujin-scented sheets, as she gets to the business of ordering food.

“Don’t forget my iced americano,” Wonyoung groans into the sheets.

Yujin pauses at the edge of the bed, laughing as she starts scrolling through the menu. “It’s already pretty late. You really wanna be up all night?” There’s nothing but an incoherent sound as Wonyoung fades deeper into the pillows.

She’s hopeless.

Setting the phone on the nightstand, Yujin perks up with this flirty little smile that overtakes her features, before she lies back and drags you down with her. "Food will take about an hour, so we have time. Which means—"

You don’t even need to hear the rest of that sentence. Because now Yujin gets you alone again.

Well, alone is a generous term. Wonyoung is just a few feet away in a sprawled-out heap, but very much not conscious, clinging to a pillow and drifting out of the conversation. "Whenever you wanna join in, princess, feel free."

Maybe the idea of that will bring her back. Yujin kisses her on the forehead and brushes some hair away that’s fallen before returning her attention right to you.

"So, daddy, she's exhausted, you're still hard…” Oh, there’s that look again, the one that ensures neither of you will get any rest any time soon. “We might as well find a way to pass the time. No holding back.”

As if you’re not already craving her, stripping her down in seconds, kissing every inch of that sinful body and exploring those decadent curves.

Throw your clothes somewhere, anywhere, as long as you get inside Yujin fast. Pin her knees to her chest, fold her in half and fuck her into the mattress until she can't do anything but scream your name. Make her cum more times than she can handle. Make her tight pussy flood the sheets until they're ruined, until she's ruined—that cunt so wet you can barely keep your cock inside.

Fuck her right next to Wonyoung—your cock hammering so deep that Yujin can't stop shaking, your balls can't stop slapping against her ass, her voice can't stop falling apart.

This slur of obscenities that gets reduced to ‘harder, daddy,” and ‘ruin me like you do Wonyoung’ until the sounds of hot flesh on hot flesh slapping together get deafening. You’ll give her everything she wants, spoil her, fuck her senseless and drive your cock so hard that there’s a modicum of worry that you’ll break the bed.

Even if you did, that would only be a bonus. When you can turn that sweet smile into something so depraved, make her legs shake when you pound her so hard and deep. And she’ll beg for more, whimper with every breath, clutch at the sheets while you use her, every thrust unforgiving, every single slam an echoing thud against the wall.

She’s still coherent when you’re about ready to fill her up, which means you’re not fucking her hard enough. And she’ll tell you the same, blur the lines between a plea and demand.

“Fucking cum inside me, you’re not done pounding me until I’m dripping you everywhere—“ That’s what she says to get what she wants. Nothing new, but still enough to keep your hips moving, keep her legs folded in the air, keep her toes curling when Yujin just can’t stop cumming on your cock.

You’ll oblige, because all you can think of is unloading inside that tight, little warm cunt, fucking your seed deep, keeping her bent in half so obscenely, so her womb gets everything you give her, not a drop escaping. You’ll fuck her through all the creaks, even when she gets so impossibly slick with how hard you’re ravaging that warm little hole, feet dangling helplessly in the air through every single gasp and daddy. Those beautiful sounds.

But the best sound is Wonyoung stirring to life next to you. Just to watch Yujin get her creamy little cunt destroyed—watch you bury every fucking inch in that tight fucking heat.

"Yujin—"

With Wonyoung’s eyes wide and locked on the depravity of this scene, watching Yujin folded in half, legs thrown up, pussy stretched and dripping as your cock slams into her, and the wet smack of your thrusts echoing through the room—you can’t hold back. Can’t do anything but bury yourself balls fucking deep and unload, groaning as you fill her up while Wonyoung watches it all. Eyes glued while you fuck this satisfaction deeper, already overflowing, pooling on the sheets that have no chance of surviving.

One more greedy orgasm for Yujin when it all spills inside, eyes rolling back, clenching hard to help milk your throbbing cock dry.

"S-so fucking full, daddy—so warm, so deep, fuck, feels so good…” Even after that delicious cunt empties you, twitching around your cock as it milks the last remnants of cum from your balls, Yujin keeps clenching hard—greedy, insatiable, her body refusing to let you slip out. Her legs shift when they fall down, wrapping around your waist to keep you buried deep.

You kiss Yujin while you still throb in that mess you’ve left in her, those delicious thighs far too powerful to let you escape. Which you’re more than happy to linger here, even with Wonyoung to the side.

"Fucking wrecked me," Yujin gasps through a smile, no concern for anything but keeping you trapped inside. “Those poor balls just can’t stay full around us, can they?”

Not a chance.

"You two were so loud," Wonyoung chimes in, sitting up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "Like, can't pretend to not notice, kind of loud."

Yujin, all naked and sweaty, laughs and leans in to kiss Wonyoung on the cheek while she tries to catch her breath. "You were louder earlier, brat."

Then it’s quiet for a solitary moment. Just the sound of your breathing, the fan overhead, Yujin's playful little giggle in the aftermath. Those legs still wrapped tight, your cock still buried, still throbbing—

The doorbell rings downstairs.

You forgot all about the food. The timing is impeccable. You can't possibly be expected to leave the bed like this, and neither can Yujin. Wonyoung groans when the realization sets in, and Yujin tosses a smile her way.

"Princess, would you mind getting the door?"

A heavy sigh falls out as Wonyoung reluctantly detangles herself, somehow the least wrecked of the three. "Wonyoung to the rescue once again, because you two idiots fucked each other senseless."

Yujin nuzzles against the nape of her neck, brushing kisses over the warm skin to show her appreciation. "Be careful carrying the bag, might be too heavy..." she warns while Wonyoung glares as best she can. Sauntering out of bed, Wonyoung just scoffs with a little bit of extra hesitation in her step.

"Just because I'm the only one who can still use their legs—" she grumbles as she heads down the stairs to get the door open, one step at a time. "Doesn't mean I have to do everything."

"Thanks, princess."

It's morning. Monday morning to be exact.

You're naked, Yujin isn’t. She’s still getting ready for class when you find her, that sinful pair of lingerie you bought her last week hugging her curves just right. The light purple looks so good against her soft skin, wrapped in lace and devilish temptations. She doesn’t even notice you at first, adjusting a strap.

“You weren’t supposed to see this yet,” she says, catching your stare in the mirror. But Yujin doesn’t cover up, doesn't blush. She just smirks, lets the moment simmer, lets you stare. You step in close, pressing up against her body from behind—drinking in the view of those wide hips where the lace barely hides the full curves of her ass, the fabric almost daring to be pulled aside.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t walk around in it,” you reply back, not bothering to be subtle in the way your hands slide down, squeezing her ass while she melts under your touch.

“Not my fault you have no self-control, daddy. Still hard? Wonyoungie didn't do a good enough job taking care of that?" Yujin asks, her voice getting far too sultry this early.

"That mouth drives me fucking crazy, but—"

Yujin doesn't even turn around, hand reaching back to give a firm, forceful grasp that drives a groan right past your lips. "But you need someone to properly take care of this?" she continues for you, glancing up through the reflection while your breath hitches with her perfect grip.

"Something like that."

Those soft, cute giggles are always your favorite thing to hear in the morning. Even while she pushes her hips back against you, grinding enough to feel your hardness. “I’ve got ten minutes. Think that’s enough time to do something about this?”

She knows it’s plenty.

Yujin stares in the mirror as you grab her hips, and slide your cock right in the gap between her delicious thighs, all silky and warm. Not saying a word, she just bends a little, her thighs clenching so all that supple flesh traps your shaft tight, just how you like them. And then the soft little moans she makes when you graze against her cunt and thrust forward are heaven, the lace enough of a tease.

Your hands tighten around her as you take the lead, pumping through that velvety flesh and fucking Yujin’s thighs, slow, deliberate drags back, slamming forward when you need more. It’s this combination of your moans and the friction of your cock dragging through her thighs that fills the space. Her hands flatten on the countertop, leaning her weight into it, so you can use her like this—more leverage to drive in between.

Yujin doesn't even need to do anything. Just stand there, watch your face twist in pleasure, and look pretty.

"God, daddy," Yujin murmurs, lips parted when you graze against the right spot. “You’re such a menace in the morning."

You can hardly even think straight to respond to that. "You show up in the bathroom wearing this, and you expect me not to be? Look at these thighs, Yujin. Can't blame a guy for going crazy over these."

"Can't a girl just look sexy without you wanting to blow a fat load all over them?" she asks, with this mocking bat of her eyelashes, through every long, overwhelming stroke of your dick between those succulent thighs. "Poor daddy. So obsessed with fucking my thighs that he'll do anything for it."

She says that like there's not a gasp or moan leaving her every few thrusts while you do so. No—she wants this as much as you. The fabric of her panties gets wetter by the second, but Yujin just smiles to herself, keeping herself braced on the vanity counter while you thrust—those heavenly thighs only encouraging your lust and desperation.

You’ve completely lost control, pace quickening without thought as your hands clamp down on her hips, fingers digging in. Every time your cock glides through that soft, pillowy flesh, a shameless groan escapes at how you can’t stand how good Yujin feels, only getting better.

"Don't ruin these pretty panties, daddy—they're my new favorite. Haven't even gotten to leave the house with them on, yet."

Oh, like you care. Like she cares. So much prettier if there's a huge stain covering them from your load, and she'd agree. Not that there's a chance of holding back, not when Yujin feels so perfect, when her thighs suffocate your cock so well.

"Too late."

They're ruined before you even get there—you thrust harder, fucking her silky-smooth thighs so fast that her ass jiggles just a little more each time you're buried between them. Yujin watches you fall apart, eyes locked on the mirror on how your cock thrusts between her thighs, matching your desperation with how she whimpers from her own sensitive clit rubbing against the lace so soaked and dripping wet.

Those thighs trap your dick as you fuck them faster, rougher, rapid thrusts plunging between the flawless skin, each stroke more frantic than the last. The friction, the heat, the way she squeezes around you—it’s too much. Her ass bounces with every thrust, right until the moment where you’re about to lose it all. There's only a split-second before it's too late to warn—a quiet groan into Yujin's ear.

And then, you erupt.

Bursting hard right between her thighs, over the expensive fabric, throbbing as you release a mess of thick, pearly spurts all over those poor panties. They're covered in you. She'll never wear these without remembering your hands gripping her hips, your seed clinging to every thread of fabric, smearing between her thighs.

“Daddy really ruined these,” Yujin says, like she’s not the one still helping milk your cock with her thighs as your cum stains them, a stray spurt that hits the mirror that only makes her smile widen. "Fuck, I can feel you everywhere. Just covered in daddy's cum..."

And you’re not the least bit apologetic.

Not when you’re still throbbing between her thighs, with this sticky load that clings to the lace. “Almost as good as filling that tight little pussy. Unless you want that next.”

Only then does your cock slip free, so Yujin can turn around and glance at you properly, giving a good look at the mess you’ve made on her. "Too bad we have class, then. Unless… we're planning to skip so you can finish what you've started."

That'd be so damn tempting. To stay in the bathroom with Yujin, rip those ruined panties right off and fuck her over the sink until you fill her over and over. But the responsibilities weigh more heavily—and so much work lies ahead if you miss a lecture.

"Another time, Yujinnie. Gotta leave something for you to drain later.”

The little pout that she gives is almost enough to make you change your mind. So is that smile. "Aw, look at daddy, being all boring and responsible.”

"Forgive me. Maybe I can rail you in the bathroom between classes if you're a good girl."

"And when has that ever happened? Me, good? Have I ever not been a complete handful?" Yujin reminds you.

Never, of course. You’d be shocked if she suddenly turned over a new leaf—and honestly, a little disappointed. This is the girl who drops to her knees while the coffee’s still brewing, who’ll let you fuck her face while the bagels toast.

The same girl who will slip a hand down your pants in the middle of class and jerk you off with a straight face, chewing her pen while pretending to take notes. Yujin isn't the type of girl to listen and behave.

And you'd never want her to be.

#ive smut #yujin smut #wonyoung smut #kpop smut #male reader #reader insert #girl group smut #wonyoung x reader #yujin x reader

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silicon-puppy-pudding · 1 month ago

Text

Dpxdc prompt? Snippet? Idk?

I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long idk what to do with it so yall can have it.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

"We...may need to call on Phantom for this."

Batman grumbled at Constantine's remark. Up until now they hadn't had any issues with ghosts and he was hoping it would be longer before they needed to pull Phantom in for his expertise.

It had only been a month since King Phantom and his children came crashing into their dimension. Their ship had come out of a Lazarus green portal that spontaneously appeared in the lower atmosphere just outside of Gotham. Batman had called the League for potential backup and ended up surrounding the strange craft with Superman, Green Lantern, Martin Manhunter, and Zatanna for magical support.

They were not expecting a child, one no older then 6 or 7, with pearlescent white hair and striking green eyes to come tumbling out and crying for them to help her father.

Superman stood up from his place at the meeting room table with the grace of a man who didn't feel comfortable pestering an eldritch god of a man until it was absolutely necessary, "Are we sure this is a ghost? It could very well be something else-"

"Oh it's definitely a ghost," Constantine cut him off, taking a drag of his (against league policy) lit cigarette and blowing the smoke up at the ceiling, "There's no mistaken it. Even before Phantom's little 'crash course' on ghosts I coulda told ya that."

Batman looked over the blurry images on screen. They were of what looked to be two individuals riding a motorcycle at dangerous speeds through Metropolis. Superman had told them they hadn't hurt anyone directly but had caused a few minor crashes and were a general pain to interact with. Just like Phantom had told them, they couldn't be picked up clearly on any modern cameras and Superman hadn't had any luck capturing them. They simply slipped through a wall or disappeared around a block. It had been a week of this and Clark had finally given up and called for assistance.

"Isn't it like, 4am in Gotham?" Flash asked, leaning back in his chair, "Wouldn't he be asleep or something? Does he sleep?" The last bit he mostly asked to himself.

"Yes, he does," Batman answered, much to the confusion of Flash. "I'll make the call."

After a few rings the line picked up to a slightly slurred and staticky, "Hello?"

"Phantom, are you available at the moment. We think we may have...a ghost problem. In Metropolis."

A pause. Then a tired sigh came through the line, "Alright, give me 10 minutes." And the call ended.

Superman shifted uncomfortably, "It sounded like you woke him up." Of course he was listening. Batman glared at him, then turned to the rest of the gathered league, "He'll be here in 10 minutes."

About 6 minutes later a portal ripped itself open next to the window of the meeting room and out stepped Phantom, looking less drowsy then he sounded. Clinging to his back (to the League's surprise) was his oldest, Dante. And cradled in his arms, wrapped against his chest with his cape was his youngest, Eleonora, (they're only a month apart but Dante would throw a fit if he wasn't referred to as oldest sibling)

With a jaw cracking yawn Phantom stepped forward towards the meeting table, "Sorry, I hope it's alright I brought the kids." He started, running a hand through his daughter's hair, "Elly just had a nightmare and Dan didn't want to be left alone."

Over his shoulder, the little prince grumbled something about 'too quiet' and 'bad memories' and wasn't that mildly concerning.

"It's alright, you're majesty." Superman stood and gave Phantom a nervous smile. He didn't not trust the man but anything magical and/or supernatural tended to make even him nervous, "We know we called you quiet early and out of the blue... Sorry about waking you up,"

Phantom waved him off with another yawn, "Nah, it's fine, you didn't wake me. I was already up with Elly when you called." At her names mention, the little princess shifted and let out a small whimper. Phantom sighed and then a rumbling sound started up in his chest that sounded a lot like purring. At the noise, little Elly settled down again.

It was sweet, seeing this supposedly all powerful being just being a single father. A few days after the king was treated in the Watchtower's medical facility, they got a taste of what Phantom was capable of when a small armada of alien ships decided now was the best time to attack Earth.

The League had been gathered to discuss how to proceed when Phantom had stepped in and offered his assistance. "I owe you all for saving me," he had argued when they tried to refuse.

15 minutes

It took King Phantom 15 minutes (and 25 seconds) to have the aliens running with their tail between their legs. Debris from the lead ship unrecognizable.

"Alright, now what's this 'ghost problem' you need me for?" At that, the League (mostly Superman, considering it was in his city) explained the situation to their resident 'Ghost expert'.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

And that's it, idk where this was going but now it's out of my brain

And my hands

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #ghost king danny #Danny had to stabilize both Elly and Dan at some point so they're little now #and his kids #maybe possibile Spirit Halloween ship idk #kinda obsessed with big scary men being soft to their kids

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un-fwuit-un-fwog · 2 months ago

Text

Goodnight and sleep tight.

Part nine of The Rain series

Synopsis: Silver comes to visit the Ramshackle Prefect in the infirmary after the collapse of the dorm and that night, Lilia pops in for a visit as well.

TW: Some mentions of the reader being in a rough state, Silver is DISTRAUGHT, Lilia may or may not shed a tear (could be a figment of our imagination)

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I'm back!!! (I lied. I posted TODAY instead of TOMORROW mwahahaha)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (here), Part 10, Part 11 (coming soon), . . .

A soft, familiar groan came from the door to the infirmary as it slowly drifted open.

As far as you knew, Silver was supposed to be visiting next. However, an unfamiliar form hobbled through the door like some corpse barely holding on to its last sliver of vitality. The only thing that tipped you off to who it was you were looking at was the silver hair.

His teetering body stumbled into the room and collapsed on the floor next to the bed with his head resting on the edge of the mattress.

"How are you?" a croak like voice came from his throat.

"Better than you from the looks of it." Your voice is soft: partially because of the state of your throat and partially because you worried that talking even a bit louder would shatter the boy's fragile form.

Your first thought is to ask if he's okay but decide that would be a stupid question as he clearly isn't. "You. . .look like you haven't slept." is what you opt for.

A soft groan reverberates from his throat "I have. . ." He softly lifts a hand onto the bed that ghosts over yours before finally letting it rest on your, now only lightly, bandaged appendage. ". . .just not well."

You aren't entirely sure what to say to that so you try to lighten the atmosphere a bit: "I'd offer to sing you a lullaby, but I think my voice would be too raspy to calm you at all."

There's a short silence before: "I'd be more worried about your throat hurting" the statement leaves his lips in a barely audible murmur.

"My throat would be fine" you reassure with a soft smile "Almost fully healed in that aspect. I just need to get used to using my voice again after all those surgeries."

Silence again. A quiet rustling is heard as he shifts his heads on the sheets to look at you, his dreary eyes meeting yours "Then. . .I don't mind if you sound bad."

"Huh?"

"I think. . .just hearing your voice and knowing you're okay. . .will be enough to let me rest peacefully."

And like that' you're roped into singing (if it can even be called that) him a lullaby. To your surprise, it actually coaxes him into a seemingly peaceful slumber.

You can't help but observe his face as he rests by your side, hand resting on yours almost like an anchor to keep him grounded in his dreams. Dark circles cave under his eyes, his hair is a disheveled mess, and his lips that usually appear so soft are chapped. A hand unconsciously brushes through his hair.

"Sleep well. I'm sorry for worrying you."

You drift off alongside him.

When you wake up, it appears to be late into the night. The infirmary is lit only by a few softly glowing lamps and the gentle light of the moon shining through the windows.

Silver is still sleeping next to you on the ground in a position you can't imagine is comfortable. His soft, steady breaths are a comfort you didn't realize you craved.

"Up late I see"

Before you can jolt in surprise, a familiar face appears in your line of sight.

"Silver hadn't returned so I came to fetch him."

"Ah"

"He hasn't been sleeping well, you know?"

"I notic-"

"When he heard the news, he was terribly distraught! All the boys were. I made sure I got them all to the signup sheet promptly so they could see you post haste and check on your condition."

"I see-"

"I considered coming first to make sure your condition wasn't too gruesome for them to see, but I figured they're old enough to handle whatever condition you were in. They need to learn some time."

You watch on somewhat dazed from sleep as Lilia incessantly rambles on. After a while of his chattering, you finally reach out and softly grab his sleeve, giving him a tired look.

"Oh, dear! My apologies. You must be tired. Worry not! I'll take Silver and be out of your hair so you can sleep-"

This time you cut him off "Sit."

Your voice isn't stern, and your face is far from commanding, but Lilia finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed the moment you utter the word.

"What about you?"

Lilia's smile remains on his face as he tilts his head "Whatever do you mean?"

You sigh "Lilia, what about you? You've been talking about the others but haven't uttered a word about yourself."

His face twitches but he recovers quickly "You're the one all wrapped up and stuck in the infirmary, shouldn't I be the one asking you if you're okay?"

"I think you already know my condition." you argue. Before he can brush your concern off again you add "Please, don't make me worry."

His face falls noticeably, his smile nearly fully gone.

"Worrying isn't good for my already poor health cough cough" you add for dramatic effect.

He sighs but chuckles bitterly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, I get if you don't-"

He cuts you off by holding a glass of water to your lips. You're momentarily confused before remembering your fake coughing.

"Loss is an unfortunate reality you have to face with increasing frequency as you age, and I'm rather old."

You try to take the cup from his hands to hold it yourself as you sip its contents, but he keeps a firm grip on it, so you eventually give up.

"I thought I had gotten desensitized to it, but it seems all I really did was distance myself so that I was never too attached to anyone I could lose."

He finally sets the cup back on the nightstand before he turns to look at you. "When I thought I lost you. . ."

You aren't sure if it was a figment of your sleepy mind, but for a moment, you could have sworn you saw the glitter of a tear in the dim light as it rolled down his face.

Before you can respond, an intense wave of drowsiness hits you. As you drift off, you think you can feel a soft sensation on your forehead before hearing muffled words that sound like "Goodnight, Beastie."

The next morning, you're left to wonder if the events of last night even happened or if they were all a dream.

However, the fact Silver is no longer there and that Lilia doesn't come to visit, having told the teachers he'd "sacrifice his scheduled day so you could get some much-needed rest" lead you to believe it's the former.

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#twst #twisted wonderland #fanfiction #fanfic #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fanfiction #silver vanrouge #silver vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #un-fwuit-un-fwog #un-fwuit-un-fwog's The Rain Series

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whateveriwant · 2 years ago

Note

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

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ivyues · 6 months ago

Text

Boyfriend Taxi ⋅ Bang Chan

Bang Chan thought he was just dropping you off but now he's meeting your friends.

The evening sky was painted in shades of deep purple and gold as Chris drove through the quiet streets. His hand rested casually on the gearshift, his other gripping the steering wheel. Music played softly from the car speakers, and he hummed along absentmindedly, occasionally glancing at you with that soft, warm smile that you adored.

You were headed to meet your friends for the evening, and he had insisted on diving you, despite having a packed schedule.

“Hey, can you check the navi?” you asked, pulling your phone from your bag. “I want to text the group to let them know I’m almost there.”

Chris leaned forward slightly, squinting at the GPS. “It says ten minutes, give or take. Traffic looks pretty clear.”

You nodded and quickly typed out a message to your friends: “On my way! Be there in 10.” To add a little flair, you snapped a quick view-once picture of the evening sky from the passenger seat.

It didn’t take long for your friends to reply:

“Ouuhh, taking the boyfriend taxi today?”

“You should bring him over. We still haven’t met him yet!”

You smiled softly at their responses but then paused, your thoughts turning over their suggestion. Locking your phone, you stared out of the window, lips pursed to the side. You hadn’t planned for Chris to meet your friends tonight, but the idea wasn’t terrible – it just felt… spontaneous.

The car came to a halt in the parking lot. “We’re here,” Chris said with a smile. You unplugged your seatbelt but stayed silent for a moment longer, still seated and looking at him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his tone gentle and an unwavering smile on his lips.

“How would you feel about… quickly saying hello to my friends?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, like—me? Meeting them? Now?” His fingers instinctively fumbled with the bracelet on his wrist. “I mean, I’d love to, but I thought I was just dropping you off… I wasn’t prepared for—what am I even wearing?” He looked down at his casual outfit, suddenly self-conscious.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “Chris, it’s just a quick hello. No pressure – you don’t have to. And you look fine. Besides, aren’t you literally Mr. Friends-with-everyone?” You teased, hoping to ease his nerves.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You always make it sound so easy.” He paused, glancing at you. “But are you sure? I don’t want to intrude. These are your friends, you know. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Just be yourself.”

As you walked to the door, you noticed his hand hovering uncertainly near your back, unsure if he should touch you in front of your friends. You gave him a reassuring nudge, and he finally rested it there, seeming to relax a bit.

Inside, your friends greeted you enthusiastically, their eyes immediately darting to Chris. “So this is the secret boyfriend we’ve been hearing about?” one of them teased.

The group welcomed him easily, asking a few lighthearted questions about his work and teasing you about finally bringing him around. When one of them asked if he wanted to stay, he shook his head apologetically. “I’d love to, but I have to get back to work. Maybe next time?”

You walked him to the door, where he turned to you, his hand brushing against yours. “Text me when you’re done, okay? I’ll be waiting,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss your temple.

-----

Back inside the car, Chris sat for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. His mind replayed the last few minutes – the introductions, the way your friends had been so welcoming, and how natural it felt to be by your side in that setting. The meeting had gone fine – better than fine, really – but his heart was still racing.

Pulling out his phone, he called Han, knowing he’d need to process this with someone.

“Hyung?” Han answered, his voice curious. “What’s up?”

Chris exhaled a sharp breath. “I just met her friends.”

There was a beat of silence before Han burst into laughter. “Wait, what? Her friends? Like, the friends?”

“Yes!” Chris groaned, running a hand over his beanie. “She didn’t even warn me! I thought I was just dropping her off, but then she asked if I’d say hello, and—”

“And you couldn’t say no,” Han finished, his tone teasing.

“Of course, I couldn’t say no!” Chris huffed. “But, Han, I wasn’t prepared! I’m just in some jeans and a casual jacket – what if I looked like a mess? And these are her friends. They’re important to her.”

“You’re overthinking it, man,” Han interrupted. “If they’re her friends, they probably like you already. Relax.”

Chris let out a long breath again before saying, “Thanks, Han.” His voice was softer now, a touch of sincerity in his words. “Really.”

“Anytime. Now go stop overthinking before your brain melts.”

With a small smile, Chris hung up and stared at the dashboard for a moment. The nerves weren’t completely gone, but Han’s words had helped.

-----

Later, his phone buzzed with a text from you:

“Hey, sorry for throwing you under the bus like that. I’m just not used to introducing boyfriends – it’s easier to keep it lowkey and spontaneous. You were great, though. 💕”

You set your phone down after texting Chris, a small smile lingering on your lips. Tonight hadn’t gone as planned, but maybe that was the best part of it. Some things were better when they weren’t planned at all.

masterlist

#bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan scenarios #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #stray kids #skz #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids fluff

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rafesangelita · 9 months ago

Text

♡ when farmer’s!daughter!reader’s father goes out of town to visit some family, her and cowboy!rafe can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer.

warnings: reader is a little bit on the shy side, flirty banter, use of petnames, implied age gap (rafe is 7-10 years older), hint of jealous!rafe, reader refers to her father as ‘daddy’, mentions of sneaking around, slowburn (kinda?), lotsss of sexual tension, fluff, mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, cream pie, squirting, multiple orgasms

a/n: based loosely off of the moodboard + headcanons i wrote here <3 saddle up because this is a long one lol

wc: 4.8k

“you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna help me out here?” rafe grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched you blink away from his form. you looked up from his shirtless figure, his skin glistening with sweat as butterflies fluttered in your chest. “what do you need?” you chirped, blinking rapidly as if to shake away the thoughts of pressing wet kisses to his waistline. “a cold glass of water sounds good right now.” you obliged, rafe watching as you went up the porch stairs in your cute little boots, his eyes falling down to your backside. “fuck.” he muttered to himself.

if he knew he’d have to fight the urge to touch his boss’s pretty daughter, he would’ve hesitated in taking the job. eight months had felt like an eternity when you pranced around the farm in the prettiest dresses and shortest daisy duke shorts he’s ever seen. you came back with a glass of water, taking a sip before handing it to him. expecting rafe to turn the glass around to take a drink from the other side of the rim, your cheeks heated when he placed his mouth on the same spot your lips were on just moments ago. “thanks, sweetheart.” rafe shot you a wink, his charm making you look away shyly.

you plopped down on a nearby tree stump, a pout taking over your features as you looked at the empty driveway. your father had only been gone for a few hours, not nearly making a dent in the five days he’ll be away. “you don’t have to worry about him, y’know? he’s a strong man.” rafe decided he needed a break from being hunched over under the hood of his truck, his chest rising and falling as he took a seat on the bed of fluffy grass next to you. “i know..” you muttered, “it’s just— he’s so much older now, i worry about him.” you looked down at rafe, his eyes already trained on you.

rafe nodded. “that man can survive anything. wasn’t he in his truck when a tornado came and swept him off the ground?” you gasped, a laugh escaping your lips. “he told you that story?!” you squealed excitedly, your reaction making rafe melt into a puddle of nothing. you were too cute. “did he also tell you the part where that didn’t really happen? him and his buddy just got real close to it.” rafe’s face morphed into one of pure shock. “he lied?!” you threw your head back in laughter, a snort following shortly after. it was rafe’s turn to laugh, the sound unfamiliar to his ears.

“oh my god, excuse me. i can’t believe i just did that!” you clasped a hand over your mouth, embarrassment creeping up onto your face. the man next to you waved you off. “why would he lie about that?” rafe leaned back on his hands, giving you a full view of his chiseled abs. sighing dreamily, you shrugged. “he’s a drama queen sometimes, he likes the theatrics.” realizing that you just swooned over his muscles, rafe cleared his throat before getting back to work. he respected your father too much to give in to his filthy desires, or so he hoped.

swallowing the lump of rejection in your throat, you made your way inside where you decided to watch him from your bedroom window instead. your infatuation with this man only grew by the day, and it was becoming really hard to hide your adoration for him. all the times he slipped you a little wink when your father wasn’t looking, the playing of footsies under the table while your father ranted about the economy, the lingering stares and touches.. you weren’t crazy, you had every right to believe this man was interested in you in some way, shape, or form.

apart of you wanted to believe that rafe was trying to maintain in being a gentleman towards you, but there’s nothing you wanted more than for him to hold off all kind of honor and respect for you while he takes you however he wants. you daydreamed about being fucked in a headlock by him, along with being put into twenty other positions. letting out a sigh, you fell back on your bed, fiddling with the ribbon that was tied to the belt loop of your shorts. how on earth were you going to go about these next few days all alone with him?

night time rolled around, and rafe had just come inside for a shower. “are you hungry?” you watched as he rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck to release some pressure of today’s labor. “yeah, but i’ll help myself. don’t worry about it, ‘sugar.” he groaned before shutting the bathroom door behind him. you knew he wouldn’t, days like this always ended in rafe knocking out as soon as he hit his bed, empty stomach or not. the only thing rafe could think about as the hot water pattered against his back, was how you were in the same house as him in nothing but a night dress.

he wondered if you’d let him hike it up your thighs.. if you’d allow him to slip his fingers underneath the soft material. so badly, he wanted to see your face twist in pleasure underneath him, he ached to see that day. rafe let out a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly as lewd images of you ran through his head. he imagined your hands trailing down his torso, those cherry red painted fingers of yours wrapped tightly around his cock. you had this man questioning everything he ever knew about being a gentlman. rafe rubbed the sides of his face, his eyes screwing shut as he attempted to get all inappropriate thoughts about you out of his head.

he remembered seeing you for the first time all those months ago. you were wearing a red gingham dress, your hair styled so pretty and neat. he knew immediately that he was in trouble when you flashed him that million dollar smile when your father introduced you two. it wasn’t long before both of you started flirting with each other, even going as far as touching each other when you didn’t have to. rafe would ‘help’ you up on your horse, his hands planted on the globes of your ass as he hoisted you onto the saddle. he swore he died and came back to life whenever you’d place a hand on him every time he made you laugh.

slowly but surely, you two were getting more bolder with your moves. while rafe was ogling your goodies more often than not, you started leaving your curtains open whenever you’d change, knowing he could see you from the view of his window. pinching the bridge of his nose, rafe quickly hurried up in the shower, feeling the need to relieve himself in his own space where he knew you’d be far away from. after washing away all the dirt and grime, he felt clean as he dried himself off, only for his peace to come crashing down when he realized he didn’t bring an extra change of clothes with him.

with no other choice but to walk out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he tried to sneak pass you in the kitchen and out the back door, but of course he wasn’t so lucky. “i know you said you would make yourself something, but—” you turned around with a loaded dinner plate in your hand, the dish nearly slipping out of your grip when you saw the tall cowboy standing awkwardly with his hands on his hips.

your eyes trailed down his stomach, the sight of his happy trail making you swallow thickly. rafe took note of this, his heart beating in his chest as you averted your gaze elsewhere. “uhm, well i made you this.. i know it’s one of your favorites..” you placed the plate of steak and mashed potatoes on the table, turning around as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. this was absolute torture. “it looks amazing, i’ll just get some clothes on and be right back.” he held onto the towel, jogging to his place where he slipped on a pair of pajama pants and a dingy white t-shirt.

“you didn’t have to do this,” rafe took a seat at the table, his jaw ticking when you bent over the counter to grab a couple of drinking glasses, “thank you.” at this point he didn’t know if he was thanking you for the food, or the perfect view of your ass. “water?” you looked at him from over your shoulder, your cheeks heating when you saw his eyes shoot away from your backside. “a beer please.” you smiled at his answer. you should’ve known he’d pick that out after a full day of work. grabbing a bottle from the fridge, you handed it to him, his fingers brushing yours as you took a seat across from him.

“my dad makes it a lot better than i do, so—” rafe was quick to cut you off, a moan leaving his lips as he chewed. “this is.. damn!” you giggled, shaking your head. “it’s great, darlin’. truly.” he nodded approvingly, flashing you a thumbs up. you smiled that smile of yours before tasting it yourself. despite all the tension between you two, you could always count on each other to talk the other’s ear off. “wait. so you’re telling me that you’re actually from an island? why on earth would you live out in the middle of nowhere when you had the beach in your backyard?” you asked incredulously.

rafe took a swig from his beer, a bittersweet laugh leaving his lips. “i got into a ‘lotta bad shit over there. i was on some bad shit,” he sighed, “being out here brings me peace.. even if i’m breaking my back everyday.” you listened closely, giving him your full attention as he told you more about the place he was from. you learned that he used to be a filthy rich boy with a house bigger than you could ever imagine. rafe smiled softly, a solemn expression taking over his features. “it’s very nice. but i wouldn’t go back.” he leaned back in his chair.

you tilted your head at him, both of your plates empty. “no? how come?” you leaned forward, your cleavage peeking out of your neckline. eyes flickering down to your chest, rafe seemed to get flustered when he felt your foot trail up his leg. “well,” he zeroed in on your lips, “i see myself settling down out here, ‘havin some little ones.” your breath hitched, a smidge of jealousy now residing in your gut. as if he could read your mind, he caught your foot under the table, his thumb stroking your ankle. “old habits seem to die hard, huh?” rafe laughed.

pushing away the jealousy, you nodded, feeling a new profound sense of confidence with the way he was looking at you right now. “yeah, i guess i forgot we’re here all by ourselves.. ‘don’t really have to hide from anyone..” you yawned, your head falling back on your chair as your night gown rode up your thighs. just a few inches higher, and rafe would finally see what he’s been fantasizing about all this time. “yeah..” he crossed his arms, his biceps looking especially good right now. you two stayed quiet, just looking at each other as if everything was threatening to rise to the surface.

do something! you thought to yourself, hoping rafe could magically hear you and grab you from across the table. instead, he looked away, letting go of your foot before scooting out from the table. “dinner was really good, but i better head off to bed, now.” he didn’t let you say anything before he left in a haste. what. the. fuck. you got up, watching him curse to himself from the kitchen window. you couldn’t help but feel defeated. rafe was always the one pulling away from you, no matter how close you two got, he always left you high and dry.

once you cleaned everything up, and you were left lying by yourself in your bed, you decided everything would change. if he pulled away from you, surely you should do the same.

you woke up the next morning to the sound of rafe’s truck engine roaring to life. rubbing your eyes, you shielded your face from the morning sun, deciding to get your day started as soon as possible. within an hour, you were stepping outside, walking over to where rafe was smiling brightly behind the steering wheel. “i got it working, sweetheart! should we go for a ride?” damn him, he knew how much you loved to be passenger princess in his two seater-beater. you cleared your throat, already hating yourself as you said no. “i don’t think so.. i got a lot of stuff to do today.”

rafe watched you go back in the house, his jaw ticking in response. the only thing you had to do today was sit and look pretty. not to mention, for as long as rafe has been here, you never, ever, rejected going on a little drive with him. that’s how he immediately knew something wasn’t right, and he’d bet all of his money that it had something to do with last night. taking the keys out of the ignition, rafe decided that if you weren’t going to go for a ride with him, then he wasn’t going either. considering he did everything he needed to do yesterday, rafe settled for going inside to tidy up his place.

you walked around the house aimlessly, a book in your hand as you kept glancing outside to see if you could spot rafe anywhere. you didn’t. letting out a groan, you looked at the clock on the wall. it was already half past noon. you debated on whether or not you should take him some lunch, your leg bouncing as you tried to weigh out your options here. on one hand, you could bring rafe lunch, try to talk some stuff out, and on the other hand, you could just leave things be like you promised yourself you would. you knew rafe wasn’t stupid, surely he’d catch on to you soon.

just as you decided against bothering him, there was a knock at the front door. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you opened the door to see your childhood best friend, wyatt. “wyatt!” you squealed, throwing your arms around him as he pulled you close to him by your waist. “oh my, lord! when did you come back from the city?!” you welcomed him in, motioning for him to come inside. “i just finished my second semester, so i’ll be in town for a while. i drove out here just last night, ‘decided to surprise my folks.” he smiled, his expression softening once you urged him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“i didn’t see your old man’s truck out front..” he sat down, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. “oh, yeah.. he’s out of town visiting my aunt.” you leaned back on the counter, your eyes flickering at his hair. he looked so much different now. “wow, you’re uh— you look really good.” you complimented. “yeah, i’m not lanky anymore,” wyatt laughed, “you look gorgeous as always, though.” his gaze ran down your dress, the sight of your bare thighs making him clear his throat. “well, i didn’t just want to come by and say hi, i actually wanted to ask you something—”

rafe barged in before wyatt could finish his sentence.

“who’s this?” he stared between you two, the jealousy in his blue eyes very, very evident. you smiled innocently as wyatt got up, extending a hand for rafe to shake. “hello, sir. i’m an old friend of y/n’s here, ‘was just coming to visit her.” rafe looked down at wyatt’s palm, keeping both of his hands tucked in his pockets. “well, you two might wanna hurry this up, y/n’s father doesn’t know about any visitors coming to his home.” rafe walked around him, opening the fridge for a beer. “daddy isn’t home though, isn’t he?” you spoke up, in which rafe turned around. “what was that?” he asked.

you two were glaring at each other now. “my dad isn’t here,” you repeated, “and besides, he knows wyatt. ‘thinks of him as a son, right?” rafe’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, a smile playing on his lips when he glanced over at your friend. “yeah.” wyatt nodded. rafe was seeing red, he couldn’t stand to look at you and wyatt standing so close to each other any longer. turning around, rafe listened in as wyatt asked to take you out to dinner. “aw, i would love to! what time should i be ready?”rafe shut his eyes momentarily. you said yes to wyatt too fast for his liking. “how does eight o’clock sound?”

you hummed, nodding excitedly as wyatt made his way to the front door. “alright, it’s a date then. see ‘ya!” you waved at him until his truck disappeared down the dirt road. walking back into the kitchen, rafe was staring you down as you acted like you didn’t just agree to go on a date in front of him. “what do you think you’re playing at?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “if you’re acting out because of last night—” you cut him off. “don’t talk about me ‘acting out’ when you’re the one who decided to run back to your little shed when i was giving you an open opportunity.” you cut in.

“an open opportunity to do what?” rafe’s voice was firm as he stepped closer to you, his beer long forgotten on the counter as he gripped your arm. you failed miserably at trying not to look down at his lips. “it doesn’t even matter now. you obviously don’t want it,” you softened, “don’t want me..” rafe couldn’t believe his ears. you were all that this man thought about. he woke up thinking of what pretty outfit you would wear for the day, and went to sleep wishing you were by his side. “don’t want you?” he repeated, loosening his grip on your skin. “you just have no fucking clue.” rafe stepped back.

“you’re the only thing that i want.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he made his way outside to the back house. you stared at him in shock. all this time you wondered if something was wrong with you because he never made a real move to pursue you, but now all of a sudden after you agree to go on a date he wants to express how he feels? and has the nerve to walk off right after? fuck that. you pushed the back door open, the old wood slamming back against the house as rafe spun around on his heels. “so why do you walk away from me?!” you shouted, both of your chests rising and falling.

“what are you talking about?” you stepped down the stairs, shoving rafe in the chest. “why do you leave every time things start to go somewhere?” his eyes bore into yours, “i’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. have you ever thought that maybe i want you too?” those were the words rafe needed to hear before he cupped your face and dragged you off your feet. his lips were soft against your own, his calloused hands pulling you close to him as your arms wrapped around his neck. he groaned at the taste of you, his tongue slipping in your mouth before you could process what was happening.

rafe kissed you hard and slow, as if to savor you before he led you two to his place, the door barely shutting before he had you pinned to his neatly made bed. “i’ve wanted you the moment your father introduced us, that’s the truth.” he slotted himself between your thighs, cupping your tits through your dress. you moaned, his hips grinding against your clothed cunt. “why would you wait all this time then?” you whimpered when he started pressing kisses to the curve of your neck, his calloused hands feeling you up as they roamed your soft flesh. “well for starters, i have a lot of respect for your pops..”

you sighed, completely forgetting about the old man. “and?” rafe pulled the straps of your dress down until the material pooled at your waist. leaning back on his heels, rafe marveled at the sight of your bare chest, your tits looking more perfect than he imagined. “..and right now, all the respect i have is going out the door.” you cried out when he leaned down, his lips wrapping around a sensitive bud while he used his other hand to snake beneath the waistband of your panties. you blinked up at the ceiling, your hips bucking when you felt his rough fingers stroke your clit.

“that feels so good, ray.” you keened, the weight of his body providing you a sense of safety and comfort. rafe felt like he was under a spell. with your sweet voice in his ear, and his fingers working to get you soaked and ready for him, he couldn’t wait to taste you any longer. pulling away from you, rafe slid your dress and underwears off in one swift motion, a shiver running down your spine when he slowly spread your thighs apart. “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” he licked his lips, glancing up at your heated face. your heart bloomed in your chest, your hand finding his cheek.

“please. i’ve wanted this for eight months.” you confessed, your words sending rafe into overdrive. without another thought, rafe took your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, delving into your wetness with a groan. instinctively, your back arched up from his bed, your hands flying to rest on top of his own. you squeezed his fingers, a string of babbles falling from your lips as rafe’s tongue flicked against your sensitive bundle of nerves. rafe watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as pure bliss etched itself onto your face.

“you okay?” rafe pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too much for you before continuing. “mhmm, yes!” you looked down, the image of rafe’s chin, lips, and even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick was now forever ingrained in your brain. smiling to himself, rafe got back to work, but this time with his fingers prodding at your entrance. “might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but i promise it’ll feel so good, baby.” you nodded, putting all your trust in him before you felt the delicious stretch of his digits inside your cunt.

“fuck!” you squealed, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his head. rafe curled his digits, your eyes screwing shut as he continuously pressed that soft spot inside of you. rafe didn’t stop his skillful movements on your clit, an unfamiliar feeling starting to swirl in your core. rafe cursed at the wet sounds emitting from your pussy, his cock hard and aching to get inside of you already. you gasped when he kept suckling on your sensitive bud, your stomach caving in when he pressed a hand to your tummy. before you could think, white hot pleasure blinded your vision, your entire body jolting as the first wave of your orgasm washed over you.

rafe felt the way you pulsed around his digits, wishing so badly that it was his cock instead. eyes flickering up to your face, he groaned when he saw the way your face twisted in pure bliss, your legs shaking as you felt the sudden urge to pull away from him. “rafe, wait!” you cried out, a sob ripping itself from your throat when a stream of wetness suddenly soaked rafe’s chin, your decadence streaming down his neck as he moaned against your cunt. you stared down at him with wide eyes, your mouth parting in suprise when he slipped his digits in his mouth.

“i- i don’t know what that was!” you gasped, cheeks heating in embarrassment. licking a final stripe up your folds, rafe smiled as he shook his head. “you just squirted, baby, get used to it.” his length rested on top of your tummy, hot and heavy, as he threaded his fingers with yours. “gonna fuck you until you’re carrying my baby..” your heart swelled, recalling his words from last night. “were you talking about me? when you said you wanted little ones..” rafe looked into your eyes, the sincerity in his gaze making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “you’re the only woman i envision. future and present.”

cupping his face softly, you brought his lips down to meet your own, the head of his cock slipping into your entrance. you let out a shuddering breath, nodding slowly as he pushed the rest of his length inside your greedy walls. you swore you died and went to heaven when he starting rocking into you, both of you moaning in unison. “rafe?” you whimpered, gazing up at him with teary eyes, “shit— yeah, sweetheart?” the man on top of you thumbed your chin, a concerned expression taking over his features. you could tell rafe was holding back with the way he was hesitating with every thrust.

“harder, please.” you asked sweetly, rafe obliging without another thought. soon, you were a crying mess, your eyes barely staying open as rafe put you in a mating press. he was already reaching new depths in regular missionary, so when he placed your legs over his shoulders and caged you between his arms, you were hysterical as his tip kissed your cervix. “oh, god!” you screamed, your nails digging into rafe’s skin as he fucked you stupid. “can’t..” you shook your head, the feeling of his cock filling you to the hilt was increasingly becoming too much to handle.

"yes you can, sugar. look how good you're taking it all.." rafe cradled your head, making you look down at where you two were connected. you moaned at the sight, his cock shining with your slick. rafe kept his hands beneath your head, kissing you softly as his pubic bone began hitting your clit. “m’gonna make you the prettiest mommy this town has ever seen, just watch.” he chuckled, his forehead falling in the curve of your neck. you ran your fingers across his buzzed scalp, the word ‘promise?’ lingering on your tongue. “is that what you want? ‘want me to breed you until you’re all pretty and round?”

you cried out, rafe’s hips stuttering as he felt his climax creeping up on him. “yes, yes, yes—” you repeated yourself like a broken record, rafe’s name falling from your lips like a mantra. “oh, fuck!” he cursed, teeth grazing your flesh as he spilled into you, your second orgasm making you squeeze around him like a vice. rafe stilled, making sure to keep stroking your clit so he could draw out your high for as long as possible. slipping his thumb in your mouth, you shamelessly sucked on the digit as you trembled beneath him, his hot load filling you up.

you two stayed panting against each other’s mouths until your highs subsided, a light sheen of sweat coating both of your skin’s. pulling out with a grunt, rafe rolled over, pulling you with him so he could spoon you. letting out a sigh, you reveled in the warm sun streaming through his window, the light casting off of your face and illuminating the walls. “that was worth the wait, don’t you think?” if it wasn’t for the feeling of your limbs being jelly, you would’ve turned around and landed a playful smack to his chest. instead, you hummed, your eyes heavy with sleep. “we’re not keeping this from my father, rafe.”

your voice was hoarse as you spoke. “no. no, we’re not.” he kissed your shoulder. “you should probably give that guy wayne a call, ‘tell him you’re not going on that date after all.” you giggled, a shiver going down your spine as his large palm rubbed circles into your back. “wyatt, rafe. his name is wyatt. i only told him yes to rile you up.” you teased. rafe knew that, but it still pissed him off nonetheless. “i’ll cancel in a minute, ‘sir.” you used wyatt’s formalities towards rafe earlier against him, earning you a light pinch to your side. “that asshole. ‘really called me sir as if i’m that old.” he shook his head, waiting for you to disagree.

“well..” you trailed off, bursting into laughter when he attacked you with sloppy kisses.

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huntingcupid · 1 month ago

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BMW WITH LARA RAJ

Ikaw ang laman ng passenger seat empty road four-seater para meron tayong space sa likod ating sulitin ang hamog magsisilbi na taklob ang hiling 'di malagot na masilip sa loob

⌗ LARA — fem!reader, smut, swearing, semi-public(?), teasing, soph x reader mentioned, getting caught, on live, fingering, etc...

⌗ CUPID — anon req, pretty short and straight forward

it started innocently, with lara offering eyekons a live — you two were in her car waiting for sophia cause she was in a meeting with the katz manager, lara's bmw to be specific, you scroll on your phone waiting for people to join, well until there was at least 10 thousand people in

“hello eyekons!” lara giggles, she positioned the phone up, only showing the upper halves of your bodies, “hey eyekons” you smile at the phone

suddenly you felt lara's hands trailing on your thighs, you were wearing baggy sweatpants and some hoodie for context, you look at the girl smiling awkwardly, “this isn't prerecorded eyekons” lara laughs avoiding your gaze — you suck your teeth knowing your in for a smile

“comeback?, no spoilers!” you try to talk yet you felt your breath hitch as laras fingers slowly enter your sweats, playing with the lace of your underwear, her fingers skimming your skin, her rings cold against your pelvis — you bit your lip fighting the moan that was about to leave your mouth

“its so warm-” you look at the girl “in here…” lara lightly giggles which you internally rolled your eyes at, “why are you so quiet y/n, eyekons are asking” lara looks at you, and just as you were gonna speak she plunges her digits into you, “i uh- i- feel s-sick” you stutter, closing your eyes tightly, lara hums going a steady pace, her thumb circling your clit as she reads the comments

one moment she pulls out only to push so deeply in, “f-fuck” you quiver, eyekons were concerned for you thinking you were really sick, “awh, look y/n they are worried for you” lara whispers into your ear directly, you look at the comments only nodding afraid to speak — “l-lara” you murmur, “is taking care of me don't worry” you smile

lara's other phone dings, a message from sophia your leader, she reads it and laughs a bit, only turning her phone off again, curious you open her phone and check the text

[soph] : lara, thats nasty as fuck — are you fucking y/n on live?!

[soph] : i have 6 more minutes in this conference room when i get back you two are getting scolded istg.

you blush feeling embarrassed, lara takes the phone and turns it off checking the time, “we only have 5 more minutes eyekons” lara says pouting, she fasten her pace making you whimper out, sweat poured from your forehead as you neared your climax, lara's fingers are so long that it kept hitting that perfect spot

“awh thats time” lara says in faux disappointment ending the live, “you're gonna cum now y/n we don't have time” lara mutters kissing the side of your neck as she pushed her digits further in, good thing the windows are tinted dark enough that no one can see inside — you moaned shamelessly as you felt a coil in your stomach beginning to tighten

“what the fuck?!” sophia says as she opens the door at the perfect moment as you came on lara's fingers, she looked disgusted and lara just smirked smugly, “oh come on, you want y/n too don't lie laforteza” lara teases and sophia smirks

you froze there silently, obviously flustered snd more importantly needy, sophia tilts her head to the side, “is it too late to join?” sophia laughs joined by lara

took "two bad bitches at the same damn time" too literally i guess

wc: 600 words

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #gg fics #lara raj #lara rajagopalan #lara katseye #katseye lara #lara x reader #katseye smut #katseye fic #sophia laforteza #sophia katseye #katseye sophia

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gutsby · 8 months ago

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Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Read on AO3

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

#OBLIGATORY ‘TURKEY AIN’T THE ONLY THING GETTING STUFFED’ TAG #NEEDTHAT #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller

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woncheolisms · 3 months ago

Text

i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

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