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awearywritersworld · 6 months

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my very soul demands you

sukuna x reader summary: you introduce sukuna to cuddling and romance novels. meanwhile, he's still struggling to make sense of his feelings for you, despite wanting to commit murder because another man had the nerve to touch your arm (which earns him a lecture from yuuji). w/c: 2.5k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. jealous!sukuna. aged up!yuuji. features yuuji x reader. cursing. banter. hopefully not too ooc for sukuna. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it'd flow much better with the context of the previous two parts. lots of denial and begrudging softness from sukuna here. definitely more fluff than anything tho. this series has been fun to write, so thanks for reading<3 i appreciate reblogs or feedback! let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any additional parts. series masterlist // masterlist

when you crawl in between sukuna's legs and curl up against his chest, it's a foreign experience that makes his body stiffen.

he'd been with countless women during his lifetime, but while fucking is one thing, he never once found himself in a position that struck him as this... intimate.

"hold me," you whine as if you can sense his unfamiliarity with such matters.

he rolls his eyes, beginning to wonder if your habit of throwing orders at him is actually some sort of compulsive need. "didn't anyone ever teach you manners?"

despite his irritation, he acquiesces to your demand and once he envelops you in his arms, some of his rigidness dissipates.

you hum contentedly. "isn't that better?"

"it's tolerable," he asserts, his chest vibrating against your cheek.

"whatever you say." tangling your legs with his, you turn your attention back to the movie you've both been watching.

he doesn't understand this... tedious display of affection, nor does he particularly enjoy it... right?

and he only allows it because he can't rid his mind of the image of your tear stained face... right?

yeah, that has to be it. he figures he can endure this, given that he was the reason you were so upset earlier.

it goes without saying that he doesn't realize it when he begins to rub absentminded circles on your back.

and the way the warmth of your body forces his usually tense muscles to relax goes unacknowledged.

when the credits begin to roll, sukuna's wearing an expression of unimpressed disinterest. "that's seriously how it ends?"

you don't respond, so he looks down only to find that you're fast asleep.

"tch. you ask to watch a movie, force me to pick it, and then you don't even have the decency to stay awake." he's not sure why he's chiding you even though he knows you can't hear him, but he keeps his voice low enough that it won't disturb you.

sukuna's spent more time than he cares to admit watching your sleeping form, but this is the first time that it's actually him you're pressed against. it's the first time he can reach out and touch you.

your hair has fallen across your face, so he pushes it back behind your ear gently. the pads of his fingers brush against your cheekbone, a ghost of a caress, and his gaze lingers on your parted lips.

he lets out a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from you. "impertinent brat."

reaching for the remote, he flips off the tv and casts the room in darkness.

upon waking up in the morning, yuuji's confused once he notices that he's on the couch and you're sleeping against his chest.

he may have been half asleep when he arrived home, but he's still positive he went to bed. stretching his arms above his head, the movement jostles you from your slumber.

"mornin', baby."

"good morning, yu," you yawn in response, shifting to sit up.

"how'd i wind up on the couch?" he asks, though he's already got an inkling of the answer.

"oh," you blush. "sukuna kind of made an appearance last night."

"that so? how'd it go?"

you think there might be a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. is he teasing you?

"good," you offer. "we watched a movie."

"watched a movie with the king of curses," he muses before his face breaks out into a lopsided grin. "you sure are somethin', baby."

returning his smile, you lean in and press your lips to his. "hm. says you."

it's not uncommon for you to meet yuuji for lunch if his mission is short and nearby, and today is one of those days, so he eagerly makes his way to the cafe you agreed on.

he's still a few hundred feet away when he spots you through the window, chatting with a man he recognizes as your childhood friend.

his gaze drops to where his hand is wrapped around your forearm as you both share a laugh together.

it doesn't really bother yuuji, he trusts you implicitly and jealousy isn't an emotion that's really on his radar. the same can't be said for everyone, though.

sukuna watches on as well, his thoughts much darker than his vessel's. who does that wretch think he is, putting his hands on you?

you're not his to touch.

"give me control," sukuna growls, his mouth appearing on yuuji's cheek.

"and why would i do that?"

"so i can rip his heart out and gift it to her since he seems so interested in offering his affections."

"duuuude," yuuji begins, somewhat amused. "i don't think she'd be super crazy about you murdering her friend."

"fine," sukuna bites back, well aware that yuuji has a point. "but he can live without his filthy hands, can't he? perhaps i'll pull each arm from his torso—"

yuuji snorts. "you have some serious issues, man."

he can feel sukuna trying to take over and easily curbs the attempt, though that only fuels the king of curses' irritation. "my only issue lies in the fact you're allowing this to happen."

yuuji reaches the door, a bell chiming through the cafe as he pulls it open. "she's a big girl. she doesn't need either of us to dictate what can and can't happen to her."

once you see your boyfriend, your face lights up and you call out his name. you place a kiss on his cheek and snake an arm around his waist in greeting, and the space it puts between you and your friend is enough to keep sukuna from protesting further.

"you two have met, right?" you ask.

"yeah! hey, itadori! it's been a while."

"it has! good to see you, yamada."

"i'd love to stay and chat more, but i have to get going," he states, leaning in to give you a hug which you return. "we should all go out together soon!"

"absolutely not, you deplorable knave—" yuuji slaps a hand to his cheek before sukuna can continue and yamada gives him an odd look.

your eyes widen for a split second and you have to stop yourself from facepalming.

"what'd you say?" yamada asks, sounding a bit hesitant.

"i said absolutely, sounds like an enjoyable night!"

the men exchange a handshake before you and yuuji make your way to a table.

"sukuna, what the hell was that?" you hiss once yamada's out of earshot.

"i don't know what you mean," he responds smugly.

you meet yuuji's eye and he just shrugs his shoulders, but you swear the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

you can't imagine anything good coming from the two of them colluding with one another, but let it go anyway.

opening up your menu, you sigh in defeat. "if you say so."

"what do you mean you'd rather disembowel yourself?" you question the man sitting across from you.

it's becoming more commonplace to see those dark marks adorning yuuji's body during the nighttime hours. you sometimes wonder if he's letting it happen or if sukuna's just getting better at taking over, but you're too nervous to ask.

"do you need a dictionary? there's one over on the shelf—"

"no, asshole. i know what disembowel means! i just don't understand your refusal."

he raises his eyebrows at the obscenity, but doesn't comment on it. "i'm not reading some inane romance novel."

"but brontë's one of my favorite authors!"

"it makes no difference if it was penned by the gods. the thought alone is absurd. can we move on now?"

you don't respond. instead, you cross your arms and stare at the wall defiantly. your face is contorted into an expression that lets sukuna know you're clearly affronted.

"very mature, you silly little girl."

"sorry you find me and my interests so childish," you huff.

"oh, please. that's not what i said."

you continue giving him the cold shoulder, having no desire to argue further, but more than willing to die on this hill.

"fine, don't talk. it's no matter to me," he claims (despite it being the furthest thing from the truth).

as the minutes tick by, he keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye and exhaling dramatically.

eventually, he calls your name in an exasperated tone, and while it makes your heart flutter, you still don't spare him a glance. you just hold the book out for him and to your surprise, he rips it from your grasp.

"you're ridiculous," he grumbles, opening the cover to reveal the first page. "i hate you."

when he glances over to see you're beaming at him despite the insult, he adds (albeit half heartedly), "i mean it, brat."

the two of you sit in silence, each of you reading your respective books. a few chapters in, sukuna comes across the following conversation:

"do you know where the wicked go after death?" "they go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer. "and what is hell? can you tell me that?" "a pit full of fire." "and should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?" "no, sir." "what must you do to avoid it?" i deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: "i must keep in good health, and not die."

to your astonishment, you actually hear him chuckle, but when he looks over and finds your self satisfied smirk, any hint of humor disappears from his face in the blink of an eye. your hand quickly moves to your mouth to stifle a giggle.

"something you want to say?" he baits you.

"nope, nothing at all!"

two nights later, he's already nearing the end of the story and you refrain from commenting about how quickly he's made his way through.

you doubt he'd allow your current position if you had— you're laying on your side, your head resting comfortably in his lap, one hand occupying the space above his knee.

when you asked if it was okay, all he offered you was a clipped, "i suppose."

your hair is splayed across his thigh and your eyes fluttered shut a while ago. when he agreed to this, he didn't realize how distracting it'd be. his gaze flickers between you and the words on the page with embarrassing frequency.

he's decided what you call cuddling is absolutely suffocating. how anyone could actually enjoy it, he's sure he'll never comprehend. he can hardly concentrate on the novel that's right in front of him—

"read to me, 'kuna," you mumble, interrupting his thoughts. it surprises him that you're still awake.

he scoffs. "what do i look like? your personal audiobook?"

"you didn't even know those existed until like a week ago," you laugh. "c'mon, pleaaaaaase."

he stays quiet for a few moments, so you're under the impression he may just ignore your request. as such, you're exceptionally pleased when his voice fills the otherwise still apartment.

you think the sound of his voice is comforting, an idea that would more than likely make him cringe, so you keep it to yourself. after all, you don't want him to stop.

at some point or another, he begins twirling a strand of your hair around his finger whenever he's not turning the page, an action that seems to take place without his noticing.

occasionally he'll pause to ask if you're even listening. it's an odd feeling that blossoms in his stomach when you assure, "mhmm. every word."

as he reaches the second to last chapter, he reads a line that makes you question whether your heart's stopped beating. you're not sure if it's because of the tone of his voice, the words he's imparting, or some mix thereof.

"no—no—jane; you must not go. no—i have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: i cannot give up these joys. i have little left in myself—I must have you. the world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify."

he stops reading, as if he too feels the sense of unease that's invaded the air. against your better judgement, you turn to look at him. his eyes are glued to the page, almost like they're avoiding you, and his jaw is tense.

"my very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”

when his gaze finally lands on you, his expression is almost pained. it's a strange contrast to the warm fondness you spot in his eyes.

you quickly push that thought away, however. whatever you believe you may have seen, you're probably just deluding yourself. you know you aren't his least favorite person, but surely he'd never feel even half of that sentiment toward you—

your breath catches in your throat when his hand reaches up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. he still marvels at the fact you don't shy away from his touch, that you're usually the one to seek out contact with him.

perhaps the story is not as asinine as he expected it to be. rochester presumes jane will find him revolting, yet she still agrees to be with him, even after his selfishness has been made plain to her. after the sins of his past have caught up to him.

no, no, no.

to be so desperate for some woman's approval, or her devotion for that matter, is despicable. rochester's nothing less than foolish and sukuna isn't anything like him.

but you're certainly like jane, aren't you? fearless, passionate, and determined: all things he can't help but find endearing...

gods, what is this turmoil? it's making him feel pathetic and there isn't an emotion in the world he hates more—

you distract him from his internal monologue when your fingers wrap around his wrist and bring his knuckles to your lips. "you okay?"

"of course," he mutters, pulling his hand away. "just trying to get past all the mawkishness."

"really? you think it's that bad?" you question, the frown on your lips igniting that ache in his chest that appears whenever you're upset.

"it's not terrible," he sighs, realizing there may indeed be one thing he despises even more than feeling pathetic. "although i don't understand how jane is so taken with rochester."

you seem to ponder this for a moment before shrugging. "love is weird."

"what a clever analysis."

you slap his chest playfully. "oh, whatever. just keep going, you're almost finished!"

and you're right. he does reach the end of jane eyre that night, but not before you fall asleep on his lap. he closes the book, running a finger down the creased spine and setting it down carefully. it's obvious you've read it several times.

admittedly, he can see why, but he'd be caught dead before he'd ever tell you as much.

left alone with his thoughts, he considers the impossibility of jane and rochester: a charming, headstrong woman and a cruel, arrogant man.

leaning forward, he whispers your name to make certain you're asleep, then places a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"..sweet dreams."

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

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beatrixstonehill2 · 5 months

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"Jesus, these things are going to fill my lap in another couple months. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy my college signed me up for this clinical trial, but I am starting to get a bit concerned with how massive and heavy my boobs are going to get. Like.... only a few months ago I was a C-Cup. They're already humongous..... The people at the trial make me strip in front of a bunch of pharmaceutical execs. They weigh my breasts, poke and prod them, squeeze them, crush them in vices, and sometimes they even inject huge syringes of saline right into them, one after another, making them even more swollen and huge, telling me these saline treatment are 'just part of the trial'. I think they just like filling my boobs with a gallon of saline each to see me struggle to keep my back straight.

I ask them how long the trial will go on, how many more months I need to take the breast growth pills. Like, they clearly work..... But they just tell me as long as possible to test the limits of the medicine. I try to get them to tell me how big my boobs will get and they avoid the question, telling me not to worry and enjoy them. I tell them my back hurts really bad now and they laugh. I say, 'It won't be so funny if my spine snaps and I wind up paralyzed!' The scientists and execs just shrug and tell me when my spine snaps they'll ensure I have every possible accommodation to complete my diploma. They never say 'if', they say 'when'.....

I try to tell them I don't want to wind up paralyzed, but they say it's not really a big deal and I'll be able to live a perfectly fulfilling life, that their research is what's important. I got frustrated one time and blurted out that I won't be able to feel my pussy or when guys fuck me. They told me it's a good thing, men can be as rough as they want and I won't even feel it. I guess they have a point, that's kind of nice. I said I'll miss cumming, and they told me my pussy will still cum. I might not feel it, but it'll react physically on its own and squirt if men fuck me hard enough and rub/smack my clit enough. I guess that's OK...... as long as men can still make me squirt. It'll suck not feeling it but it'll be kinda fun to watch men have their way with me.

I guess I'm really dedicated to this clinical trial after all. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having fun growing such a giant pair of boobs. Soon they'll fill my lap and probably get way bigger. They'll weigh well over 100lbs each.... I'll need help to do just about anything regardless of whether or not my poor spine gives out. But I do agree..... I think it'd be more fun if it did, plus the people running the trial seem excited for it to happen. So, I don't wanna disappoint them. Hopefully my boobs get so humongous they totally surround me..... I wonder how much saline the team running the trial will pump into them for fun after that? A whole bathtub's worth? My boobs will be so fucking swollen and impossible to budge. All I'll be will be a poor, stationary girl who'll really only exist to serve cock; what else are such monstrous breasts useful for? And the rest of me will be a playground for men to use however they see fit. At least I don't need to be able to move to do therapy sessions online once I graduate and become a psychiatrist. Maybe I'll hold in person sessions anyway and judge my patients' mental state on how harshly they treat my gigantic breasts? With any luck it'll be a revolutionary new approach other girls decide to imitate. Wouldn't that be nice? ❤️"

#breast expansion #be #enormous breasts #breast inflation #gigantic breasts #immobility kink #dark kinks

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capslocked · 7 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you��ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight.

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

#hyewon smut #izone smut #izone hyewon smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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mysteryshoptls · 30 days

Text

SSR Leona Kingscholar - Club Wear Voice Lines

Club Wear Leona does not have a vignette.

When Summoned: Do as I say and I'll give you your just reward: A little thing I know you all love called victory.

Summon Line: 'Kay then, let's get this match started already. Y'know, and be all "sportsmanship-like".

Groooovy!!: There's no such thing as a miraculous win. The strongest, smartest team comes out on top... That's all it is.

Home: Guess I'll go an make light work of 'em.

Home Idle 1: Ruggie's always finding ways to slack off during practice, but he actually does okay during matches. But that's 'cause he just really wants to win.

Home Idle 2: Booing? Wrong, that's just more cheering. It's great hearing all those noisy people shriek just 'cause they're scared by how strong we are.

Home Idle 3: Epel's got the drive and spirit. Sure, he's got potential, 'cept he's just not that good at remembering the more complicated strategies... Geez.

Home Idle - Login: There's a lot to learn even from losing a match...? What fanciful crud. Results are what matter. There's no point in not winning.

Home Idle - Groovy: You can watch if you want, but... I ain't gonna listen to any complaining if you get hit by a disc or some stray magic bolt.

Home Tap 1: Flying ain't hard at all. All 'cause some fussy hoity-toity chamberlain forced onto me everything he knew.

Home Tap 2: Magical Shift is a sport that requires a ton of strategic thinking. Sometimes tactics need to be switched up on the fly based on the current state of the game... And coming up with those maneuvers are what makes this fun.

Home Tap 3: Only the team captain wears this longer-style jacket. Makes it easier for everyone to know who the boss is, don't it?

Home Tap 4: My brother considers Magical Shift to just be a national pastime. Even though I think it'd make a great resource for tourism if we could put together an elite team for the world league.

Home Tap 5: Shouldn't I go watch the team practice? Listen, our regimen prizes each team member's initiative for self-improvement above all else. Yaaaaawn...

Home Tap - Groovy: Don't bother cheering during the game. It'd be better if you could just keep a tight hold on Grim. He's an eyesore, always jumping around.

Duo: [LEONA]: Epel, just do what I tell you. [EPEL]: Leave it all to me, Leona-san!

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar #epel felmier #twst leona #twst epel #twst translation #twst club wear #mention: ruggie #mention: epel #mention: kifaji #mention: falena #mention: grim

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void-wolfie · 3 months

Text

forty-five days

summary: you come back on Valentine's Day after being away on a work trip.

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!reader

words: 1.89k

tw: very fluffy (is there such a thing as too fluffy?), kissing, light making out, let me know if i forgot anything

a/n: happy valentine's day everybody! tried making this as fluffy as i could, not sure how i feel about this one, let me know what you guys think lol

Jenna checked her phone again; 5:15 pm, no new texts. You should be here any minute now. She looked around the crowded lobby, but there was no sign of you yet.

You'd just finished filming for a big project, somewhere in New Zealand. It was a long process, over five months to film. You'd only seen each other for a few days during the holidays and before you had to leave again.

She was excited, to say the least, and nervous. She hadn't seen you in over a month. It made her wonder how you managed to go all that time without seeing her when she had to travel.

Home just wasn't the same without you.

You searched the lobby for any sign of Jenna. It'd been forty-five days since you last saw her, which roughly translated to 1,080 hours or 64,800 minutes. And each minute you were away from her felt entirely more agonizing than the last. (and yes, you did all the math on the plane, it was a very boring flight).

Finally, your eyes settled on a short brunette standing off to the side, away from the crowds. Tan and layered in freckles, her sunglasses were on and one of your jackets was draped lightly over her shoulders. She had a cheeky grin, and you knew she'd been watching you look around cluelessly for at least a few minutes.

You tightened your grip on your luggage, breaking out into a jog to go greet your amazing girlfriend. The second you were close enough you dropped your bags and nearly tackled her into a hug.

"I missed you so much." You whispered, still hugging her as if it were the last thing you might do.

"I missed you more." You could hear the playful smile she wore, her happiness more contagious than the plague. But more than that, you could hear the relief in her voice.

You squeezed her even tighter. You needed this. You needed her. Forty-five days was too long.

"Baby, you have to let go," Her arms gently tugged at your hands, she didn't really want you to let go, but you two couldn't exactly stand around in the airport all day.

"Nooo, just a little longer," you whined, sounding a bit like a child about to throw a tantrum.

"Come on, you can hug me all you want when we get home, ok?"

"Fineeeeee," You sighed. You didn't exactly mind letting her go, knowing there'd be plenty of time for cuddles later, but it was always more fun to be dramatic.

The minute you let go of her, she stuck her hand out, a bouquet of roses held out in front of you, "Happy Valentine's Day, baby."

"You got me roses?" You weren't exactly the type for flowers, but the idea of Jenna going out of her way just to get you something had a way of making your heart melt.

"Yeah? I know you don't really do the whole flowers thing, but I saw them, and I thought of you so-"

She didn't even have to finish her sentence. Before she even had a chance to stop and ask what you were doing, you had hooked your finger into one of the belt loops of her jeans, tugged her in close, and kissed her with all the pent-up passion you had.

God those lips. That smile. Her scent alone was enough to drive you mad. Your whole world could be falling apart, and you couldn't care less as long as you had her in your life.

The kiss didn't last long, much to your disappointment. It did, however, leave Jenna a blushing mess, which was more than enough to leave you satisfied.

You reached into your coat pocket and pulled out a necklace, holding it out for Jenna to see, “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

It was a simple necklace, an ivory pendant held by a plain black cord. The pendant looked similar to a vertical infinity sign, except instead of one twist, there were two.

Jenna looked it over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship and the tiny details.

“The symbol is called a pikorua, it represents two people coming together for eternity. Two people bonded by friendship and loyalty.”

You bounced on your heels nervously. You weren’t a hundred percent sure she’d like it, but the meaning behind it was too good to pass up. You wanted Jenna to have a reminder of your love, especially when you two were apart for work.

“I know it’s not much, but-”

“No, no, no. I love it, baby.” She looked up at you and gave you that smile, the one that made you weak in the knees and your heart all melty. “It’s beautiful.”

She gave you a small peck on the cheek. And despite the heavy kiss from just minutes ago, the small action still made you blush, your heart swelling with feelings you couldn't comprehend, "Come on, love. Let's go home."

Her smile. Her laugh. Her eyes. God this girl was your kryptonite.

You walked through the front door and immediately your jaw dropped.

"Jenna... is this?”

“Yeah…”

“…for me?”

“Yeah…”

“You did all this?"

“Yeah…” Silence. Tension filled the air. You could practically feel the nerves radiating off the girl next to you.

"I wanted to surprise you..." she fiddled with her hands, wringing her fingers nervously as you admired the scene in front of you. "Is it too much? It is, isn't it? I'll clean it up-"

"No!" You said it too fast, too forcefully, "No," You tried again, much more calmly this time, "I love it, baby, it's awesome. I just- I didn't expect this at all."

The house was completely decorated, like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. Candlesticks decorated tables and hallways, lighting up the whole house with a soft yellow glow. Red and pink balloons lined the doorway and silver garland hung from the ceiling. The dining table was adorned with a white tablecloth and a vase filled with more roses. A ‘welcome home’ banner hung over the dining table, swaying slowly as you stared at the painted black letters in awe.

This Girl.

She did all this… for you? Just to surprise you?

“Baby?” You felt her hand on your arm. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring in silence.

You turned around to see her looking at you, her expression a mix of emotions. There was hope and fear, she was so worried you'd hate the decorations, she wanted you to like them. But at the same time, you could see the love in her eyes, whether you loved it or hated it, she only wanted you to be happy.

Your body seemed to move on instinct.

You leaned forward and kissed her without even thinking about it. Your hands gripped her waist and pulled her in closer, anything to be near her. Her hands seemed to naturally find their way up your face, cupping it as she kissed you back.

Forty-five days was too damn long.

The kisses turned into something more. Before you knew it, Jenna had you pushed up against a wall, her hands roaming under your shirt, leaving goosebumps wherever they traveled. Her lips were at your jaw, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. It took everything in you not to melt under her touch.

“Baby?” You breathed out, not sure how much more you had in you before your knees would give out.

“Bedroom?” She already knew what you were going to ask, her lips pressed into the base of your neck sent chills down your spine.

“Please.”

You woke up to the sunlight peeking through the window, filtering in between the blades of the blinds. You groaned, tossing and rolling back over in bed. Stupid sun… all you wanted was to sleep in…

You rolled over only to notice the void in the bed. Something was missing… or more like someone. Where was Jenna?

“Baby?” You called out, your voice hoarse and rough from sleep.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes taking in the state of the room. Candles all burnt out, clothes strewn in every direction, rose petals covering every surface like confetti, half the bed sheets covered the floor while the other half haphazardly covered you.

You could hear noises coming from somewhere outside the room. What is she doing?

You picked up one of Jenna’s t-shirts from the floor and threw it on before stumbling out to the living room. You followed the noises to the kitchen.

Jenna was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She was working away in front of the stove, the smell of food cooking and something sizzling catching your attention.

You strolled up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your head on her shoulder. You didn’t have to look to know she was smiling, you could tell, it was in her body language. The way her muscles seemed to relax with you around, the little laugh she let out under her breath, the way she tried not to move too much so she wouldn’t jostle you around-

“Baby?” Her voice pulled you from thoughts.

“Hmmm?” You barely mumbled, your head still hazy with exhaustion. Between last night's activities and the jet lag from the flight, you were going to need at least a week to catch up on sleep.

There was that cute little laugh again, so quiet you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. “What are you doing up, love? I figured you’d be asleep for at least another hour.”

“I missed you,” you wrapped your arms around her a little tighter.

“I missed you too, baby.” She leaned over, kissing you on the cheek before going back to whatever she was doing.

Your eyes were half closed as you stood there, clinging to her like a koala with your face nestled into the side of her neck. Despite the fact you were standing, you were comfortable enough that you could almost fall back asleep, if it weren’t for her little movements, you probably would’ve already.

“What’re you doing?” your voice came out all muffled from talking into her shoulder, but she seemed to understand what you meant.

“Making your favorite. I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.” She could see you nodding off on her shoulder, it made her smile. She always found you extra cute when you were sleepy. “Why don’t you go back to bed, babe? I’ll be there in a bit.”

“No.” You meant to sound firm in your decision, but between your morning voice and how tired you were, you sounded like you were about half asleep already. Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Babe, go to bed, I’ll be there soon,” She chuckled, smiling at your resolve to stick with her even if you were basically already sleeping on her shoulder.

“I’m fineeeee. I’m going to stay right here and help you cook.”

And you did. You stood right there and ‘supervised’ as Jenna cooked one of your favorite meals, pancakes and bacon. Normally she would’ve pushed you out of the kitchen for being in her way, but after not being together for so long, she didn’t mind the intimacy.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x gn!reader #void-wolfie

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joelscruff · 1 year

Text

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART FIVE

previous chapters | kofi | i'm honestly amazed that i actually completed this chapter today; as a lot of yall know i've been dealing with a lot of shitty life stuff lately and part of me expected this to not even get posted this month. and yet!! here we are. thank you to everyone who has been so supportive and amazing, this chapter is for you and i hope you like it 💖 chapter summary: you're starting to feel a bit insecure about your relationship with joel. perhaps a late night visit to his house is what you need 👀 rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, corruption, praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader’s family are very catholic), fingering, handjobs, comeplay word count: 9k (woops) ao3

The rest of the week goes by gruelingly slow. Joel is busy every day and has barely any time to talk, so you mainly communicate through texts. The "conversations" are slow and broken, Joel only able to text when he has a free moment, which doesn't seem to be very often. You don't talk on the phone again, as much as you want to hear his voice, and you don't sext again either. It's a bit weird, a bit confusing, but you navigate it as best you can. It's not like he's ignoring you, he always responds, but it's just not the same as that first day.

you still wanna do this, right?

You type it around midnight on Thursday, hands trembling a bit as you hover over the send button. In one way you're afraid to ask him, afraid to seem clingy or young or inexperienced; but you're all of those things. When he's actually talking to you directly there's no fear, no question about what he wants, but going so long without hearing his voice makes you more and more insecure about what exactly he's thinking.

You erase the first message and start to type another one:

i know you're busy but

You shake your head and erase that one too. This is so stupid. Of course he still wants you, you idiot.

He'd said he was okay with the lie you'd told, had even said he would actually teach you guitar now too, but you're an overthinker, always have been. You can't help but feel dread whirling around in the pit of your stomach; he wants to end it, it's too complicated now. You've turned something sexy and fun into something ridiculous and unnecessary.

You lock your phone without sending anything and roll around in bed a bit, trying to sleep. Your thoughts make it impossible though, nagging at the front of your mind worse than your parents. You sit up and slide the tip of your thumb into your mouth, biting down in thought and staring at the blank screen of your phone.

What if you just...

are you home?

He hadn't sent you anything earlier to confirm he'd gotten back; you've discovered over the past few days that contractors really like to drink after their shift. Joel's been at the bar every night since that first day, often 'til late; you have to admit, it makes you a bit jealous to imagine Joel and his contracting crew out having a great time while you're laying in your childhood bed with a curfew. Bar hopping and partying has never appealed to you before, at least not when your college friends did it, but now the thought of it doesn't seem so bad. Not if you were doing it with him...

Your phone buzzes and you feel excitement burst through you at his reply:

Got in about 10 minutes ago, didn't think you'd be up. You okay?

You soften at his concern, cheeks warming. You don't hesitate, knowing if you think too much about it you'll end up changing your mind. You type your your response and hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.

can i come over?

You stare at the screen with bated breath, watching as his typing bubble appears. It takes barely any time at all for him to reply:

Of course you can. Door's unlocked.

Sneaking out of your house is much easier than you thought it'd be. You've never done it before, had almost expected the bottom half of your house to suddenly have some kind of security system with lasers and cameras, but nope. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You're wearing one of your old nightdresses, pink and frilly; you'd opted to start wearing them again the other day, liking the way they made you feel, accentuating your legs and breasts like your old Sunday school dress. You'd changed quickly every morning before going downstairs to save your parents from the heart attacks they'd have seeing you with so little skin coverage. But there's no need to change now, not with where you're going. You yank on a jacket and sneakers and carefully open and close the front door, scurrying out into the cool night air.

Joel's house isn't far, just a street over. You try not to run, as much as you want to; you know you'll end up all sweaty and messy haired - the opposite of how you'd like to portray yourself tonight, but your skin is practically glowing with anticipation. You hold the short hem of your nightdress down as you speed walk through the dark suburban streets of your neighborhood.

Your heart starts pounding when his house comes into view; the living room window is dimly lit. You jog up the front steps and take a deep breath before turning the handle, smiling to yourself when it opens easily; he'd really left the door unlocked for you.

"Mr. Miller?" you call in a hushed tone, shutting the door behind you and turning the lock.

He emerges from the living room and you feel your eyes widen. All he's wearing is a pair of loose fitting plaid pajama pants; nothing else. No shirt, no socks, and probably no underwear. You swallow, eyes trailing up and down the naked solidness of his chest, the greying hair smattered along the skin. He's got a softness to him, a bit of a pudgy belly that makes you want to smile, but his rugged sexiness is even more apparent. His strong pecs, freckled arms, the hair trailing down his stomach and into his pajama pants... it suddenly leaves you unable to breathe or form a coherent thought.

"There's my girl," he says, voice low and husky; he must have talked a lot today, called people's names, ordered them around, "C'mere."

Your brain is still muddled and awestruck as you feel yourself rush forward, arms immediately wrapping around his bare torso. His skin is softer than you'd thought it'd be, warm under your touch as you carefully press your cheek to his chest. You feel the scratch of hair against your skin, reminding you of his age; fifty six. The thought gives you an ache between your legs.

He holds you close and rubs your back, presses a kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes flutter closed at his touch, fingers splaying across the wide span of his back. You find yourself able to breathe again, but all you inhale is his scent, fresh and masculine. It's then that you realize his skin is slightly damp, peppered here and there with little droplets of water.

"I just got out of the shower," he says quietly, answering your unspoken question, "Was about to get in bed when you texted but I figured if you were comin' over I should clean myself up a bit."

You hum against his chest, still not sure exactly what to say. The ache between your legs is growing stronger the more you stand here in his embrace; somehow you hadn't expected to feel this way just from hugging him, although you probably should have guessed.

"I wanna get in your bed," you say softly, opening your eyes again and pulling back to look at him. His expression says it all, eyes going dark as they fall to your lips.

"Then let's get in my bed," he murmurs, just as quiet.

The last time you were in Joel's bedroom there'd been more of a sense of urgency, when he'd sat with you in his lap on the edge of his bed and held you open in front of the mirror. Now things are much slower, more quiet. You slip in behind him and unzip your jacket, taking it off and hanging it carefully on the hook behind his door.

"That's pretty," he says behind you, and you feel him reach out to gently touch the pink material, hand ghosting the bare skin of your chest. Your breath hitches and he smiles, "Tiny little thing, isn't it?"

"I've had it for a long time, I thought you might like it."

"I do," he pulls you toward him, then reaches his hands up to thumb the thin straps of the nightdress. You watch with hooded eyes as he slowly pushes them off your shoulders, "I'm gonna take it off though, that okay?"

Your brow furrows; he notices your reaction and his hands freeze, "Not okay?" he asks, confused slightly.

"N-no, it's okay," you say quickly, "I just... I'm still a little self conscious."

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head, "You have nothin' to be self conscious about, sweetheart," he reassures you, "I wanna see you..." he pushes the straps down your shoulders and you stand there trembling slightly as he pulls the dress down, exposing your breasts to him, "There you are."

You shiver a bit under his gaze, but not out of discomfort or fear. You feel safe with him; you know he'd never do anything you didn't consent to. You're just not exactly sure what you want, what exactly you've really come here for. Before you'd left the house you'd been so afraid that he was losing interest, already getting tired of you; now he stares at you like you're some kind of rare gem, making you feel bashful and beautiful under his gaze.

"I wanna touch you," you whisper, the shakiness of your voice betraying your nervousness - or anticipation.

His hands freeze for a few seconds but he regains composure quickly, tugging the dress down further until it's cascading down your legs, putting you completely on display. He swallows audibly, taking you in. You look at his face and feel yourself pulse under his gaze, the way he's staring directly at your bare pussy.

"Let's get in bed," he murmurs, "I think there's a few things we can touch."

His words send a buzzing warmth through your body and you cross your legs unconsciously, an action that makes him smirk. You turn away from him with heat flooding your cheeks as you climb into his bed; it's large and comfortable, but you already know neither of you will be taking advantage of the big space. You sit up against his headboard and pull the duvet up over yourself, hiding your breasts from view - as if he hasn't already seen them.

"I'll keep these on" he says softly, tugging at the band of his pajama pants, "Don't worry."

Your heart leaps to your throat and you nod quickly - probably too quickly. It's not that you're scared to see him naked; you've already seen both halves now and that's taken away a lot of the fear, but the concept of being in bed together, both naked... you're not sure you're ready yet. And you're glad he understands that without you having to say it out loud.

You watch as he climbs into bed and positions himself up against the headboard like you, scooches in next to you so your sides are touching. His skin against yours is unlike anything you've felt with him up until this point; he's so warm, a firm and large presence at your side that immediately has you feeling intimidated. Your nerves are already beginning to set alight just by having him so close. You open your mouth to speak but are unable to say anything when he inches even closer, his bare waist pressing firmly against yours.

"Hey, you're okay," he breathes, reaching up to gently thumb your cheek in a calming motion, brow furrowing slightly, "You don't gotta be nervous, sweetheart, it's only me."

"I'm not nervous," you whisper back, and while you're not exactly being honest there's certainly something else you're feeling, "I'm just..." you cross your legs again under the duvet, "I'm getting really wet."

He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat that makes you smile a little, cheeks burning under his gaze. He reaches over and slowly pushes the blankets down from your loose grip, exposing you to him once again. He moves his hand down, fingertips trailing along your bare chest until carefully bringing one of your breasts into his palm and squeezing gently.

"You don't gotta hide these from me, darlin'," he murmurs, thumb dragging across your nipple, sending tingles throughout your body, "They're too pretty to stay outta sight."

You shiver when he carefully tweaks your nipple between his fingers, his gaze firmly set on his movements. You watch together as he plays with it, toys with it, rolls it between thumb and forefinger. The warm and tight feeling sends an odd tingling sensation from your breast to your pussy, like they're connected somehow.

"I'm gonna put this in my mouth," he says softly, "Suck on it a little bit, that okay?"

You can't help but feel a bit unsure, biting your lip, "Is that... does it feel good to do that?"

He nods up at you, thumbing your nipple again slowly, "Feels really good, I promise. You got a lot of nerves here, just like your pussy. Really sensitive."

Your eyes are hazy as you nod to him slowly, "Th-that sounds nice."

At your words he leans his head down and brings your nipple into his mouth, dropping his fingers and replacing his thumb with the warm suction of his lips. You gasp out in surprise, hand coming up to immediately cup the back of his head.

You've never felt anything like this; the suction of his mouth is so new and strange, that tingling sensation returning as you cross your legs tighter and whimper aloud as he sucks your nipple. His tongue is wet and warm, tracing the shape of you in little circles, while his free hand comes up to squeeze your other breast, tweak it with his fingers. Your breath begins to come out raggedly, brow furrowing and legs tightening together as he suckles.

"Oh my god," you hear yourself whimper, hand tightening in his hair, "Why does that feel so good?"

He pulls off your nipple with a quiet laugh, peering up at you, "Yeah, you like the way that feels, babygirl?"

You nod quickly, swallowing and trying to get your breath back, "Yes," you whisper, "A lot."

He smiles at that, "Then how 'bout you lay back for me?"

It's an offer that's impossible to refuse. You quickly pull yourself down from the headboard and slip beneath the covers, head coming to rest on one of his pillows. He slips under as well, then very slowly positions himself on top of you, a leg on either side of your trembling form. You look up at him with wide eyes, unsure whether you're more nervous or excited.

"You're okay," he reassures you again, inching downward a bit and pressing a few gentle kisses to your neck, "Gotta be on top to do this right, so it feels good."

You nod slowly, "I c-can feel..."

"What?" he whispers, "What do you feel?"

Your arms are loose at your sides and Joel's are pinned above you, but there's an unmistakable feeling of something prodding into your thigh, large and thick.

"Your cock," you manage to whisper, voice trembling, "I think."

"That's right," he murmurs, "It's 'cause I'm gettin' hard from suckin' you like that, touchin' you," he trails his fingers down your sides gently, making you shiver, "You like feelin' it there?"

You feel yourself slowly nodding, eyes going even more hazy and hooded, "I wanna touch it."

"I know you do," he whispers, "I want you to touch it too, sweetheart. But I'm gonna play with you a little longer," he leans his face down and licks a small stripe against your other nipple, making your hips buck, "Then I'll teach you how to touch it, that alright?"

"Yes," you breathe, "Please."

"You like when I play with you, don't you?" he murmurs against your breast, then captures your other nipple in his mouth and starts to suck.

"Y-yes," you repeat, hand coming up again to tangle in his hair, already overwhelmed by the sensation, "I missed it."

He hums, sending another cascade of tingles throughout your body. To think that less than half an hour ago you were laying in bed wondering if he still wanted you; now you're naked and he's on top of you with his mouth on your breast. How is this your life?

"What did'ya miss?" he pulls off for barely a few seconds, scruff scratching perfectly against your sensitive skin, "Tell me, babygirl, wanna know what you've been thinkin' about."

You whimper when he goes back to suckling, your fingers threading through his greying curls. It's hard to get your thoughts straight when he's making you feel like this, every tight suck and wet lick going directly to your aching core.

"J-just missed you touching me," you breathe, voice rough and wanton with pleasure, "Missed your hands on me, your fingers..."

At your words he carefully brings one of his hands downward, caressing your body gently as he goes. Your breath hitches when he swipes his middle and index finger down your wet seam, urging you to open up for him. You uncross your trembling legs, looking down to watch as he continues to suck on your breast while his fingers dip down to your wetness.

"Inside," you whisper, finishing your thought but almost giving him a command at the same time; he doesn't hesitate, immediately pushing both fingers past your entrance and slipping them inside your throbbing hole, "Fuck," you whimper, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, "Like that."

You can feel the head of his cock through his pajama pants, pulsing against your thigh, leaving a sticky spot in the fabric. The fact that he's getting hard just by doing this to you, getting wet in his own way, it just turns you on even more.

He pulls off your breast with a wet pop and tilts his head up to look at you, pressing little kisses around your nipple and then pulling himself up a bit to hover over you. You feel his clothed cock prod your lower belly and you shiver again.

"Wanted to be full again, huh?" he murmurs, eyes dark, "Missed havin' these big fingers inside you?"

You nod and tug at his curls, urging him to lean his face down toward you. He takes the hint immediately, smirking a bit before reaching down to press his lips to yours and kiss you hungrily. You sigh into his mouth, contentment and arousal flooding through you as he slowly pushes his fingers in and out of you. Your hand moves from his hair to cup his jaw, loving the feeling of his beard beneath your fingers.

"Wanna know what I missed?" he asks against your lips, voice deep and breathy, "Missed this tiny little hole, so tight, all for me," at his words he curls the tips of his fingers inside of you, making you emit a loud whimper that makes him grin, "That's right, takin' my fingers so well, angel. Bet you could take three now," you feel another one of his fingers prod you alongside his others, "You want that, babygirl? Want three of those big fingers?"

You swallow nervously but slowly nod, tugging your bottom lip into your mouth, "Yes, Mr. Miller," you whimper, "Wanna be full."

"Good girl," he murmurs, brushing his nose lightly against yours, "You're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You hear the sounds you're making but you're not quite sure where they're coming from or how you're making them; you sound pathetic and breathless as he fucks you with his fingers, teases the third at your hole and leans down to kiss you again. His tongue slips past your lips and you feel the vibration of your own moans in his mouth when his thumb gently teases your clit.

"There you go, angel," he mutters against your lips as his third finger breaches your entrance, slowly pushes past the other two, "Thaaat's it, babygirl."

You tremble underneath him, feeling your body tense up at the new intrusion. You've had three of your own fingers inside yourself, but not three of his, long and thick and so much bigger than your own. You hear your whimpers turn into cries as his fingers fill you up, your own hands coming up to grip his back, nails digging into the skin.

"Shhh," he soothes, trailing more kisses along your face in an attempt to relax you, "You're okay, sweetheart, you're okay." And you are okay, being underneath him like this, being entirely at his mercy as he pushes your limits, helps you discover something new. It burns a bit, stretches and pulls and stings, but he talks you through it, whispers reassuring words in your ear, and you know you're safe.

He stills once all three fingers are deep inside, then pulls himself up a bit to look at you, pushing a stray hair behind your ear and peering down with a soft expression despite the depraved circumstances.

"How's that feel?" he whispers, voice gentle and soothing, "Tell me."

You're still making whimpering noises, shaky and quiet, but you're able to reply with the only word you can bring to the front of your mind: "Full."

He smiles down at you, brushes his nose against yours, "You did so good, angel," he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours, "I'm prouda you."

He knows what he's doing with that phrase; immediately you feel yourself loosen beneath him, hands going slightly limp against his back. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and slowly begins to move his fingers again, pumping them in and out at an even pace.

It's amazing. It's so different than just two fingers, so much bigger and fuller - you've never felt anything like it; something so dirty but somehow passionate and warm. He kisses you as he fucks you with them, hovering over you with his hot skin emanating onto yours, wisps of hair from his chest and stomach tickling you everywhere. He thumbs your clit again and you moan loudly against his lips, your orgasm swelling in your belly as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer.

"You gonna come, angel?" he asks you softly, sweetly, pulling back a bit to stare deeply into your wide eyes, "Yeah, you're gonna come on those big fingers, huh? Can feel your pussy gettin' all tight around me, she wants it so bad doesn't she?"

You moan even louder as you frantically nod, "Yes, gonna come, gonna come," you cry out, overwhelmed by the thickness of his fingers and the way he's looking at you, the way he's talking to you; everything is just him.

"That's right, give it to me, sweet girl," he urges you, plunging into you faster and faster as his thumb rotates mercilessly against your clit, "Make a mess for me, soak those fingers, there you go."

You keen, high and borderline ridiculous as you stiffen beneath him and begin to shake, pitiful sounds escaping your mouth as you come. He fucks you through it, watching your face every step of the way and not stopping his movements until you've come down completely. You lay beneath him, chest heaving and eyes closing involuntarily as he strokes your thigh tenderly, reassuringly. He keeps his fingers lodged deep inside of you, not moving but simply keeping you full as you come down from your orgasm; you find yourself hoping he doesn't pull them out just yet.

"Can I show you somethin'?" he asks softly, and you open your eyes to find him still peering down at your face. You can't speak, can only nod as you bite down on your lip and try to catch your breath, your entire brain focused solely on the way his fingers feel inside you. As if he can read your mind, he's suddenly pulling them out and bringing them up to hover between the two of you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, suddenly feeling beyond empty as you pout up at him. He just chuckles to himself, still holding his three fingers - wet and glistening - in front of you while his other hand reaches down to the waistband of his pajama pants. Your eyes go wide, lips parting a bit as you look from his face to where his hand is and back again.

Without words from either of you, he slowly reaches inside and pulls out his cock, thick and dripping. You make a weird sound in the back of your throat, sitting up slightly as you peer at it with wonder. He's showed it to you before, it's nothing new, and yet...

"That's about the same width, wouldn't you say?" he asks you quietly, bringing his dripping fingers down to his hard cock and aligning them side by side; he's right - the thickness of all three of his fingers is relatively similar to the thickness of his cock. There's certainly different aspects - the length being the main difference - but the overall width is pretty spot on.

"Y-yeah," you say softly, eyes glued to it, "Pretty close."

You watch as he carefully drags his fingers along the thick length of his cock, still soaked with your release. He spreads your juices along it with his thumb and fingers, fists it gently and very slowly fucks his fist once. Your eyes are hooded and dark, saliva beginning to pool inside your mouth for reasons you can't even begin to understand.

"You just took three fingers," he continues, thumb tracing the base of his wide tip, "So wouldn't you say that answers a question you've been worryin' your pretty little head about?"

Your eyebrows scrunch together, trying to figure out what he means. It's hard to focus on absolutely anything else when his dick is right there in front of you, practically begging to be touched, the fat head pulsing and drooling under your gaze.

"Oh, this is gonna be a problem, isn't it?" he says, amused as he continues to slowly stroke himself, "Can't even think when there's a cock in front of you, huh?"

The words snap you back to reality, but only slightly. You smile sheepishly as you will yourself to look up at his face and away from his dick, "Wh-what question, Mr. Miller?"

He chuckles, "You were afraid it wouldn't fit inside you, babygirl," he reminds you gently, "But it will, we just proved that."

Your brain slowly makes sense of what he's saying and you can't help but feel a wave of relief wash over you; he's right. It had burned a bit, been uncomfortable for a moment or two, but ultimately you'd been able to take all three and enjoy it. You feel a smile spread across your face, and you notice his eyes soften slightly as he looks at you.

"You're right," you say breathlessly, smile still wide, "I did it, didn't I?"

His expression softens even more and he smiles back at you, laughing quietly to himself. He opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it, pulling one of his legs back and moving to sit beside you on the bed instead of over you. Your brow furrows a bit in confusion.

"What is it?"

He just shakes his head, still smiling softly to himself, "Nothin', you're just... you're adorable."

Your cheeks warm at that, unable to help feeling a little self conscious. Now that you've come down from your orgasm you're suddenly hyperaware of your nakedness, of the fact that he can see every inch of your body. You draw the covers up around yourself quickly, hoping he won't mind.

"Such a shy little thing," he murmurs softly, but makes no move to pull the blankets down again like he had before, just watches you with a smile as your gaze slowly falls back to where he's hard and aching.

"Can I...?" you can't bring yourself to say the words, feeling flustered and nervous at the very thought. He just nods and reaches over to touch your hand, strokes your trembling fingers in his grip.

You watch as he carefully maneuvers your hand toward his crotch and slowly places your hand on his cock. Your fingers curl around his girth almost instinctively, imitating what you've seen him do before. Your lips part, breath hitching as your skin touches his most intimate area, a place on a man you never thought you'd ever be able to feel, at least not until you were married.

It's soft. Not in terms of arousal but just in texture, a silky and smooth feeling you hadn't been expecting. You stare down at your own hand in slight awe as your thumb gently strokes along his shaft, brow furrowing at how different it is than what you'd imagined. It's surprisingly just a body part, just an extension of Joel that usually remains hidden and secret; it's not as scary or intimidating when you can touch it like this, play with it like he plays with you.

"Wow," you say softly, barely aware of it as your fist ever so slowly moves along his length, pumps him just once in that hypnotic way he'd showed you; he's still covered in your own release, wet and slippery, but somehow you don't feel grossed out by it.

"You're a natural," he replies just as quietly, and your skin heats again when you look up to see his face, see the desire and pleasure in his expression, "Don't think there's much I need to teach you, to be honest. My parts are a lot simpler than yours."

You smile to yourself and pump him slowly again, this time brushing against the wet and throbbing tip. He makes a faint grunting sound that makes your eyebrows go up.

"This part..." you say quietly, thumbing the head ever so slightly and feeling your heart race when it pulses beneath you, "It feels different?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, biting down on his lip for a moment, "That part's sensitive, kinda like your clit."

You nod slowly, pushing your thumb up a bit and slowly rotating it along the sensitive area. He inhales sharply, grunts again when you prod the spongey head with both your thumb and index finger, teasing it like he'd done with your nipple.

"Fuck," he mutters softly, voice heavy and breathless, "That's it, angel, you got it."

His praise is like a warm blanket, shrouding you in safety and comfort as you slowly pump his cock again, teasing the head intermittently and trying not to smile too much every time he makes another one of those breathy grunting sounds. You feel pride swelling in your chest, the knowledge that you're actually making him feel good pushing you to continue on.

"What about these?" you ask softly, stilling your hand on his cock for a moment to gesture toward his balls, round and heavy beneath the base, "Does it....do they feel good when they get touched, too?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice dark and full of arousal, "They do."

"Can I touch them?"

The sound that emits from his throat sounds almost like a growl, low and husky, "Yes," he groans, "Go ahead and touch 'em, sweetheart."

The tone of his voice is slightly desperate, bordering on depraved. Your eyes travel back up to his face and his jaw is slack, eyes hooded as he watches you touch him. You've never seen him like this, almost completely wrecked by something you did.

"Gotta be real gentle," he continues, taking a breath through his nostrils and reaching down to pull his pajama pants down a bit more for easier access, "They're sensitive too."

You resume your slow pumping of his cock with one hand while your other reaches down to lightly trail the tips of your fingers along the shape of his balls, round and tender. You cup them gently, teasing them one by one in your palm. He hisses in pleasure, eyes shutting tightly as he leans back a bit against the headboard.

"Feel good?" you whisper, trying your best to fall into the role Joel usually takes on, the role of the person giving the pleasure.

"Yes, baby," he groans, pressing the backs of his hands against his shut eyes, "Yes, feels so good, sweetheart."

Your pumping gets a bit faster, a bit wetter as precum continues to drool from the tip and down his shaft. It's unbelievable that you're really sitting here in a man's bed, a man about thirty years older than you, pumping his cock and making him come apart like this. You can feel yourself throbbing beneath the blankets, getting wet all over again at the reality of the situation, and when your movements cause the blankets to fall from your chest and expose your breasts again, you don't bother trying to cover up.

Joel groans at the sight, reaching over to tweak one of your nipples between his fingers, making you whimper, "You know what happens when a man comes?" he asks you suddenly, brow furrowing in pleasure, "You learn about that in school?"

You nod quickly, feeling sweat trickle down your face as you continue to stroke him up and down, "Yes," you whisper, "I know what happens."

He groans again, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath as he begins to palm your breasts, "I'm about to come, darlin'. There's gonna be a lot, need to know where to aim it."

You bite down on your lip, trying to keep all your focus on making him feel good and not on the hands now squeezing your breasts, teasing your nipples. "Wh-where do you want it to go?" But you already know the answer.

"Here," he grunts, thumbing your hard nipples, "These. Wanna come all over these pretty tits, sweetheart, will you let me?"

You nod, "Y-yes, Mr. Miller."

It's everything he needs to suddenly pull himself up from the bed and pull your hands off him, gesturing for you to lie back against his pillows. Your heart races in anticipation, eyes going wide and lips parting again as he leans over you and starts to jack his cock, fast and unrelenting. This is what he'd done the other night, when you'd talked on the phone; you'd tried to imagine what he'd looked like, making his own mess... now you're about to find out.

"Stay just like that, babygirl, just like that," he grunts out, pumping himself over and over as he aims the tip toward your bare breasts, swollen from all the attention he's given them tonight. His expression is tense and so is his body, soft stomach suddenly taut with pressure, chest heaving as he works his hand. He looks almost pained, brows scrunched together as he pulls himself over the edge.

"Come," you find yourself saying quietly, a shaky whimper playing at the edge of your voice, "Come for me."

Within seconds of your words your skin is hit with long ropes of a warm, white liquid, splattering across your breasts in uneven patterns. You watch with hooded eyes as Joel slows his strokes, groans louder than he has all night as his release spurts continuously from the head of his cock, painting you all over. His tense expression eases into one of pure bliss as he tosses his head back again, moaning up at the ceiling.

Wow.

Without asking for permission, without even questioning whether it's proper sex etiquette to do so, you find your hand travelling quickly downward to your wet pussy. You frantically begin to rub your clit, still gazing up at Joel's pleasured form, feeling his come slipping down the sides of your breasts onto the sheets below. You throb and pulse beneath your fingers, whining softly to yourself as your body readies itself for your second orgasm.

Joel looks down at you then, cock still in hand, slowly beginning to soften. He sees what you're doing immediately, and the devilish smirk that crosses his face is enough to send you over the edge.

"Fuuuuck," you moan out as you come, trembling in the sheets and curling your toes in pleasure, "Mmmm," you squirm and writhe beneath his gaze until it's over, then lay still and loose on the bed with barely any thoughts floating through your mind.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, both of you coming down from your orgasms and trying to collect yourselves. You can't help but look down at your chest, see the thick patches of come splattered all over your breasts, your nipples. How all of that could come from one person is wild to you; this certainly hadn't been taught in any of your health classes.

The memory of being so naïve, so innocent... it makes you grin. Because you couldn't be further from that person anymore, the one who did everything that was asked of her, never listened to her own heart, stayed on the sidelines and focused on math and extracurriculars and God while other people had these experiences. And now here you are - actually having them.

"I guess I'm not a good little Christian girl anymore," you find yourself saying with a shaky giggle; you suddenly feel reinvigorated, sexually liberated... free.

Joel laughs at that, breathless and genuine. He grins down at you, releases his cock and shuffles downward to lay beside you, "You're my good little Christian girl," he says softly, bringing a hand up to cradle your face, "You did so good."

"Did I?" you ask sincerely, "Be honest, I wanna know."

He just smiles and thumbs your cheek, eyes going crinkly, "You were perfect, babygirl, I swear." He leans forward and kisses you gently, sweetly, like you both didn't just do something completely filthy and depraved - but you're starting to realize that maybe it's normal to do things like this, not as taboo and sinful as you'd always thought.

When you part, you're suddenly painfully aware of the state of the bed, not to mention both of your bodies. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat, you've got come dripping down your skin, and both fluids are already beginning to stain the bedsheets. You make a face.

"Can we...can we change the sheets? And can I maybe take a shower?"

Joel chuckles at that, stroking your cheek one last time before pulling back to extricate himself from the bed, "I'll change 'em, sweetheart. You go get in the shower, it's right across the hall."

You slip out of bed on shaky legs, losing your balance a bit and having to grab on to Joel's bed side table for support. You both laugh, and you find comfort in the casual intimacy of it all - both of you standing there naked without any shame or embarrassment. It's strange and new but so refreshing, that familiar safe feeling warming your skin as you make your way to the bathroom. You pick up your discarded nightdress as you go.

You stare at yourself in Joel's bathroom mirror for a bit longer than necessary, eyes wide as they trail up and down your bare form. Splotches cover different parts of your skin, especially your breasts, nipples swollen and dark, not to mention covered in come. You feel an ache between your legs again at the sight and almost roll your eyes at yourself - when will you stop being this insatiable?

Unable to push down the urge to do so, you carefully drag one of your fingers through the layer of white splattered across your chest, fascinated by its sticky texture. He'd marked you, in more ways than one.

The shower is pleasant and relatively quick; you want to get back in Joel's arms as soon as possible. You try not to think too much about the implication of that desire, the safety you feel when you're with him versus the anxiety you feel when you're not and what exactly that means. You try to remind yourself of your roommates and their experiences, their ability to sleep around without catching feelings or getting attached. How do they do it? How do they do it when being close to another person like this is so intimate and special?

You change back into the nightdress after your shower and slip back into Joel's room, finding him laying in the freshly made bed beneath a new duvet. For a moment you think he might be sleeping, quietly shutting the door behind you and tiptoeing over to the bed. However when you get close enough he opens his eyes and looks at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

"Hey there," he murmurs, reaching down to pull back the blankets on the other side - your side, "Get on in."

Your heart pounds harder than it probably should.

Climbing into bed beside Joel feels surprisingly normal, easy. You wriggle underneath the duvet and cuddle in beside him, immediately wrapping an arm around his solid form and nuzzling your head against his shoulder. He's wearing his pajama pants again but his torso is still bare, the hair on his chest tickling your skin. You feel him press a soft kiss to your hairline and you can't help but smile.

"I'm glad I came over," you whisper with a content sigh, "I was... I was starting to worry you didn't want me."

"Really?" he asks softly, brow furrowing, "Why's that?"

You shake your head and nuzzle in deeper, "Just me being self conscious and insecure, as usual."

His hand comes up to rub your back soothingly, circling it with his palm through your thin nightdress. He pulls you in a bit closer, kisses your forehead again with a bit more firmness.

"It's normal to feel that way," he murmurs against your skin, "But I do want you, babygirl. You're all I think about lately, I mean that." You shiver at his words, closing your eyes and willing yourself to believe that he really does mean them like he says. "Most beautiful little thing I've had in my bed for a long time."

You press a gentle kiss to his collarbone in response, nose trailing along the skin. He didn't shower but you're sort of glad he didn't; he still smells like sex, a deep masculine musk that you can only attribute to him now, a scent that makes you feel safe.

"I just feel bad...making us sneak around and all that," you admit, "I know it's childish and silly, but I'm so scared of disappointing my parents. I shouldn't be but I am."

"You're young," he says softly, tenderly, "That kinda stuff still matters, especially when you're livin' with them. I get it, honey. You don't have to defend yourself."

You grimace against his skin, "I just wish this could be more normal. That you could just be a guy I'm seeing instead of my guitar teacher," you shake your head, "It's not fair."

He pulls you in even closer with a soft chuckle, "Well, if it's any consolation, I'm lookin' forward to teachin' you how to play."

You make a face, "Hymns," you say with a roll of your eyes, "You're teaching me how to play hymns. I don't see anything exciting or sexy about that."

"We'll make it sexy," he murmurs, inching his face downward so it's more level with yours, eyes casting down to your lips, "Thought you were my good little Christian girl."

All thoughts suddenly seem arbitrary when he's looking at you like that, your gaze immediately going hazy as he leans in and kisses you deep, pushes his tongue inside your mouth softly and tastes you. You hum against his mouth as a response, thighs tightening together as if on instinct the second you feel yourself begin to throb again.

"Are you?" he asks huskily when he pulls away, eyes dark but tired, "Are you my good little Christian girl, baby?"

You nod, swallowing down your arousal, "Yes, Mr. Miller."

"You gonna let me touch you while I teach you guitar?"

You nod again, biting back a whimper, "Yes, Mr. Miller."

His eyes dart back down to your lips, hand on your back traveling downward to cup your bare ass beneath the nightdress, "You gonna let me fuck that soft little pussy while you play one of your hymns?"

"Yes, Mr. Miller," you repeat, leaning forward to bury your face in his warm skin and inhale him again, moan softly against the hair on his chest, "Yes."

He squeezes your ass for a moment and then brings his hand back up, pulls you to him and wraps his arms around you tightly, "See, babygirl?" he whispers, "Told you we'll make it sexy."

Joel's alarm wakes you around six, rousing you from one of the best sleeps of your life. You open your eyes groggily, feeling him lean over you in bed to turn it off, warm chest brushing your arm. You roll over in bed and cuddle into him again, humming sleepily to yourself when he pulls you in close.

"I gotta get ready for work," he murmurs gently into your hair, "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when it's time to go."

You frown sleepily but don't have the energy to protest, eyes closing again as you melt back into his pillow. You feel him release you from his embrace and press a kiss to your forehead, a simple reminder that this isn't some dream you're having, it's somehow reality. You smile and fall asleep again within seconds.

He wakes you up again after about half an hour, seats himself on the edge of his bed and strokes your hair. You peer up at him with a sleepy and satisfied expression, unable to stop the words that fall immediately from your lips:

"Kiss me."

He doesn't need convincing, still thumbing your hair behind your ear as he leans down and kisses you softly, bumps your nose against his and lets your tongue lazily explore his mouth, tasting mouthwash. You sigh contentedly, pulling back to smile at him while he strokes your cheek.

"Sleep good?" he asks you softly.

You nod, remembering the closeness the two of you had shared all night, the soft hugs and tender cuddles, the quiet intimacy you've never experienced with anyone else. "Amazing," you whisper.

He kisses you again before you get out of bed, then takes your hand as he leads you downstairs. You grab your jacket on the way out of his bedroom, still hanging on the back of his door. You look down at yourself as you both reach the top of the stairs, realizing there's no way you'll be able to walk home in an outfit like this without certainly being accosted by a nosy neighbor.

You push down your worry when you reach the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face when you see that the kitchen table is set with breakfast; scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You made me breakfast?" you ask in awe, looking from the food to Joel and back again.

He laughs, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup, "I did," he says with a smile, "And as much as I'd love for us to just sit and enjoy it," he looks down at his watch with a grimace as he takes a sip of coffee, "we have about ten minutes before I gotta drive you home and then get to work."

You sit down at the table, picking up your fork and immediately digging into the eggs, "You're gonna drive me home?"

He seats himself across from you, watching you enjoy what he'd cooked with a fond smile, "Can't have you walkin' home in that tiny little thing, can I?" he says teasingly, "Your parents would wring my neck."

You groan, "Oh god, please don't even joke about that. If they knew..."

He just chuckles and starts to eat, looking up every now and then to give you one of those crinkly-eyed crooked smiles that makes you weak. You smile through mouthfuls of food and feel your skin alight every time you feel his gaze on you.

"I don't usually eat this fast, I promise," you say through a mouthful of bacon, covering your mouth, "It's only 'cause we're on a time crunch."

He shakes his head, still smiling, "You're so damn cute."

You try your hardest not to reach across the table and pull him toward you for a kiss.

The drive from his house to yours is extremely short, no less than two minutes. Still, you enjoy the short time you spend in his truck, his big hand spread out on your bare thigh while he hums along to a tune on the radio and gives you soft little sideways glances that makes your heart flutter. You can't help but feel like someone else when you're with him, someone more carefree and outgoing, happier and more experienced. It's only when you slowly near your house that you realize maybe this person is who you really are.

"Stop here," you tell Joel with a grimace, still a few houses away, "My parents are still home."

"How're you gonna get in?" he asks with an edge of concern to his voice, eyeing your house, "Think you can climb the fence?"

You bite your lip, "Probably. I've never done it before but I don't have much choice," you lean your head against the backrest in irritation, "God, why did I choose now to rebel? I coulda learned how to do all this shit when I was a kid if I hadn't been so obsessed with being perfect."

He gives you a sympathetic look, thumb stroking your thigh reassuringly, "I'll stay right here 'til you're inside."

You yearn to lean over the small space between you and kiss him, but you know there's always a risk of a neighbor coming out of their house and seeing you. Instead, you place your hand atop the one on your thigh and squeeze his fingers gently, giving him a small smile.

"I had a really nice night," you say quietly, unsure how exactly this kind of thing is done, "And morning."

"So did I, sweetheart," he replies, voice tender, "We'll do it again, promise."

With one final squeeze of his hand you slip out of his truck, tying your jacket around your waist to cover up your legs a bit. It leaves your upper half more exposed than you'd like, your eyes going wide when you realize how much cleavage this nightdress really shows.

"Here," Joel says, understanding your reaction immediately, "Wear this on top." Without giving you any time to protest he's unbuckling himself to undo his plaid button down, shirking it off his shoulders and handing it to you. It leaves him in a t-shirt and jeans, your eyes trailing to his strong arms without meaning to, the arms that had held you close all night.

"Thank you," you murmur, brow furrowing a bit, "You're sure?"

He smiles crookedly and buckles up again, "I'm sure, angel. You keep that."

Your heart flutters as you wrap his shirt around you, slipping your arms into the much too long sleeves and inhaling the scent of him - your new favorite smell - surrounding you. You're never getting rid of this. Ever.

With a wave you hurry down the sidewalk, feeling slightly ridiculous in your layered and baggy outfit but relieved that you're covered up. You eye the tall white fence of your backyard, trying to formulate a plan in your head as you go. Hop the fence, get a ladder from the tool shed and climb up to your bedroom? But did you even leave your window open? You can't help but feel rage in your chest for your parents rules, the curfew, all the nonsense you've been living with for your entire life. Why the fuck don't you have a fucking key to your own fucking house?

You can feel Joel's eyes on you when you reach the fence, still sitting in his truck a few houses down.

Please, God, you think to yourself as you slip one of your sneakers in between the fence posts and yank yourself up, I know I've sinned. I know I'm a mess. And I'm not even sure I really believe in you anymore. But please, if you're there, don't let me make a fool of myself in front of Joel Miller.

Surprisingly, your prayer seems to work. Climbing up the fence is relatively easy; you keep an eye out for your neighbors as you quickly pull yourself over and flop down on the other side, extremely grateful that neither your jacket nor Joel's shirt gets caught on anything. You hurry to the tool shed, eyeing your bedroom window as you go and feeling beyond relieved when you see that it's wide open; God bless Texan summers.

You decide to wait inside the tool shed until your parents are gone, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself with the ladder. You close the door behind you and sink to the concrete floor, heart pounding in your chest as the reality of what you've just done overwhelms you.

You snuck out to see a man. You slept in his bed. He drove you home so you could sneak back in.

Quiet laughter fills the tool shed, all coming from your own mouth. You grin to yourself and shake your head in the darkness, leaning back against the door and closing your eyes. Who are you? Who is this new person you've become? You don't know, but you love her.

You find yourself pulling your phone out of your jacket pocket and typing out a new message, but this time it's not to Joel - it's to your friends from college:

i think i'm officially a bad girl.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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