#and stepdad to one

[krotiation]

I love how you draw bl3 Rhys. He gives awkward dad vibes in the best way

SJDHSJ THANK YOU he IS an awkward dad of 3 😌 they're all robots but still

[joelsrose]

Feels Right (Part 3)

part 1, part 2

warnings: stepdad!joel, public groping??, small injury, fingering, oral, major daddy kink (duh), dirty-talk, lowkey baby-talk??, basically filth so pls read with caution!!! just to clarify reader is in her mid 20's!!

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Beach day, as your mother so wisely declared at the dinner table the night before, came wrapped in wine-hazy excitement and that saccharine domestic enthusiasm she always mustered after two glasses of pinot, her voice laced with forced cheer as she reached across the table and placed her hand delicately on Joel’s forearm—his forearm, the same one you’d clung to hours earlier while he had his face buried between your thighs, moaning into your pussy like it was his goddamn religion.

“Oh, won’t it be nice, Joel?” she said, her voice all flutter and warmth, fingers trailing up toward his elbow in a way that made your stomach twist. “The sun’ll be shining. I’ll make those sandwiches—the ones you like, with the mustard and the little pickles.” She laughed, soft and dreamy, like it was a memory she was already holding, like this was something normal, something sweet. “How’s that sound, honey?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His beer bottle was resting in his hand, his thumb slowly dragging condensation down the side as his eyes shifted, casually, toward you. Not her. Not the lasagna. You.

Your gaze was fixed on your plate—on the half-eaten mess of dinner you could barely force down.

“Sweetheart?” Joel said, the word rolling off his tongue with that easy, Southern lilt that always managed to destroy you. “What d’ya say?”

You looked up slowly, lashes heavy, eyes glassy, heat blooming behind your cheeks as your gaze met his—those old, kind, tired eyes that had watched you break apart in his lap, that had looked through you when he said, "You were made to ride this face, baby."

“The beach?” you echoed, voice low, dazed, barely holding onto the thread of the conversation as the edges of the room seemed to blur, your fingers absently tracing the condensation on your glass while your mind remained hopelessly tangled in the afternoon—in the weight of his hands pinning you down, the grind of his tongue, the growl he made when you sobbed his name, the way he licked you like he was starving and you were his final, favorite meal.

You still felt the ache between your thighs, the ghost of his stubble scraping your skin, and now he wanted to talk about the beach?

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, not looking at your mother, not even pretending anymore, his gaze resting steady on you as he leaned back in his chair, his voice wrapped in quiet suggestion, laced with amusement, “sounds nice. Get ya outta the house for a bit.”

“Yeah, she needs that,” your mother added quickly, too quickly, her tone light but laced with that quiet edge she always carried when she was trying not to sound critical—which only made it worse. She didn’t mean anything by it, not really, but it still landed sharp and familiar, that gentle, backhanded concern. “You’ve been moping around here all week, sweetheart.”

You blinked once, twice, lashes fluttering slow as you sat straighter in your seat, forcing a breath in through your nose as your face flushed—not from her words, but from the way Joel was still watching you, eyes dark and steady like he knew you were reliving every second of earlier, like he wanted you to.

“Okay,” you murmured, sighing softly as you picked up your fork again, your appetite still gone, your mind still far, far away. “Sure.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

It was the perfect day for the beach—blue sky stretching wide and endless, the sunlight dripping gold over everything, the breeze warm but not cruel, salt-sweet and tousling your hair just enough to feel cinematic. Your mom had been right, as she often was about these sorts of things, and the part of you that wasn’t still emotionally limping from being eaten out like a dying prayer wanted to admit it—it was nice. You’d followed behind her and Joel as they made their way across the sand, your mother in a one-piece that had far too much cleavage for someone her age, the floral pattern pulling at all the wrong places, her voice chipper as she talked about beach towels and SPF while Joel walked beside her like he hadn’t had his mouth on your pussy twenty-four hours ago.

He carried everything with ease—cooler in one hand, umbrella under the other arm, your mom’s tote bag slung over his shoulder without complaint—and his white T-shirt clung to his back, sweat already blooming down the spine, catching where the fabric stuck and making your mouth dry. His hair moved with the wind, ruffled and wild, and you watched him in silence, that tight, hot ache returning low in your belly like muscle memory, like your body was already bracing for what it knew he could do to you.

“Alright,” your mom sighed contentedly, settling into one of the beach chairs with a groan, adjusting her sunglasses and cracking open a can of something too pink to be water. “This is heaven.”

You nodded absently, but your eyes never left Joel as he dropped the cooler beside her and then turned to face the water, squinting toward the waves with one hand shading his brow, the wind pressing his shirt tight against his chest, revealing the outline of his shoulders, his arms, the slope of his stomach, the veins in his forearms that made you dizzy.

And maybe it was the heat, or the breeze, or the fact that you were already damp between your thighs before you'd even sat down—but when he looked over his shoulder, found you watching, and gave you that crooked, knowing smirk, something in you clenched tight, sharp and secret.

Because this beach trip wasn’t going to be innocent.

He wasn’t going to let it be.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Your mother had, of course, run into someone she knew—and was now standing further down the beach, arms animated, laughing too loud in that slightly performative way she always did when she wanted to be remembered fondly.

You could hear the hum of her voice over the breeze, a social little echo floating back toward where you lay on your towel, eyes closed, limbs stretched out, the sun making your skin feel warm and weightless. Joel sat beside you, quiet and still, sipping slowly from a bottle of water, his sunglasses low on his nose as he watched you like he wasn’t watching you at all.

“You need more sunscreen, baby,” he murmured suddenly, the words soft but firm, his voice curling low against the sound of the waves, thumb pressing gently into your arm as if testing the skin, watching it pale and bloom beneath the pressure. “You’re burnin’.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, voice loose and airy, caught in a mix of sun-induced haze and the deeper, headier daze that always settled over you when he was near, when his words brushed your skin like fingers and his hands always lingered a second too long.

Joel didn’t move. He didn’t laugh or tease or tug the corner of his mouth like he sometimes did. He just leaned down, voice dropping half an octave as he said, almost sweetly, “Not takin’ no for an answer. You know it’s my job to take care of you.”

And maybe it was the way he said it—my job—like he was your stepfather in a legal sense but your keeper in every other one, like it was ordained, like he’d earned the right to touch you, protect you, own you. Maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when you felt him shift beside you, the rustle of his fingers near your spine, the soft pull of a knot being loosened.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to feel the strings of your bikini top slip free—a gentle unraveling—and you gasped, sitting up halfway in alarm, your hand reaching to grab his forearm, sun-warmed and solid under your grip. “Joel!” you hissed, panic fluttering through your chest like birds in a cage.

He turned his head toward you, completely unbothered, eyes shaded behind his lenses, his hand still resting at the small of your back as he gave the faintest shrug.

“What?” he said, voice calm, patient, the corner of his mouth twitching just a little as he leaned in closer. “Gotta get this skin too. Can’t have you burnin’ where daddy likes to put his mouth.”

And then he smiled—so soft, so normal, like it wasn’t a filthy declaration disguised as fatherly concern, like he hadn’t just said it where anyone could hear if they wandered too close.

But you didn’t push his hand away. You didn’t retie the top. You laid back down, heart pounding, because you knew he wasn’t going to stop. And worse—you didn’t want him to.

He looked back once—just once—to make sure your mother was still deep in conversation down the beach, her laugh echoing faintly over the crash of the waves, too far to see, too far to hear, too far to save you from what he was about to do.

Then, with one hand braced beside your hip, Joel reached down, hooked two fingers beneath the loosened edge of your bikini top, and tugged it down, slow and shameless, until your breasts spilled free into the warm afternoon sun, the tan line stark and humiliating as it revealed just how much skin he was claiming as his.

You gasped—a sharp, startled sound—and tried to squirm away, but he was already reaching for the sunscreen bottle, uncapping it with one practiced flick of his thumb, eyes dark and hungry behind the shield of his sunglasses. You opened your mouth to protest, to say anything, but then he squirted a long line of cold lotion across your chest, thick and slick, and the only thing that came out of you was a whimper.

“Relax, sugar,” Joel murmured, rubbing his palms together once before settling them firmly on your bare chest, his fingers spreading wide as he began to massage the lotion into your skin in slow, maddening circles—thumbs sweeping over your nipples with no shame, no pause, no mercy. “Can’t have these pretty little tits gettin’ all pink and tender, now can we?”

You squirmed under his touch, your legs shifting uselessly against the towel, breath hitching with every slow, possessive glide of his fingers. He wasn’t just covering you—he was claiming you, kneading your breasts with a reverence that bordered on obscene, his hands both soothing and filthy, gentle and cruel in how they refused to stop.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, giving one breast a firm squeeze before his fingers circled the nipple and pinched, just hard enough to make your hips jerk. “I swear to God, baby, these’re the sweetest damn handfuls I ever touched. You know that? You got yourself the perfect pair of peaches, don’t you?”

You whined, cheeks flushed, back arching off the towel as his hands worked over your chest like he was trying to ruin you out here, in public, in daylight, with your mother one scream away.

“What’s that?” Joel teased, his voice low and syrup-smooth as he leaned closer, rubbing a little harder now, fingers tweaking and tugging as he spoke. “You squirmin’ ‘cause you like it? Huh, babygirl? You gettin’ all hot when daddy’s lotionin’ up his favorite girls?”

You made a choked sound—part gasp, part sob—as his fingers rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand sliding down to cup the underside of your tit with a groan.

“Shit, look at these,” he breathed. “Fit in my hands like they were made for me. God made these just for daddy, didn’t He? Little sun-kissed clouds, just beggin’ to be licked clean.”

You tried to pull the towel up—tried to hide—but he caught your wrist, gently, easily, and pressed it back down.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, shaking his head as he leaned down to press a slow, filthy kiss just above your nipple, barely resisting the urge to suck it into his mouth. “You’re gonna lay right here and let me take care of you, sunshine. Just like a good girl should.”

“Joel,” you whispered, voice tight and breathless, your hand clutched the edge of the towel like it could somehow shield you from what was happening—what had already happened, your bikini top still askew, your chest still flushed from his touch. “Anyone could see.”

“Yeah,” he murmured without looking away from you, voice low and casual, like he was talking about the weather, not the fact that he’d just been massaging sunscreen into your tits like they were his personal stress balls. “But you’re not gonna stop me, are you?”

And you weren’t. God help you—you weren’t. You stayed perfectly still, chest heaving under the warm air, your nipples still stiff, skin hot and sticky, pulse thudding behind your knees like a warning bell you’d long since chosen to ignore.

Then, as if time had always been on his side, like he lived for precision and sin, Joel tugged your bikini top back up, slow and measured, his thumb grazing the swell of your breast one last time before tying it tight, securing you like a secret he wasn’t done keeping. He reached for the sunscreen bottle with one hand, rubbed some over his shoulders like nothing had happened at all—just as your mother’s voice rang out behind you, louder than it needed to be, sharp and familiar.

“Oh my God,” she huffed, flopping back into her beach chair, sunglasses perched crookedly atop her head. “Susan talks for hours, I swear. We were only supposed to catch up.” She glanced at Joel, already slick and golden under the sun. “Joel, darlin’, can you get my back with some of that?”

“’Course, honey,” he said easily, his drawl thick and utterly unbothered, already rising to his feet and shaking the bottle in his hand as if he hadn’t just buried his hands in your tits like they were property. You watched him step behind her, the way his hands hovered just above her skin, the same hands that had squeezed you raw, his mouth now a straight line, his eyes flicking to yours like he knew.

You stood, quickly, too quickly. “I’m going in the water,” you muttered, your voice tight, brittle with something that hurt more than it should have.

Your mother turned just slightly, not even glancing up. “Alright,” she said lightly, tipping her head forward so Joel could rub the sunscreen across her shoulders. “Don’t be goin’ too far now.”

You nodded, throat dry, trying not to let the jealousy show in your walk—even though your chest was tight and your eyes burned, even though your skin still tingled from where his fingers had worked you over like you were something soft and sacred.

You moved across the hot sand without looking back, feet sinking into the grains, your hair sticking to your shoulders, your bikini clinging in all the wrong places—and you refused to imagine Joel's hands now on her, rubbing that same lotion into her back with that easy, practiced calm he used on everything.

But behind you, Joel’s gaze never left you. He watched the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass peeking out from your too-small bikini bottoms, his eyes catching on the line where the sun kissed skin he hadn’t touched yet—and he sighed, low and quiet to himself, like he genuinely regretted not rubbing sunscreen there too.

“Damn fool,” he thought. “She’s gonna burn. Shoulda done her thighs, her hips—’specially that sweet little ass. Gonna be red as a tomato come sundown.”

There was a flicker of genuine concern there, buried under the lust—a deranged, backward, unholy sort of protectiveness that made his jaw clench and his chest feel tight, the way only someone truly fucked in the head would feel about a girl he’d just groped under a towel while her mother passed out wine coolers ten feet away.

Your mother sighed dramatically from her chair, pulling her sunglasses down enough to squint after you, her tone casual but edged with disapproval. “Don’t you think that swimsuit’s a little small for her?” she muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for Joel to hear as she passed him the bottle again.

Joel’s fingers squeezed around it just a little tighter, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say anything at first.

Because all he could think about was how that “too-small” swimsuit had fit like a dream under his palms, how good it would look bunched at your waist, how your ass would arch into his hand the second he slid it down just enough to see the line where tan met pale.

He rubbed the sunscreen over her shoulder slowly, his eyes still lingering on the water, on you. And then—softly, just low enough to pass—he said, “Fits her just fine, if you ask me.”

Your mother sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale she always made when she wanted to seem wise and exhausted all at once, the sunscreen cool beneath Joel’s palm as she shook her head. “Girls these days,” she muttered, adjusting her sunglasses, eyes still squinting out at the water. “Seriously… all of them trying to look grown before they’ve even figured out who they are. It’s all ass and attitude now. No mystery anymore.”

She took a sip from her drink, ice clinking lazily against the glass, oblivious to the way Joel’s jaw ticked ever so slightly, his hand stilling just above her shoulder blade.

He could’ve said a lot of things—wanted to, maybe. Wanted to tell her that mystery had nothing to do with the way her daughter had tasted on his tongue, or how she cried so sweetly when she came, how she whimpered his name like a secret she didn’t know how to keep.

But instead, Joel just hummed under his breath and smoothed the lotion into her skin, his fingers moving slow, absent, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Because it was. It was on the water, on the shimmer of your wet shoulders, the line of your back, the way your thighs parted just a little when you dove under.

It was on your ass, now almost certainly burning, and how he’d make it up to you later—with cool lotion and warm hands and maybe his mouth, whispering, “Told you I shoulda covered it, babygirl. Let daddy take care of it now.”

Your mom was still talking, but Joel wasn’t listening.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

The rest of the day passed in a blur of saltwater and avoidance, the hours stretching long and golden as you spent most of them waist-deep in the ocean, drifting in and out of waves and thoughts, letting the sea do what Joel always did—pull you under, leave you breathless, then spit you out dazed and aching for more.

You swam until your legs burned and your fingers wrinkled, not daring to look back at shore, not wanting to see if he was watching—because you knew he was. You felt it, even with your eyes closed.

That heat across your back? That wasn't the sun.

When your mother finally called you back in, her arms waving dramatically like she was signaling a coast guard rescue, Joel was already back on shore, slipping his shirt over those broad, sun-warmed shoulders, muscles flexing as he folded towels and collapsed chairs like it was just another Sunday and not the aftermath of his hands on your bare chest, your bikini still damp with sunscreen and sin.

“Seriously, girl,” your mom huffed when you got closer, planting her hands on her hips like she was about to scold you for surviving the ocean. “I thought you’d drifted off to sea.”

You didn’t answer. Just reached for your towel, drying your legs in silence, your fingers moving too fast, too tight, then yanked your cover-up over your head in one quick motion—not looking at Joel, not even glancing, like that might undo the tiny shred of control you had left.

Your mother led the walk back toward the car, already rattling off half-finished thoughts about dinner, talking to herself as she always did. “Did I take the chicken out to thaw? I meant to take it out. Maybe we’ll do pasta—unless Joel wants steak. Do we have wine? God, I think we’re out of garlic…”

Joel drifted to your side with practiced ease, his steps in sync with yours, hands full of folded chairs, cooler dragging behind him in the sand, and yet his attention was all on you.

“How was the water?” he asked, his voice low, casual, almost innocent—but it made your stomach flip anyway.

“Fine,” you murmured, not turning to look, eyes fixed straight ahead, the sun catching on your lashes.

There was a pause. Long enough to feel it. Long enough to ache.

“You mad at me?” Joel asked softly, and it wasn’t teasing this time. It was gentle, the kind of quiet drawl that made you feel like the bad guy for trying to be mad at him.

You said nothing at first, your chest tightening with something unspoken. And then—barely audible, more breath than voice—you whispered, “You touched her.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and glanced over at you, his voice dropping even lower, that familiar edge sliding in like a knife wrapped in velvet.

“Didn’t touch her like I touched you,” he said. “Don’t wanna touch her like I touch you.”

You clenched your jaw, throat thick, the sound of your mother still talking ahead of you—so close, so clueless.

Joel leaned just a little closer, walking slower now, his voice thick with promise, with hunger, with possession.

“You think I’m thinkin’ about her when I’ve still got your taste in my fuckin’ beard?” he murmured. “You think I’m gonna kiss her goodnight when my mouth still remembers how you sound when you cum?”

You stopped walking.

He didn’t.

He just smirked. And kept going. Like he knew you’d follow.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

You weren’t sure if it was because you’d been too in your head—still aching from Joel’s touch, still jealous, still clenching around the memory of his mouth on you—or if it was just your cheap-ass flip-flops finally giving up mid-stride, but one second you were walking behind your mother, and the next you were on the ground, palms scraped, ankle screaming, and breath lodged somewhere deep in your chest as the pain bloomed like fire.

Tears stung your eyes before you even realized they’d fallen, and then Joel was there—already crouched beside you, his big hands moving so gently, so carefully, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with worry, low and sugar-sweet, like he’d slipped fully into some deranged domestic caretaker mode. “You took a tumble, huh? My poor lil thing—can’t leave you alone a minute without somethin’ happenin’, can I?”

Your mother had kept walking ahead, halfway to the car by now, muttering about dinner and traffic —until Joel raised his voice just enough to cut through the air like a clean tear.

“Hey—stop a second!”

Your mom turned, gasping the moment she saw you on the ground, “Oh sweetheart!” she clucked, quickening her pace and hurrying over, placing a hand on her chest like she was genuinely startled. She crouched for barely a moment beside you, her eyes flicking to your ankle, her mouth opening like she might say something maternal—

But then her phone rang.

She looked at the screen. Her eyes lit up. “Oh—I gotta take this,” she said, already turning on her heel, her sandals crunching in the sand. “It’s the real estate agent—I’ve been waiting for this call all day.”

You blinked up at her, speechless, lips parted, watching her walk away, phone to her ear, already giggling as she answered.

Joel’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his palm warm, grounding, the pads of his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles.

You looked up at him, still stunned. “She—she just left?”

Joel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t comment. He just stroked your hair, and said, soft, “You’re alright now, honey. I got you.” Then, after a moment, he leaned down, voice darker now, slower, like he’d flipped into full protector-mode. “Gonna have to take you to the ER, I think. Can’t let somethin’ this pretty limp around. Gotta make sure nothin’ nasty’s happened in there.”

He looked at your ankle again, gently pressing, watching the way you winced, his brows furrowed with concern that felt real, not like hers—his voice slipping into that quiet, dangerously sweet place.

“’M gonna carry you, alright? Gonna hold you real careful. Daddy’s not gonna let anyone else touch you till we get it looked at.”

Joel lifted you up with an ease that made you feel smaller than you were—soft, breakable, like something he was born to carry—and your arms draped helplessly around his neck, the side of your face pressing into the warm curve between his jaw and shoulder. One of his arms cradled beneath your thighs, the other braced firm along your back, hand spread wide across the space just above your ass like a claim he wasn’t bothering to hide. His scent wrapped around you—salt, sunscreen, sweat, him—and for a moment, the pain in your ankle dulled beneath the thudding heat in your chest.

He started walking toward the car, his pace slow, steady, almost intentional, every step like a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere without him now.

Your mother had just finished her call, still standing a few feet away, sunglasses propped in her hair, voice light and airy as she turned to see the two of you.

She laughed—actually laughed—like the whole thing was a joke. “Oh come on,” she said with a shake of her head, waving her hand like it was all theatrics. “Don’t you think this is a bit dramatic now?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your face deeper into Joel’s neck, burying your flushed cheeks against the warmth of his skin as his hand tightened slightly at your back. You felt the low rumble of his voice before he even spoke, his words aimed at her but meant for you.

“She’s hurt,” he said, calm but clipped, voice lined with something steel-rough. “I’m takin’ care of it.”

That made her blink—just for a second, just enough to register that Joel’s tone wasn’t playful—but then she waved it off with a breathy laugh, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her cheek as she shrugged. “Alright, alright. Doctor Joel to the rescue, I suppose.”

Joel didn’t humor the joke. His jaw stayed tight, his arms still curled around you like a cradle, one hand braced under your thighs, the other steady at your spine. You felt the soft puff of his exhale against your temple as he adjusted his grip—not because you were heavy, but because he could, because you were so light in his arms, feather-soft, warm, clinging to his neck like some fragile thing he’d found washed up on shore. It made something deep and ancient flicker behind his eyes. Something protective. Something possessive.

“Gotta take her to the ER,” he said simply, voice low and even, but laced with enough quiet command that it didn’t leave room for argument.

Your mother sighed, like this was all happening to her, like your injury was a disruption to her neatly scheduled afternoon. “Shit,” she muttered, patting the back of her neck distractedly. “Well, I’ve got to meet with the real estate guy in twenty minutes. He just said that If I don’t show, I lose the slot.”

“You gotta do that now?” he asked, not rude, but pointed—his tone lined with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite fathom that she was standing there debating appointments while her daughter was curled up against him in pain.

She scoffed, waving a hand toward her tote bag. “Come on, Joel,” she said, like he was being unreasonable. “You know how busy he is. He’s squeezing me in between showings. I’ve been trying to land this place for weeks.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just sighed through his nose, slow and steady, and adjusted you in his arms again, pressing you a little closer to his chest—not because you needed it, but because he did. The movement was gentle, but full of intention.

“Well, I gotta take the car,” he said at last, nodding toward the passenger side, then down at you, his gaze flicking to your face, softening for just a moment. Like a reminder. Like a pointed fact. Your daughter is hurt, that look said. And I’m the only one doing a damn thing about it.

Your mother made a face—tight, annoyed—but didn’t argue. She dug into her purse, pulled out her keys, and dropped them into Joel’s waiting palm with a dramatic huff. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take an Uber.”

Joel didn’t thank her. Didn’t smile. He just turned toward the car, carrying you like something precious, already opening the door with one hand while keeping the other snug around your waist.

And you? You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to.

Because the only thing louder than your heartbeat was the quiet way Joel muttered, “Daddy’s got you now.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Joel helped you limp into the emergency room, only because you’d begged him not to carry you in bridal-style like you were five years old—or worse, like you were his five-year-old—and even then, he held your waist with one strong arm and your hand in the other, moving slow and steady beside you like he was afraid the wind might knock you over. Every few steps he’d glance down at you, brows furrowed with soft concern, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he murmured, “You alright, babygirl? Just lean on me. I got you.”

The waiting room was cold and too bright, the kind of sterile chill that seeped under your skin and made you shiver despite the warmth of the sun still clinging to your shoulders. Joel sat beside you, legs spread wide, one arm draped along the back of your chair, the other hand never leaving yours.

He held it like it was instinct, like the act of not touching you didn’t even register as an option. And you leaned into his side more than you meant to, your body aching, ankle throbbing, but comforted by the solid weight of him, the quiet way he kept his thumb moving over your pulse as if he could calm your whole nervous system with one simple motion.

When your name was finally called, Joel stood with you, guided you gently through the halls, and stayed just outside the room while they took your x-rays, pacing slowly like he couldn't quite relax without seeing you. The doctor, a kind-eyed woman who clearly saw through your brave face, told you it was nothing more than a bad sprain. A deep one, sure, but no fracture.

Back in the parking lot, warm dusk bleeding into the sky, you expected him to open the passenger door like always—maybe even buckle your seatbelt for you, like he’d done once after a grocery run—but instead, Joel rounded the car and opened the back door, his silhouette blocking the streetlight, gaze unreadable as he motioned with his chin.

You frowned, brow pinched in confusion as you hobbled toward the open door, your hand braced against the frame for balance. “Why the back?” you asked, your voice soft, suspicious, because Joel never did anything without a reason.

He looked at you with that same calm, steady warmth he always wore when he was about to say something that sounded harmless but meant everything else. His voice was low, rough from the sun and the sea and hours of silence he’d filled with tension you couldn’t name. “Just wanna sit with my girl for a bit,” he murmured, eyes dark and so soft it made your breath catch, “before we go home. That alright?”

Your heart twisted, the ache in your ankle somehow duller than the one that bloomed in your chest as you nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

Joel helped you up like you weighed nothing, one hand on your lower back, the other guiding your knee as you settled onto the wide backseat, the leather still warm from the heat of the day. The door shut with a soft thunk, and then he slid in beside you, stretching out long and loose, the car suddenly too quiet, the air thick with something heavier than heat.

Once you were down, reclined with your injured foot resting in his lap, he was all hands again—soothing, searching—palming your thigh with gentle sweeps of his broad hands, thumb brushing idle circles into your skin like he could erase the pain just by touching you. His voice was a murmur as he looked over your legs, the sun casting golden light over every inch of you.

“You feelin’ okay, baby?” he asked, eyes on your face even as his fingers trailed higher, just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Ankle’s not throbbin’ too bad, is it?”

You looked away, face warm, trying not to focus on the weight of his hand or the way his thumb dipped just slightly into the crease where your thigh met your hip. “It’s okay,” you breathed, almost shy. “The meds the doctor gave me helped.”

“Good,” he hummed, nodding slowly, the sound low and satisfied like he wanted you soft and drowsy, pliant in his lap, like he liked that you were dazed and dependent. His gaze roamed down the length of your legs again, his palm dragging slowly back up over your thigh, not quite teasing—not yet—but definitely lingering.

You hadn’t meant to say anything, hadn’t meant to let it spill out, but it was there before you could stop it, your voice cracking in the middle like a fault line splitting wide open.

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t come,” you whispered, eyes still on the window, watching the gold of the evening smear across the glass. “It’s like… it’s like she doesn’t even care.”

Beside you, Joel’s entire body stilled. His face dropped—not angry, not cold, but something else, something wounded on your behalf, like he felt it, too. Like it hurt him to see you hurt. He shifted closer without hesitation, his hand finding yours instantly, big and warm, calloused fingers curling around your trembling ones as he lifted them to his mouth and pressed slow, deliberate kisses over each knuckle, one after the other, like they were sacred, like you were.

“Awh, angel,” he murmured, voice soft and syrup-sweet, his breath brushing your skin with every kiss. “She just don’t get it, does she?”

You blinked fast, lashes damp, and a few tears slipped down your cheek—quiet, ashamed, like you didn’t want him to see. But he did. Of course he did. Joel always saw. Always knew.

“She thinks you’re all grown up,” he murmured, shifting closer, tucking your hand between both of his now, holding it against his chest like something breakable. “Thinks you don’t need nobody anymore. Doesn’t realise you still need takin’ care of.” He leaned in then, his voice softening to a coo, all low drawl and velvet comfort, and it cracked something open in you even more. “That’s why I’m here, hmm? That’s why daddy’s gotta take care of his girl.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and soothing, like he was tracing the sadness right out of your skin.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re safe. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re held, even when you don’t say it out loud. I see you, baby. Even when she don’t.”

And he meant it—you could feel that he meant it, every word weighted with something bigger than comfort, something deeper than lust. It was devotion, twisted and wrong and perfect in the way only he could make it feel.

So when he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there a little too long, you didn’t pull away.

You sniffled, trying to wipe your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, but Joel was already there—his hand catching yours, stopping you, his thumb swiping that little tear before it could fall. And then his nose was brushing against yours, soft and slow, testing you, teasing, like he wanted to see just how much you’d let him get away with while your heart was still raw. His breath mingled with yours, warm and thick in the quiet of the car, and you could feel him watching your lips, feel the tension stringing tighter and tighter between your bodies.

“Let daddy kiss it better,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, dipped in sweetness but heavy with something else—something darker, something that made your belly twist.

And then he kissed you.

His mouth was soft but sure, warm and deep and claiming, his big hand coming up to cup your jaw like he couldn’t bear the thought of not touching you everywhere at once. He kissed you like he was trying to take something from you—your sadness, your breath, your name. The moment your lips parted, he groaned softly into your mouth and tilted your head with the pads of his fingers like you were his, like this was something earned, something long overdue.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far—just leaned back enough to look down at you, eyes hooded and full of something filthy and so loving it made you shiver.

“Aww, there’s my babygirl,” he cooed, voice dripping with praise and baby-talk so tender it made your eyes sting all over again. “M’sweet lil angel, all sad and bruised up. Poor thing. Want daddy to make you forget all about it? Hmm?” His hand was already moving, already dragging down the waistband of your shorts, his thumb dipping beneath the hem like he owned the right to touch you there. “Forget all about your mama and that achey lil ankle?”

You whimpered, breath catching, but he didn’t wait—he didn’t need your answer.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers slipped lower, cupping you through your bikini with the softest pressure that made your hips twitch. “Daddy knows what his baby needs. Gotta take care of this precious pussy, don’t I? Gotta get her smilin’ again.”

You gasped as his fingers pressed down, slow and warm, teasing you through the fabric, and he groaned, like he could feel it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue thick and low, laced with something filthy but still reverent, like your body was a prayer he’d been saying for years and only just now got permission to answer. His gaze dropped between your legs, lingering with that signature mix of awe and ownership, and then he smiled—slow, crooked, warm in a way that made your toes curl even as your ankle throbbed.

“Alright, my sweet lil sugarplum,” he breathed, slipping into that Southern, old-man cadence like it was second nature, like he’d earned the right to call you names no one else ever had. “Just lay back now and let ol’ daddy take care of it, hmm? You don’t gotta do a thing but be soft for me. Let me spoil you a little.”

You blinked up at him, your lashes still damp, heart beating too fast in your chest, and you didn’t protest—not when his hands found the waistband of your shorts, not when he looked up at you for just a second to make sure you were still with him, still his—before tugging them down in one smooth, unhurried motion. You gasped softly, hips lifting instinctively, your thighs parting just enough to let him work them off with ease.

He made a low, pleased sound in his chest as your bikini bottoms came with them, both pieces sliding down your legs with a whisper of friction, leaving your skin bare and glistening in the dim car light, and he tossed them—your little pink bikini and cutoffs landing in a forgotten pile on the floor of the back seat, like they were nothing more than a wrapper he was done with.

He spread your legs as far as the cramped space would allow, slow and mindful, careful not to jostle your injured ankle, one hand bracing behind your knee while the other gently adjusted the angle of your leg with a tenderness that made your throat go tight.

His touch was reverent, almost clinical—almost—but laced with something darker, something so deeply possessive it made your skin burn. And the moment your thighs opened for him, the moment your cunt was bared and glistening and aching in the thick silence of the car, Joel exhaled slow and low, like the sight of you undone between the seats had physically knocked the air from his lungs.

“Aww, honey,” he cooed, leaning in close, his voice syrup-slow and soaked in that Southern drawl that always melted your brain to static. His hand moved down to stroke your trembling inner thigh, rubbing lazy, soothing circles with his thumb. “You’ve had a day, haven’t you, babygirl?”

You whimpered in response, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering half-shut as the pain in your ankle throbbed beneath the weight of his words, mixing with the other ache—the one that pulsed low and hot in your belly, the one only he could touch.

“Got all hurt,” Joel murmured, thumb dragging dangerously close to the place you needed him most, his voice soft as cotton, laced with real concern even as his fingers teased at your slick. “Been sittin’ in this all day, huh? Soakin’ your little bikini, just achin’ for someone to notice. Bet that pussy’s been beggin’ for me since we left the beach, huh? Poor thing—so sweet and needy, all swollen and sad and nobody takin’ care of her.”

You let out a high, helpless sound, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling for something to hold on to—his wrist, the seatbelt, your own sanity—but Joel just hushed you with a kiss to your knee, so tender it made you shake.

“Ssh, now,” he whispered, pressing the pad of his thumb flat over your clit, rubbing slow and steady, careful not to overwhelm, careful not to make you cry more than you already had. “Daddy’s here now. Gonna take real good care of you, sugar. Gonna make that ache disappear till all you can feel is me.”

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about this pretty little thing,” Joel murmured, voice thick with want as he used two fingers to spread you open, slow and reverent, dragging them through your folds with a groan so low it sounded like it had been buried in his chest all day, just waiting to escape. His touch was so gentle, so deliberate, like he was worried you might break again—but that didn’t stop him from slipping those same fingers down, coating them in your slick like he needed proof of how wet you were for him. “Been drivin’ me crazy, sugar. Tasted so fuckin’ sweet, babygirl. Like somethin’ made special, just for me.”

You whimpered, back arching slightly, the pain in your ankle still pulsing but overwhelmed now by the rush of heat flooding through you at the way he looked at you—like he worshipped the sight of you undone. Your lips parted, your voice barely above a whisper as you breathed, “Please…”

Joel paused—just for a heartbeat, just long enough to look at you, and when he did, his eyes softened even more, crinkling at the corners with something warm and dangerous, something that felt like love and tasted like sin.

“Aww, baby,” he chuckled, the sound low and fond, like you’d just said something adorable, like he wasn’t about to put his mouth on you and eat you until you forgot your own name. “You sound so damn cute when you beg. So sweet when you ask nice.”

He leaned down then, lips ghosting over your inner thigh as his hands spread your legs again—still careful of your ankle, always careful, but wide enough for him to settle between them, big palms sliding under your thighs to hook them just right. And then he was there again, tongue warm and wet and so slow as he licked a long, lazy stripe up your pussy, groaning like it hurt to be away from you even for a second.

“Gonna take my time this time, baby,” he mumbled against your cunt, already lapping at you like a man possessed. “Wanna make sure you forget all about that hurt little ankle, all about that mama who walked away, all about anything but this tongue right here.”

And you did—because the moment his mouth sealed over your clit, all you could do was sob and grip the edge of the seat, your body trembling under the weight of his mouth and his words, every broken moan swallowed whole between the filthy praise he kept murmuring into your skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let daddy make it all better.”

Joel groaned into you like he was starving—like the smell of you, the taste of you, the feel of your thighs trembling against his cheeks had sunk into his bloodstream like a drug he couldn’t quit.

His tongue moved with greedy reverence, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, filthier, until you were clutching at his hair with both hands, your hips twitching despite the ache in your ankle, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. He didn’t just eat you—he worshipped you, groaning like he was drunk off your slick, like your pussy was his favorite fucking flavor, like he was proud to be messy for you.

You were already shaking when he finally pulled back, chin soaked, lips slick and pink and shining in the dim car light. His eyes met yours as he sat back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, that smirk of his softened by something that looked dangerously close to affection.

“Aww, look atcha,” he murmured, voice like warm syrup, full of baby-talk and filthy promise. “M’poor baby, all wet and cryin’ for me. She’s so sensitive today, ain’t she? So fuckin’ sweet I could stay down there all night.”

You whimpered, legs spread and shaking, chest heaving, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he leaned in close again, kissing the inside of your thigh like a thank-you, like a promise, like a claim.

“Alright now,” he said softly, cooing the words as he ran his hand up your stomach, over your ribs, not stopping until he was cradling your cheek. “We gotta start openin’ you up, don’t we? Can’t just rush it, babydoll—gotta be gentle with this sweet lil’ cunt. She needs daddy’s help, huh?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He kissed your temple once, slow and soft, then looked down again, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers tracing your soaked folds with maddening patience. “You think you’re ready, baby?” he murmured, breath warm against your cheek. “Ready for Daddy to stretch this little pussy out real nice and slow?”

“Yes,” you gasped, already trembling. “Please, Joel—yes.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and then you felt it—just one finger, thick and warm, easing inside with devastating care. You gasped, hips jolting despite the ache in your ankle, the stretch already so much. It was only one, but he made it feel like everything—his knuckle brushing your entrance, his thumb circling your clit in soothing, lazy strokes.

“There she goes,” Joel murmured, eyes locked where he was buried in you. “Grippin’ me so tight, baby. Like this lil’ pussy doesn’t wanna let go.”

He worked the digit deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make you twitch, to make the ache bloom into something hotter. His thumb never stopped moving, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips, your thighs twitching under his grip.

“Gonna have to open you up real gentle,” he said, pressing kisses along your hip like he couldn’t help himself. “Gonna take my time, stretch you nice and wide for Daddy’s cock. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, breath hitching, and his expression softened—some of the tension in his jaw easing as his hand kept moving, steady and patient.

“Good,” he murmured. “My best girl.”

Joel watched your face, always your face, like every twitch of your brow and flicker of discomfort meant more to him than anything else in the world. He moved slow, careful—so careful—like you were something sacred he didn’t dare break.

And then he sighed, jaw flexing as he pushed in deeper, voice wrecked. “Fuck,” he breathed. “This sweet lil’ pussy—your mama could never squeeze me like this. Not even when she tried.”

The words hit like a slap and a kiss. Your eyes flew open, the heat of them searing through your gut, and Joel smiled—crooked, wicked, like he knew exactly what he’d done. Exactly how filthy you liked it.

“Think you can take another?” he asked, eyes dark, voice dipped in something soft and dangerous.

You hesitated, hips twitching toward him on instinct. You felt full already, stretched wide and aching—but the thought of him pushing deeper, of him needing more from you? You nodded.

“Y-Yes.”

Joel exhaled slow, like you’d given him oxygen, like your voice was the only thing keeping him grounded. “That’s my big girl,” he whispered. “So proud of you. Doin’ so good for Daddy.”

He kissed your thigh, hand spreading over your belly as he adjusted his grip. “Relax for me,” he coaxed. “Can’t rush a perfect little cunt like this.”

The second finger pushed in with careful pressure—hot, thick, overwhelming—and you cried out, legs trembling. The fullness stole your breath, your hands scrabbling against the seat for something to hold.

“There you go,” Joel murmured, voice velvet and honeyed sin. “That’s it. That’s my good, brave girl. Just like that. You let Daddy take care of you now, okay?”

He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just rocked his fingers the smallest bit, a shallow press that made your hips jerk and your jaw fall open. You whimpered, high and soft, your body trying to pull away even though every part of you wanted more.

And Joel? He just watched. Watched you fall apart with awe in his eyes and reverence in his hands.

He froze for half a beat, thumb stroking softly over your thigh, his eyes lifting to yours with that deep, furrowed concern that ached sharper than your ankle ever could.

“Hurts, baby?” he asked, voice low, tender, thick with so much care it made your eyes sting again.

“Yeah,” you breathed, cheeks burning, body clenching around him as your muscles fought the stretch, caught somewhere between craving and the overwhelming fullness of it.

“I know, babygirl,” he murmured, soothing, his fingers still warm and steady inside you. “You’re doin’ so good. Bein’ so brave.”

He kissed you again, higher this time, nuzzling the soft skin of your thigh before his voice dipped into that sweet, filthy lull that always made your body listen.

“Gotta get you used to it, angel,” he whispered, stroking his palm up your side, grounding you with his touch. “You feel full now? Just wait till Daddy’s cock is stretchin’ you wide on his lap, holdin’ you down while you whimper for more.”

You gasped, hips bucking on instinct, your breath stuttering as your body pulsed around him—and he felt it, knew exactly what that did to you.

“That’s why we gotta practice, huh?” he went on, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his fingers began to move again, slow and careful. “Don’t wanna hurt you when I’m finally deep in you. Want you soft, open, drippin’—just beggin’ for it.”

You whimpered, thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel just whispered, “Shhh,” against your skin, like even your cries made him ache. He didn’t rush. Didn’t thrust. Just coaxed your body to yield to him, fingers curling and stroking with reverent precision, as if you were something blooming beneath his hands and he was the only one patient enough to tend you.

And then his mouth was on you—lips brushing your clit like it was something sacred, something too tender to take without reverence. His tongue moved slow, unhurried, licking you open with gentle, wet strokes, suckling like he was tasting you for the first time. His eyes fluttered closed, breath warm between your thighs like this was where he belonged—here, face buried in your cunt, fingers buried inside you, lips drinking you in like prayer.

“J-Joel,” you gasped, voice breaking apart in your throat, hips jerking forward before you pulled away instinctively from the sharp heat of sensation. “It—it feels good.”

And God, the sound he made.

A soft, low groan, proud and aching, like your pleasure fed something inside him that had gone without for too long.

“Yeah, baby,” he said between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with warmth. “Knew it would. Knew you just needed some help, needed daddy to teach your sweet little body how to take it. You’re doin’ so good for me, angel.”

He curled his fingers just right, hitting the spot that made your mouth drop open in a silent cry, and then his tongue moved faster, lips closing tight around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you shake. His fingers followed suit, easing deeper, moving in slow, rhythmic pulses that made you feel like you were unraveling from the inside out.

“Mm, that’s it, sugar,” he mumbled, his voice muffled between your legs. “Let daddy have it. Let that tight little pussy give me what she’s been holdin’ all damn day.”

And in no time—no time at all—you came.

Hard. Shuddering. Messy.

You smiled—really smiled—lazy and blissed-out, the ache in your ankle now a distant hum compared to the throb still pulsing low in your belly, a warmth that spread through your limbs like honey in the sun. Your chest rose and fell in soft little waves, your lashes fluttering as you blinked up at him, dazed and glowing, lips kiss-bruised and parted. It was the kind of smile that came from deep inside you, the kind that didn’t just stretch across your face, but bloomed in your chest and soaked into your skin—soft, sated, safe.

Joel smiled right back, and fuck, it did something to you—the way his whole face changed, the way his rough edges softened as he looked at you like you’d hung the goddamn moon. He moved up your body slow and sweet, kissing his way along your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast, until he reached the hollow of your throat, where he lingered—kissed you there, over your pulse, humming low against your skin like your heartbeat was the only thing worth listening to.

“Love seein’ my girl smile,” he murmured, voice thick with affection as his hands roamed again, broad and warm and so fucking handsy, squeezing at your hips, your waist, the curve of your ass like he couldn’t help it. “My sweet girl, lookin’ all happy and full and messy.”

Then he was kissing you again—messily, hungrily, his mouth slanting over yours with a groan, his lips sticky and wet, tongue slipping between your lips like he needed to taste the pleasure he’d just pulled out of you.

You gasped into his mouth, body arching up to meet his like instinct, like your skin missed his the second it wasn’t touching—and between kisses, breathless and stunned, you asked, “That’s what I taste like?”

Joel chuckled low, biting your bottom lip just barely before letting it go, his voice sweet and smug and absolutely ruined as he murmured, “Yeah, baby. That’s you. That’s how sweet you are—fuckin’ candy, darlin’. Sticky and soft and perfect on my tongue.”

You whined as he kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes, the kind that made your toes curl and your spine melt, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He kissed you like he wanted to crawl inside you—like he needed to taste every part of you to survive. His tongue swept into your mouth, deep and hungry, making you taste yourself on him, like that was the prize he'd earned. He swallowed your moans like they belonged to him, like he’d branded them into his chest, and when he finally pulled back—just barely, just long enough to breathe—he rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and tangled with yours as he whispered,

“Gonna keep you like this, baby. All fucked-out and smilin’. Nothin’ else matters. Just you, me, and this sweet little mouth.”

You barely had time to blink, to gather the breath he’d stolen, before his lips were back on your neck, mouthing along the curve of your jaw, trailing down the place just beneath your ear where he knew you shivered. His voice was rough and quiet, like he couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop tasting.

And then his phone buzzed.

You felt it against the seat, the vibration dull but sharp in the quiet haze, cutting through the warmth like a blade. He didn’t flinch. Just kept kissing down your neck, teeth grazing lightly as his hand slid lazily over your ribs.

“Don’t you wanna get that?” you murmured, barely above a whisper, the words thick in your throat even though you already knew. It was probably your mother—calling to ask if he wanted steak or curry for dinner, or just wondering where the hell you two were.

“No,” Joel muttered, lips still on your skin, voice low and sweet and full of something that felt too big for the moment. “Just wanna love on my girl a little longer.”

You melted. Fully, completely. Nothing but warmth and ache and that quiet, golden feeling like your bones had turned to honey.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

TAG LIST - and yes a next part is coming out ..!

@caramelic3dlatte @thottiewinemom @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @vixorell @pastel-luna @pedroswife69 @lonelysoul504 @sweetlylcv

@wandasimp-69 @bitchydragonparadisee @thottiewinemom @jmg2631 @clever-dragon @beautifulhybrid01 @xcallmetaniax

[b1mbodoll]

gross stepdad hoon… the kind to invite his friends (heejayke) over n tease you the entire time. it’s humiliating, having your stepdad pat his lap for you to sit on n being treated like his toy :( forced to just accept how he gropes you n makes you grind his thigh in front of them

even worse when they start to join in, suggesting sunghoon flash them your tits or make you drool on his fingers, each one of them staring intensely when you take your stepdad’s digits in your mouth n get a little dumb, moaning n gagging around them

idk .. just.. maybe stepdad sunghoon letting them all jerk off over you.. lets them have their way with his sweet girl n calls you a whore for liking it

[demigods-posts]

think it'd be really cool if percy could teleport using water. just needing to be in direct contact with a water source to transfer from one puddle to the next. cornering monsters in damp alleyways like it's no one's business. foregoing the subway when the forecast calls for showers. crossing the ocean quicker that you can say pacific. quality content.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

angel of a daughter

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, stepcest, stepdad!rafe, p in v sex, unprotected sex, virgin!reader, female receiving oral, fingering, breeding, fertility issues (from mother), reader is described as having big boobs, kinda pregnancy kink from rafe but more talk of sex while pregnant, cheating (no daddy kink)

“i got the results back.” your mom says, her voice low and sad, revealing her results with her tone alone. “the doctor says theres no way.” “i’m sorry, mama.” you pout, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. you hate that you feel a bit of relief. your mom had you young, a teenager knocked up by another teenager who ran off the second he heard his girlfriend got pregnant.

your mom raised you until you were a teenager yourself, doing everything by herself until your stepdad came into the picture. he inserted himself perfectly into your life, but expected to have kids of his own.

“whats the plan then?” you question as your stepdad comes into the living room, setting a glass of water down in front of your mom. you sit on either side of her, showing your support. “adoption? surrogate?” 

you like being an only child. you like it just being you, mom, and rafe, but at the same time, you want your mom to be happy, and if a baby gives her that, you'll adjust for her.

“actually…” rafe clears his throat. “we were hoping you’d be willing to help out.”

“yeah, of course.” you nod. “anyway i can.” 

you don’t realize what rafe means until later. you assumed it was just help researching adoption agencies, or finding a surrogate, but as rafe hovers over you, you realize he means to breed you.

“m-my mom can’t be okay with this.” you stutter out, body stiff against the bed, trapped as you blink up at rafe, body caging you over the mattress.

“she thinks you’re going to get inseminated.” he huffs out, breath warm against your face. “and in a way you are. a natural way.”

“i-i-” you stutter out. “i don't know about this.”

“come on, i see the way you look at me.” rafe shifts his weight to one hand, gliding down the other down your torso, squeezing your hip gently. “i know you want this.”

“you're married to my mom!” your eyes are wide, but a spark does ignite inside of you. “you're my stepdad!”

“and you’re going to be doing both of us such a big favor, pretty girl.” rafe coos, his fingers running along the material of your shorts, stroking closer and closer to your center every time.

“i-i guess it would be easier than going to a doctor.” you’re sure it involves waivers and legal shit that your mind just can’t even wrap around.

“exactly!” rafe smiles down at you, glad for your naivety. “besides, im making you feel good... you’ll get pregnant, and both of us will feel real good.”

“how many times will we get to do it?” you whisper, hands reaching up to touch rafes cheeks, running your finger down the smooth planes. “like, it probably won’t take the first time.”

“as many times as we have to babygirl. and i’ll take real good care of you during your pregnancy. rub your feet, buy whatever you are craving, eat you out.” rafe loves the way your eyes blow wide.

“thats not appropriate!” your mom has lectured you long and hard about sexual experiences and above all how important it is to wait so you don’t become pregnant young like she did. and now she is asking you to allow your stepdad to breed you when you’re freshly out of your teen years.

“its okay, its just you helping us out so im helping you back out in return.” rafe moves his hand up to cup your cheek. “let me show you.”

he leans down to press your lips together in a kiss. you lay frozen for a moment before beginning to move back, reciprocating the kiss as your hands fist into his shirt, tugging him lower.

you let out a moan into his mouth and rafe has to pull away to chuckle. “see, i knew you wanted me babygirl.”

“yeah.” you nod. “okay, lets do this.” damn the consequences, you can think about them later.

“good.” he coos out, lips back against yours quickly as his hand gropes at your breast, rubbing them through your tanktop. you’ve always been insecure about the size of your chest, but as rafe lowers down to look at them, you think about them in a whole new light.

“these are gonna feed our baby so well.” he says, tugging at the hem of your shirt, lower and lower until it breeches the swell of your breasts and they pop out the top. you don’t ask who he means by ‘our’. you can indulge in the fantasy that it’s just you and rafe. that your mom is still in the picture, but only in the role as your mother, not the one of rafes baby. 

rafe wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking deeply into his mouth, so in contrast to what it must feel like to have an infant feeding.

“i-more.” you gasp out as rafes fingers play with your other nipple, rolling and pinching at it until they’re both stiff peaks.

“i can’t wait to fuck you baby.” rafe says, helping you sit up just slightly to pull your shirt off, the small pajama shorts the only barrier you have left on your body. rafe also tugs his shirt off. you’ve seen him shirtless before in the pool or on your boat, but its different in this low lighting, so intimate and close. 

“gonna eat your pretty pussy first though.” rafe tugs your shorts down, your thighs pressing together to allow you to keep that part of yourself hidden for a moment longer, before rafe is pushing at your legs and slotting himself onto the bed in between them.

“aww.” rafe smiles, looking much more like a boy your age with his grin rather than your stepfather. “i knew she’d be cute.” his hands stroke over your inner thighs. “have you ever had a guy eat your pussy before?”

“no.” you shake your head. “never done anything with a guy.” you’ve kissed past boyfriends, but it never went beyond that.

“im gonna be your first?” theres a spark in rafes eye when he realizes that you’re a virgin. that he’s going to deflower you, fill you up. 

“y-yeah.” you nod. 

rafe wants you to cum once with his mouth and fingers first to open you up and get you wetter before he fucks you, so he wastes no more time, pushing his face forward between your legs, tongue swiping over your folds as you scream out in pleasure. 

rafe is glad as your moans increase with every flick of his tongue and glide of his lips that he chose to sneak into your room in a time when your mom was gone, off to the spa with her girlfriends, no doubt sharing to them her recent doctors trip and how her angel of a daughter agreed to be a surrogate so her and rafe could have a baby of their own.

“you taste so good.” rafe says. he isn’t one to enjoy giving head often, but you really are the sweetest taste on his lips. he focuses in on your clit as your entire body stiffens before relaxing, sighing out as your head becomes fuzzier and fuzzier with every touch of rafes mouth.

“do you touch yourself here?” rafe asks, pressing kisses to your clit, making out with it just like he did you mouth.

“no.” you shake your head. you occasionally grinded yourself into a pillow stuffed between your legs to get off when you got too overwhelmed, but you never reached your hand in your pants to feel yourself.

“what about here?” rafe brings his hand to your cunt, finger circling around your entrance.

your eyes widen again, that gloriously innocent startled look that has rafe grinding into the bed to give his cock some sort of relief.

“never!” you shake your head.

rafe just smiles, going back to focusing on your clit as his finger pushes in. you’re so wet it’s not difficult at all, but he can feel the way you squeeze around his digit, getting used to the feeling of the intrusion.

“relax for me, princess.” rafe says, sucking at your clit as he begins to move his finger in and out until he’s able to easily pump, the delicious squelching of your wetness filling the room with his every movement.

“gonna add a second, okay?” rafe talks you through the process, not wanting to do something to scare you into changing your mind. “gotta open you up for my cock, baby.”

rafe pushes a second finger into your entrance, working you open until he feels your body stiffen, his concentration going to your clit as he works you through your orgasm, your high so suddenly breeching that your body locks up and you let out a scream.

“shh, i got you.” rafe kisses along your mound as you work through it, pussy clenching around his fingers as he scissors them, knowing he needs you looser to fit inside.

“that-” you gasp out, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “that was so good.” “yeah?” rafe smiles up at you. “i can keep helping you feel that way, baby.”

“mhm.” you nod, not sure how you’ll ever go without now that you’ve felt the high that rafe can get you.

“can i fuck you now?” he questions. as much as he’s ready to go right now, if he has to build you up to allow him inside bare, he would wait.

“yeah.” your voice is dripping with eagerness. “yeah, yes please. just need a drink of water first.”

you sit up slightly, going to reach for your water bottle on your bedside table, but rafe moves quicker, helping you bring the bottle to your lips and suck the water down, pulling away with a gasp as a drop of water glides down your chin, reaching your throat before rafes tongue is on your skin, tasting the sheen of sweat as he follows the wet trail up to your lips, kissing you to keep your mind occupied.

he works his pants and underwear off while you’re wrapped up in the kiss, your hands stroking through his hair, playing with the strands. 

rafe moves your legs to wrap around his hips as he holds onto his cock, swiping it through your folds. he taps the head against your sensitive swollen clit, making you pull away with a gasp.

“stay nice and relaxed for me, baby.” rafe says, pressing kisses to your jaw as he lines up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, your eyes clenching shut as your chest moves up and down with each breath, trying to keep your body relaxed like rafe said.

“there ya go.” rafe says, halfway inside your cunt. “good girl.”

he pushes as far in as your pussy allows, both of you sitting in that moment, relishing in the feeling of being joined together as you stretch to accommodate his large length, shifting your hips side to side and up and down to get used to the feeling.

“i gotta move, baby.” rafe says, his voice sounding strained.

“yeah, go ahead.” you nod. despite your affirmation, rafe continues to move slowly, his hips swinging back before pressing forward, carefully building up a rhythm.

“it feels really good.” you tell rafe, your cheeks flushed bright pink, hair fanned out on the pillow around you like a glowing halo.

“yeah, yeah.” rafe nods rapidly, his grip on control quickly loosening. “you feel so good too.”

rafe knows he should stop, but he loves the way your body reacts to his dirty words. “you’re so tight around me. i love this pussy. so much better than your mamas. gonna give me a baby, right?”

“i-yeah.” you nod. “fill me up.”

rafes loosening control shatters, his hips swinging forward fast, burying his cock inside of you as the pace instantly triples. you let out a squeal, the sheets gripped in your hands as he pounds into you.

“gonna fill up your pretty little cunnie, baby.” rafe grunts out, his own forehead sheening with sweat from his effort, his muscles straining as he pushes up then down, up then down.

“want it so bad.” you whine. 

“fuck.” rafe gasps out, mouth dropping open, his lips shiny from eating you out. “can’t last much longer. gonna cum.”

you experiment, clenching your pussy around his cock, and judging by rafes reaction of a loud moan and curse, you can tell he likes it. you continue, squeezing every time he pulls out, wanting to keep his cock wrapped in your warmth.

“i-im cumming.” rafe gasps out, his cock growing inside of you before your eyes widen, suddenly feeling warmth spreading as his cum fills you, his cock pressing in even harder, hoping it reaches your womb.

“god.” rafe groans, lowering his body on top of yours, but you don’t care about the weight as you smile.

“we’re gonna keep doing that?” you ask, running your hand down his back.

rafe looks up at you. “oh, of course baby. gonna keep fucking you while you’re pregnant too, maybe you’ll give us twins.”

you roll your eyes and giggle at rafe. “thats not how it works, silly!” “oh, what do you know?” rafe smirks at you. “you haven’t even had sex before!”

“well… i have now.” you mumble, shifting your hips from side to side, rafes cock still lodged deep inside of you.

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[areallyyellowmango]

Anastacha's "cool uncle or whatever" ™️

[grindelworks]

A Memory That Echoes // Happy Father’s Day Pt. 2

[sunkillerlovechild]

batman, superman and robin are literally my favourite trio, they are so special to me

like any time i see someone being like "dick doest have a super" WRONG

he has his uncle clark that would fly him around when he was a kid just because he thought it was so cool and probably helped him with his homework and made sure bruce wasnt being too hard on him and ahhhh

honestly dick and clark and their dynamic just means so much to me

but also all three of them together, they are like the original crime fighting trio

[takaraphoenix]

Single Mom Stiles (*cough* Stiles and Liam) leaving the pack because of Theo and, now packless, find their way to the Hale Pack.

Who are. Still alive and around and thriving.

Alpha Derek, Peter, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Jackson, Cora, maybe the twins, I haven't decided on that one yet.

(Maybe Malia/Kira will go with them. Because I love Kira and I think Malia needs to get to own the Hale heritage.)

Can you imagine Derek seeing Stiles be pack mom even without a pack and desperately wanting to court Stiles, like, his inner wolf is going nuts over this. But. To get to Stiles, Derek will have to get past Stiles' very protective pup first.

[gurugirl]

BRUTAL | step!dad!h

NOTE: Just a reminder that while this is step!dad x step!daughter - Harry has never been a father figure to Y/n in this story. They met when she was already in her 20s and Harry is closer in age to Y/n than he is to her mother. Their relationship is clearly inappropriate but he never knew her as a minor or a child and I would never write that kind of stepdad fic (anyone who's been a fan of this trope since the beginning knows this). < for all the haters who accused me of that not long ago

Summary: You come home for the weekend and Harry just wants you to tell the truth. Based on this ask!

A/n: It's been almost a year since I've given y'all anything for stepdad!H. ENJOY!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: cheating, smut, lying, inappropriate relationship, spanking

step!dad!harry masterlist

. .

“Stop,” Harry warned.

You did it again. Reached your socked foot out to his lap and nudged against his crotch. Your mom was just in the other room talking to you about what she should make for dinner since you were planning on staying for the weekend.

“What if we just order pizza?” You answered as you grinned at your stepdad, pressing down at the lump that he was trying to keep at bay.

Your mom walked into the living room just as you quickly pulled your foot away from Harry. You’d both been sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the moment she stepped out of the living room to get ready for her scheduled surgery you started fucking with him.

“Okay. I’ll pick up a couple of pizzas on the way back. There’s this new pizza spot not far from here that I’ve been wanting to try.”

Harry sat up and placed his elbows on his knees to hide the way he was already thickening in his pants, “Sounds good, love.”

She bent down to kiss him and then looked at you, patting your knee, “Glad you’re here for the weekend. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

You smirked to yourself as you turned your attention to the TV and Harry sat quietly in his spot as your mom walked out. You knew you were in for it.

For one, you hadn’t seen Harry in weeks. You’d been too busy and you were enjoying college life. You still texted him frequently but he was jealous because you’d often be out with friends and that included guys. He’d see your Instagram posts where you were dancing with other boys or wearing very little and he’d text you asking who you were with and it’d just make you feel all smug and satisfied to know he was suffering like he was.

For another thing, the moment you walked into the door that morning you’d been nothing but bratty with him. A right pain. But that was because you needed something punishing and rough from him. Something that would stick between your teeth and that you’d feel for a few days after you left.

Well, you just needed Harry to fuck your brains out. You’d tried fucking around with other guys but they didn’t do it for you. No one did it the way Harry did.

And the moment your mom’s car was out of the driveway and down the street you felt his hand gripping your arm and pulling at you, “You know better than to act this way with me.” He pulled your stretchy shorts down, taking your panties with them and tossing them across the room before he had you stuffed, face down on the couch with your bare bottom up in the air.

The first swat to your ass was welcome. It was like a shot of pain relief to your insides. The next one stung but you moaned with a grin on your face. The third and fourth made you wiggle your bottom at him and sigh loudly, “Yes, Daddy…”

And that made him pause, “You know what? I’m too nice to you, aren’t I? Giving you exactly what you wanted. But you’re nothing but a childish brat,” the palm that landed on your ass that time had you hissing in pain. He did it again, harder and you felt like your skin was starting to welt.

He held your wrists together behind your back as he landed blow after blow to your backside, making you howl and attempt to move away from him but you had nowhere to go. Tears and slobber were wetting your face and the couch cushion.

It hurt. It fucking smarted. Every strike was worse than before and you knew you’d started it all but damn was he making you wish you’d just been nice.

There was also the fact that you sent Harry a photo of yourself making out with a college guy as you sat in his lap half-naked. You and Harry had been arguing and he told you he didn’t want you anymore anyway and you were hurt by that so you found yourself someone who did want you. You knew Harry was pissed about that too.

“So did you fuck him?” He growled as he finally let up with the spankings.

“Yes. Big cock too,” you lied. You didn’t have sex with him, but he did finger you and it was awful and the moment he pulled his pants down so you could blow him you realized what a mistake it was. His prick was barely half the size of Harry’s.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you so wet from me just beating your ass like this, hmm?” His palm ran over the achy raised skin on your bum and then down to your pussy where you were drenched, “Feel like if you were being fucked properly you wouldn’t be so desperate right now. Bet you’re lying to me.”

You grunted into the couch, your words muffled, “I’m not lying. He’s so good in bed. Miss him.”

Harry laughed, “No you don’t. You missed Daddy. That’s why you got all excited the moment my hands got on you… Yes, Daddy…” he mocked your voice as he repeated your words before landing another solid thud against your bum cheek. You jolted forward and cried out.

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll give you what you want. Something you can’t get from anyone else.”

“He fucked me with his big cock, bigger than yours, and he made me come so much. I let him have me anally last night.”

Harry’s thumb slid over your ass, “If he did then he has a pencil dick. Either that or you’re still lying to me. All you have to do is fess up. Be a good girl for Daddy and tell the truth. Have you really had sex with him?”

You gulped as you felt his thumb tease around your tight hole. Rearing back to urge him to push it in he pushed you back into place, “I’ll stick my thumb inside and fuck your pretty cunt if you tell me the truth.”

Moaning at just the thought of it you turned your head, “He only fingered me. But I hated it. I promise that’s the truth. Now please, Daddy…”

Harry was still and stiff suddenly. It was like the atmosphere in the room had grown thick and heavy as he pulled away from you completely, your hands falling away when he released your wrists. You turned to look at him.

“Harry… I only did it because I’m trying to move on. You get to–”

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Get your top off.”

You stood from the couch and pressed your lips flat, pulling your t-shirt off over your head before stepping in front of Harry completely naked for him to do with as he pleased.

His eyes were dark, brutal, as he slowly removed his belt and then tugged at his button and zipper.

“On your knees on the couch, turned away, face down. I don’t want to look at you right now.”

You did as he said. You knew he was extra pissed off. That you let someone else touch you. Placing your knees on the couch cushion you bent forward and placed your face back into the cushions, “Daddy, I’m sorry. I only want you. He wasn’t even goo–”

You yelped at another smack to your very tender ass and felt his hand pressing down at the back of your neck, “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear about him.”

He stood behind you and you felt his hands on your hips after letting go of the back of your neck before he rewarded you with his big cock, impaling himself until he was buried in balls deep. You were already sodden from the way he’d spanked you and the way he spoke to you. You’d needed it. You’d need him.

And when he began jackhammering into you, hips thudding against your ass, hands gripping meat of your hips to pull you against him every time he thrust forward, the sticky heat that formed around his cock from your dripping hole… it was relief.

You knew you were fucked in the head for everything. For what you liked and for doing what you were.

He was pounding into you like he was in a hurry and it was all you could do to hold yourself steady as he bullied his fat cock inside. He hissed as he watched the way he stretched you open, “Always gonna need Daddy, aren’t you?”

You gurgled as drool pooled onto the cushion under your mouth, “Yes!”

Just like what you wanted, it was punishing and unkind. You gasped as you held onto the material that covered the cushions. Involuntary grunts were falling from your chest as Harry punched into you.

“Try to make me jealous by sending photos of little twerps you’re seeing but we both know they can’t give it to you like this. Because you’re dirty, filthy… you like your pussy getting railed deep and hard with a nice big dick just like this…” He was panting his words, gritting his teeth. He was on the edge already. He’d missed your tight your pussy. And you too, but he wouldn’t admit it right then.

Letting go of one side of your hip he slowed his plunges and you felt his thumb drag through the spot against your pussy where he was pushing into you. He wiped your arousal all over his thumb and smeared it around your anus before awarding you with a nice little stretch as he pushed his digit inside and began it thrusting, “Need your ass and your pussy stuffed, need to be spanked… you need a lot of things don’t you, baby?”

His cock was dragging into your guts and against your front wall just right, making your walls flutter. And when Harry felt you squeezing he couldn’t help but to take his fingers over your clit and press circles where you needed it. As mean as he might be, he still wanted you to come. That was partly due to his ego and needing to be the best. At least if you did sleep with someone else one day, Harry could tell himself he always made you feel good when he fucked you.

You were grinding back against him, muffled moans coming from you as slick dripped down your thigh. Every plunge of his cock through your wet pussy was gushing, sloshing and Harry was clenching his jaw. What he was watching was filthy and hotter than anything he’d ever seen. Your ass was all marked up, your swollen pussy was gulping him in, and your ass was pulsing around his thumb.

“Coming already?” Harry inhaled deeply, almost in a whimper when he felt you begin to shake and your pussy began to milk him. “Fuck… So desperate to have someone take care of you. Can’t get what you need from any of those losers… mmm shit baby… always coming back to me for more.”

It was true. You hadn’t had sex with any of the guys you tried dating because they didn’t do it for you. You tried but they weren’t Harry. They didn’t handle you the way he did. They didn’t know your body the way he did and they never would because you didn’t want them anyway.

Harry groaned and cursed as he drove into you deeply and you could feel him throbbing as he pumped his come into your tummy. Illicit and hot… you both got each other off like no one else ever could.

When he pulled himself out he cooed, his thumb gently tracing around your ass, “That’s my favorite. Watching my come drip from your pussy after I just destroyed it. Still shaking too,” he gripped the back of your thighs, “Can you sit up?”

You mumbled affirmatively and pushed yourself up slowly, Harry steadying you with his hands. He helped you off the couch and you noted he’d already tucked himself back into his pants, while you were stark naked still.

“You okay?”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, “So good. That’s just what I needed.”

Harry smiled and splayed his big hand around the front of your neck and drew you in for a kiss that had you melting.

One day it’d come back to bite you, you were sure, all that sneaking around. But in that moment it was a secret you and Harry would keep holding onto to enjoy for as long as possible.

. .

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[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼: 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

Stepdad!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1979 and it's the summer after graduation. You want to make the most of the vacation, but going to shady dance bars is a lot harder now that your new stepfather works for the DEA.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, cops and raids, stepdad trope and all that comes with, minor DUBCON, big juicy age gap [reader is 18/19 when she meets Javi, Javi is in his mid 40s], reader wears a dress, petnames, mommy issues ™ , alcohol consumption, mean!brat tamer!dom!Javi then soft!Javi, brat!reader, rough sex, “virginity” loss & minor mention of blood, sex in the woods on the hood of Javi’s car, mentions of F masturbation, some reader x oc, Javi gives reader her first orgasm, major size kink [Javi is bigger than the reader, can rough house with her], degradation, dumbification, reader is insanely horny, satanic levels of dirty talk, finger sucking, choking, spanking [with a belt and hand] , a few slaps [as always], fingering, unprotected P in V [be better!!], creampie. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: I am impossibly excited for this stepdad trilogy. This is part 1/3 so it’s only 1/3 the fun and debauchery. Few Easter eggs thrown in.. see if you can spot em 🤭.This is set up after the events of season 2 and before the events of season 3, in a year where Javi is taking a break before Cali, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

​​Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Once I had a love and it was divine

Soon found out I was losing my mind

It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

You stood at the entrance, one foot tapping restlessly on the wooden floorboards. In an effort to keep your head down you fiddled aimlessly with the clasp on your watch, knowing full well you weren’t going to be paying attention to anything but the time that flashed on its face. An older, blonde woman came stomping onto the patio, swinging the wooden door behind you so hard on her way the rattle it produced when it slammed shut knocked the flimsy “BAR” sign right off. You jumped, then took another step away from the establishment.  

You could almost feel the bass of the engine thrumming in your chest as it got closer. The tires crunched against the gravel as it neared. You still couldn’t see it. You hoped it was her. 

It wasn’t long before a red convertible was nearing, the number plate sending a shaky, relieved sigh hurtling past your lips. Agitated, drunk and anxiety ridden, you ran towards and then jumped into Lorrain’s car– hoping and praying the ride would give you a beat to sober up. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to sneak back into your room well past midnight. It was so much of a habit you could sell a course on how to accomplish it with the utmost skill and precision. What was rare, however, was having to perform the task while shaken up so severely. The side of your small, once welcoming home seemed more alien than ever, your bedroom looking far higher off the ground than you remembered. 

Nevertheless, a few missteps and about 10 minutes later you stumbled through your open window, quickly stripping to your underwear and shoving your dirty, alcohol laced clothes under your bed. You cursed your “parents” at the fact that you still needed to do this shit like a fucking highschooler. 

The sound of feet padding towards your bedroom door startled you, and you jumped to pull on your sleep shorts before what you knew was your stepdad coming up the stairs. 

You hoped and prayed he hadn't caught wind of the way you screamed when your foot missed the ledge below your window, or worse, that his partner hadn’t given him a call to inform him of the familiar face he saw at the shack that night. 

No matter how many times you liked to imagine he would bend you over his knee and discipline you, how many times you imagined it was him with his hand under your skirt or head between your legs as some clumsy 20 year old rutted against your thigh, you knew full well if Javier actually ever caught your antics, the consequences were going to be a whole lot less ideal than that. 

As you jumped under the covers you recalled the way Agent Steve Murphy had cocked his head at you back at the bar. The way your stepfather’s partner had squinted his eyes at you in confusion, doing a double take at your skimpy outfit, short dress and boots, the way the men at the bar had their hands all over you. 

You prayed it wasn’t too late before you turned your head away, that it wasn’t too late before you swiftly moved out of that bar, before he could be sure it was you he was seeing. 

Because if he was, there would be absolute hell to pay. 

—

One summer, when you were maybe eight or nine, you developed an absurd obsession with riding your bike up the slope that led away from your small town. Eventually, the uphill roads veered away, twisting and turning into a thousand different rocky paths that converged at one point only a few hundred metres from the large sign that welcomed people into the town. The singular, welcoming road led straight into the woods. Back then, it seemed endless, providing a warm, hospitable buffer for the hills that loomed over the town with a somewhat protective intimidation. Like the woods were watching over your every move. 

Everyday, for three months, you’d bust out your front door at 18:00 on the dot and make the journey uphill. Exhaustively pushing your bike past that sign and into what was nature's much welcome respite from your mothers neglectful cruelty. You collected rocks by the stream that ran through those woods, leaves and flowers to keep in your room. It was like they were magic. Like they wanted to get to know you, be your friend. The trees formed a canopy over you, like they wanted to shield you from the winds and the setting sun, and most importantly from the town below. 

One day you remember hearing some rustling coming from up the stream. You didn't think much of it, must have been a deer or something of the sort. You continued foraging for little flowers and rocks, that was until you came across something that didn't really belong. A piece of white lace. It looked new, but dirty, there was cotton under half of it. It seemed like it was part of a dress. Someone must have lost it up there. You didn't investigate. Things were calm and quiet again as usual, but it wasn't long before the rustling from upstream got louder, just slightly, and you heard the clatter of a metal rod to the ground, followed by a heavier, louder thud. 

You turned on your heel and away from the stream, it took you four minutes to find the welcome sign to your town again. By 19:00 you were home. 

You never went back to the woods again. That August your mother informed you you were going to school in the city. 

— 

To say you were unhappy to come home from boarding school to the news your mother was marrying a cop would be an understatement, and while you tried not to be too judgy and give him a chance, to say you were surprised when he turned out to be a complete authoritarian would be an even bigger understatement. 

You knew of Agent Peña, he was somewhat of a local celebrity. You’d seen him on your summers home since you were sixteen- picking up beers at the convenience store, smoking cigarettes outside the petrol station. You and your friends would often drool over him, wait for him to show up at a neighbourhood barbeque, or catch him taking a walk around the block. 

Eventually, you grew up, and outgrew your little hallway crush on the, now, mostly tiresome Agent Peña. Because soon you weren't sixteen. And his holier than thou, saviour complex, and affinity for order only made you roll your eyes. In fact he was quite annoying. He made little effort to contribute to the community, still riding his high from his days in Colombia. 

You wondered why those people revered him like he was taking bullets for your town. 

You were absolutely flabbergasted when you found out your mother was marrying him. At first, a little bit jealous for the teenager who once fawned over him, but quickly more concerned for the fact that he was actually someone who you’d have to interact with, and not just a piece of eye candy you could appreciate out and about. 

Hell, he was becoming family, and your stepfather no less. It was torturous. You did not need another person to worry about in your home. 

“So.. What’re you studying?” He crossed his left leg over the right, and asked you. His hand reached out to receive the glass of whiskey your mother poured him. He hadn’t been in your house for ten minutes and you already couldn’t stand his guts. Besides the fact that he was a cop, he had this air about him… what exactly, you weren’t quite sure. A superficial, macho exterior that felt like a bigger slap in the face than the fact that he was sitting on the nice, upholstered, expensive, armchair your father had paid for. 

Unsurprisingly, Agent Peña often indulged you in riveting conversation about the dangers of indulging in alcohol and drugs at a young age as he puffed on his cigarette, and lectured you, in what you knew as truly your mothers fashion, about how young people these days didn't know a thing, and that they must always respect and follow the lead of their elders. 

Much like mother dear, he paid little attention to you other than to reprimand you for whatever it was you weren’t doing correctly; for when you didn’t do the dishes on time, or were staying out too late, as if it was any of his business to even begin with. He seemed to really enjoy the protective dad role. It fit in well with the rest of his pathetic persona. 

No wonder they got along.

You remember almost gagging when he boasted about the college you were set to attend, one arm slung across your shoulder, at the party your aunt threw for your graduation. Like he had absolutely anything to do with it. You excused yourself partly to avoid the embarrassment and partly to roll your eyes. A small part of you enjoyed his proud boasting, but you were not ready to unpack that yet. 

In the time the couple weren’t circle jerking about their views, you were lucky enough to be the recipient of snide comments that were so obviously meant for your late father. To his credit Javier Peña didn’t involve himself in the conversation. You couldn’t say the same for a lot of your mother’s previous lovers. 

Since you were ten years old you had been making your own decisions, doing what you wanted and living on your terms. To return to your home for the summer after graduation, now 18, and have to abide by someone else’s meaningless regulations, was a rather harsh slap in the face. Not to mention this someone had been in your life all of two months, and really enjoyed acting like he knew anything about you, or your family. 

Sometimes, when you’d climb down the stairs of that quaint suburban home, the home that once belonged to your family, in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water or a snack, you’d see him sitting out on the porch, hunched over a whole bunch of shit you couldn’t bother caring about, with his ashtray dangerously close to all that flammable paper. 

His shirt stretched deliciously over his back, his hand reaching out to ash his cigarette every once in a while. You were glad he was infuriating, had he not been such a prick it might have revived the little bit of a crush you had on him. 

Sometimes you felt a little bit bad for rolling your eyes at him, or shutting down his attempts to initiate group plans. If you were being honest you were surprised when he didn’t blow up at you for talking back or being rude– that was when your mother wasn’t around. When she was, he didn’t have to. She would jump at any chance to start a fight. You were even more surprised when Javier tried to diffuse the situation. 

You figured soon enough that perhaps the Javier Peña you met a few months prior was putting quite the show on for his overbearing, obnoxious lover. Of course, you were sure he hardly saw her that way. He was perhaps a lot smarter than you gave him credit for. 

Javier often chided your mother when you spoke back to her, rather unexpectedly calling out her bad parenting and the behaviour she “modelled” for you when you were a child. You overheard them argue after a big blowout, from your room. It upset you that he was even getting involved. He tried to talk to you about it later, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Obviously, you knew your hatred of them both had something to do with your psychologically deprived childhood, but it baffled you how neither of them, especially wannabe father of the year Javier Peña, didn’t realised your isolated anger would perhaps be diminished if they stopped trying to meddle in your life, the one neither of them seemed to care about unless something about it upset them. 

If he really cared about your wellbeing he’d take his wife and get the fuck out of your life. You were an adult, one that wasn’t going to listen to anyone, especially not the mother who packed you away all those years ago, and her hypocritical, infuriating husband. 

Thats why, despite having almost gotten caught and having your ass handed to you less than forty eight hours prior, you were back at the shack, drink in hand, stupidly forgetting exactly what had you scrambling to get out there in the first place. 

Who could have even blamed you? Your mother had been especially annoying that particular morning, and Javier and his buddies had colonised the house for a barbeque in the afternoon. In what even you recognised as somewhat juvenile rebelion, you decided the universe owed you some fun after having to endure their patronising, senseless chit chat all day. 

It wasn’t even that late, but you were already feeling it, the effects of the countless drinks you had downed over the course of the few hours you had been dancing at the bar. Nothing unusual in that, men often offered to buy you drinks, handsome ones at that, and you didn’t have the money to live extravagantly. Besides, if you weren’t going to use your charm what was it even there for? 

Was it Timmy? Tommy? You couldn't even recall his name by the time he was tossing you onto the counter in the bar’s bathroom. To be honest you couldn’t really figure out much of your surroundings, letting yourself get lost in the delicate, dizzy, tipsy haze as his hands slipped under your skirt to squeeze at your thighs. Your regular drunk hookup, or rather someone you disappointingly rolled around with till he finished and left you to roll your hips against your pillow wishing your hands were your Stepfather’s. 

His lips brushed your neck, sloppily planting kisses up and down your skin, nipping at your collar bones as he pushed himself between your legs. You closed your eyes and imagined he was Javier. The thought made you moan and you reached for his collar to pull him closer. He didn't smell like Javi, wasn't as big, his chest wasn’t as firm, his arms didn't envelop you like Javi’s did. 

You felt him swell against you, and you pushed against him, mind once again drifting to Javier standing at the grill in your backyard. His white linen shirt unbuttoned far too low, rolled up sleeves drawing your eyes to his forearms. He’d had a hand on his hip, a sliver of skin right above the band of his shorts just barely visible. 

He smiled at you, and you had worried he’d caught you staring. You revelled in the image. You recalled how he leaned against the edge of the pool with the afternoon sun beating down on his golden skin. You imagined his hands moving under your bra to squeeze your breast. 

You were rather embarrassingly enjoying the little montage of your stepdad that was playing in your head. You had almost forgotten it was tommy, or timmy rolling his hips against yours. If a loud, wall rattling thud hadn’t interrupted you, you would've enjoyed your little delusion even longer. 

To say you were startled was an understatement, you practically leaped right off the counter. Unable to really gather your bearings in time, you barely registered timmy, or tommy, scrambling to fix his shirt, you yourself rushing to cover up and fix the top of your dress. 

From the corner of your eye you caught a hand grab him by the shoulder and shove him towards the door, dragging him out of the bathroom and towards a building commotion outside. You heard people yelling, but couldn’t really make out what was going on. 

When you looked up and found Javier looking dead at you, instead of your little fling, you damn near collapsed. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. In a second he was shutting the door behind him, and flicking the lock. You would’ve ran, but its not like you could go anywhere, besides, hed gotten a good look at your face gawking at him, like a fucking moron. 

It was over. 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” you hopped off the counter and tumbled into his chest.  He took you by the arm and dragged you right to the back of the bathroom, you struggled to remain on your feet but he didn’t really care. Much of your dizziness was thanks to your new found anxiety and had little to do with the vodka you’d been downing all night. This was definitely not an ideal situation. His grip on your arm tightened, and made you wince. You liked the sting, not so much the rest of the whole ordeal. “This where you’ve been fuckin’ going?” he seethed, coming close enough that your noses almost touched, he shook you lightly by the arm as he spoke. 

You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he pulled you closer. “None of your fucking business.” Sure, you weren’t on your best behaviour, but did he really think he could boss you around? 

“Sure as hell’s my fucking business.” he took a look behind him, then turned back to you and leaned closer. “‘DEA agent’s step daughter dancing at illegal drug club’ sure gonna make a sweet headline.” His fingers dug into your flesh. Only then did it hit you why exactly he was in your dingy shack to begin with. You heard Timmy arguing with someone outside. You felt your palms become impossibly clammier. 

“Just fucking turn me in then, asshole.” you got closer, and you were sure he could smell the vodka off your breath. You wished that sounded as courageous and bold out loud as it did in your head. His eyes jumped to your lips, and he rolled them, huffing in frustration. You felt your own eyes burn, and your vision became blurry. You didn't want to cry in front of that bastard. You looked away. 

“To whom? Myself” his thumb smoothed over your skin, and his grip lightened. “Not gonna arrest you, fuckin’ idiot.” he rolled his eyes, then dropped your arm to put his hands on his hips. He looked down and sighed, massaging his temple and then glancing behind him again. 

“Riskin it all for that fuckin’ looser?” He let out a half hearted laugh, looking somehow both disappointed and smug. You wanted to punch him in the face. You would have, if he didnt happen to be the only thing between you and one dozen other narcs outside. 

He glanced at the ground for a second, then back at you and fixed the strap of your top that had slipped down your shoulder. “Get in the car.” he pointed behind you, and you looked in the direction to see a small, open window. 

“Know you're good at climbing outta windows.” you felt your cheeks heat so much they burned. Your heart hadn’t really recovered from his big, surprise entry yet. You couldn't stand to look at his frustrated, let down face. 

Javi cocked his head and raised his brows, whispering a strained “go”. You had no choice, you turned away from him and towards the window. 

—

“Where are we going?”

He didn't look away from the road ahead. Hand gripping the steering wheel with a renewed annoyance. “Better stop asking questions before s’ too late brat.” You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it right back up again. You decided it was probably a lot smarter to just shut up and not bother him any longer– regardless of the thousand questions and worries you had swimming in your head. 

If you were lucky, he was going to drive the both of you right off a cliff, because if your mother caught any wind of what you had been doing, your plans for going to college, and living out of your house would fly right out the window. Not to mention the torture that would insue when she demanded to know your whereabouts all day everyday for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

“Don't want ya hangin’ round the countryside, in these barns, nothing good happens in there.” he looked over you momentarily, 

“Oh what? Are the cows joining in on the drug trade?” 

“Newspaper boys, going missin’. Found him in the lake, about two miles from here.” you pressed your lips together. 

The car ride thus passed in a painful, tense silence. Javier was clearly unhappy with the whole situation, but had decided not to immediately blow up in your face? Everything about that unsettled you. He was so shocked he seemed to be in denial. You'd much prefer if he just yelled at you and got it over with. 

What else was there to do? Surely he wasn’t going to turn you over to the cops, he had his chance to do that already. However Javier never missed a chance to reprimand you, maybe he wanted to get a few words in before ruining your future. 

You wouldn’t put it past him anyway. 

The empty streets gave way to a narrow, winding road that cut through the woods. The familiar landscape of your small town faded away, replaced by shadowy silhouettes of trees that loomed closer and closer to the edge of the road. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the dense foliage– closing in around you. The road twisted and turned, each bend bringing you deeper into the night, and further away from any civilisation. 

Beginning to zone out, you kept your eyes ahead, now unable to recognise left from right, and importantly, exactly how far out from town you had come.  It wasn’t long before the “farwell, drive safe” sign that stood at the edge of the woods was swiftly moving past your right shoulder. A pit was quick to form in your stomach, the lowered window by Javi’s side let the cool breeze in. It wrapped around you and made you shiver. The smell of the woods soon overcame you. 

Eventually,the car came to a stop in a small clearing. You watched Javi, but he paid no attention to you. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind. In the distance, an owl hooted, its call echoed through the trees. You felt like a child about to be reprimanded after getting in trouble at school. You could hear the ticking of the cooling engine, each sound amplified in the stillness of the night. The dark woods pressed in on you. 

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his door, stepping out and gesturing for you to do the same with his head. Still absolutely clueless about what exactly he was doing, you decided just to follow along. He wasn’t going to actually kill you or anything. Probably just wanted to scare you. He had always thought he was a lot more scary than he actually was. At least that's what your brain was telling you. Your heart had other plans. 

You watched from inside as Javi began to cross in front of you, for a good three seconds he stood directly ahead of you, facing you in the beams of the headlights. The sight made you shiver. He took a step out of the light. Taking a long deep breath to psych yourself up, after a short moment you opened your door. Javi placed his arm on the top of said door, leaning against it to watch you get out. 

You almost tripped, but Javi caught you by the arm and manhandled you to the front of his truck. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, and when he turned you to face the hood it blinded you. 

The scrape of your shoes against the damp soil, the crunch of the leaves– it was pretty much all you could really register. The moon shone bright, shining through the trees, but your eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. “These woods are fucking haunted.” A bug landed on the side of your face and you jumped, shaking your head and swatting it away. Javier laughed behind you and you rolled your eyes. “Ghosts the least of your worries right now, bunny .” 

“Fuckin gross.” He shook you by the arm, his voice now a tad bit more annoyed than it was a little earlier. “Oh really?” He pushed you against the hood of his car, your back now facing it. You couldn’t see his eyes, any part of his face at all, you could barely see anything. You wondered how he moved so confidently in the dark. He must have practice. 

“I ain’t sneakin’ out to be a slut every night.” His hands moved to grab your waist and your heart jumped. You swallowed, feeling more defiant yet sceptical by the second. “Sorry you’re not getting any, but it's not my fault, dirty old man.” Before you could even gauge his reaction your head was snapping to the side, a sharp burn spreading across your cheek as Javier’s hand made contact with your skin. 

“I'm not getting any?” he laughed, then took your face between his fingers and squeezed your cheeks together. You winced, and your vision got blurry. You felt your panties dampen embarrassingly. “I ain't the one lettin’ stupid boys rub up on me, bunny.” He shook your face gently, voice so seething and cruel you whimpered, somehow more desperate for him than you were before. 

“Desperate little slut.” He grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around, and promptly told you to “shut that whore mouth” when you screamed that he could fuck right off. His fingers left tender spots all over your arms and waist, and you winced when he manhandled you into bending over the hood of his car. 

He placed a hand on your back to press you down, the other held your waist in a death grip and you felt him press up against your ass. Your dress had ridden up, and surely left little to the imagination. The denim of his jeans rubbed against your upper thighs, and the tips of your shoes barely scraped the ground with how far up the hood of the car he had thrown you. You whimpered and he shushed you with a hand squeezing around your throat from behind. 

You knew you had to be unjustifiably wet by this point. You felt yourself throb when Javi put his hands under your dress and grabbed the waistband of your panties. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt his bulge through the fabric. 

The jingle of his belt sent a shiver down your spine, every hair on the back of your neck standing up at attention. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, still undecided about how exactly you felt about this entirely new development. 

Your heart jumped when he ran the leather across your skin, slowly, perhaps to catch you off guard when he finally struck you with it. You lurched forward, the pain so sharp a tear was quick to roll down your cheek. He struck you again, holding you down with his other hand. The sound of each slash, and your whines that followed echoed in the distance. 

“Think you’re fuckin cute, don’t you.” It was horribly embarrassing to be bent over the hood of his car, both palms on holding you up as best they could whilst he landed spank after spank on your bare ass. “Like bein a wild child?” Your scream echoed in the woods when his belt made sharp contact with your flesh. Your knees buckled but Javier's hand on your waist held you up before it was retreating to land another slap on your ass. Tears were dampening the neckline of your dress already, rolling down your neck and rendering you a bigger mess with every sharp spank of his belt. 

“Yeah? You get off on all those men touchin’ ya? Like being passed around like a cheap whore?” He gripped your hips so tight you didn’t even bother trying to wiggle out of his hold. “Should take ya to the office sometime, hand ya off to Steve, let him have some fun with you.”

You shook your head at that, there was only one man in the DEA offices you wanted, and unfortunately it wasn’t anybody that could actually be with. You clenched your thighs. 

“Knew you were a fuckin’ nasty little girl.” He wedged his hand between them, pushing them apart and slightly spreading your thighs. His fingers rubbed over your clothed cunt, your panties now damp from all that had ensued. You shivered, then pushed back against his digits. 

His fingers found your clit and you moaned. “Did ya cum?” he asked, referring to your little escapade at the bar. Suddenly, you were a whole lot less bold than you were a few moments ago, it wasn’t ideal to admit what you were going to, and it seemed almost impossible without sounding rather pathetic. 

He stopped moving his fingers and pinched the inside of your thigh. “Answer me.” You whispered a “no” bracing yourself for whatever embarrassing comment Javier was going to throw back at you in response. “Huh.. No one fucked this tight little snatch before? Savin’ yourself for me?” he ruminated on the thought, sounding far more pleased than you would have desired. He wasn’t exactly right, but he definitely wasn’t wrong either. 

When you remained quiet he leant beside your ear, lips ghosting the skin on your neck. “Hmm, that right? “Wish it was me instead of that stupid boy?” You groaned at his smug voice, then when his fingers slid under your panties and between your dripping folds. “Wished his finger’s were mine tonight, didnt you?” He cursed under his breath at how wet you were. “How many times d’you cum dreamin’ bout your stepdaddy fuckin your tight lil pussy…” 

“Haven’t” You pressed your face against the metal of his car, cheeks on fire at your admission. He remained silent behind you for a beat, then gently lifted you to press your back to his chest with a hand around your throat. He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the hand that was between your legs slid under your dress to plam your tit through your bra. “Ever?” 

You gasped as he pulled it down, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You shook your head and pressed back against his hard cock. The buckle of his belt dug into your skin and you could almost feel the sting against your ass once again. He pulled you impossibly closer to him, hand returning between your legs. 

He rubbed your clit in slow circles and then pushed two fingers into your entrance. “Full of surprises, aren't ya?” you gasped at the stretch, his fingers were surely far bigger than your own, or any others that had been anywhere near your pussy.  “don't blame ya’ bunny , nothing like the real thing, huh?” 

You bit your lip harder to keep from moaning, already far closer to finishing than you had ever been before, especially when he stroked your walls, mercifully scissoring you open in an uncharacteristic show of thoughtfulness. 

“So fuckin’ wet, bunny .” he curled his digits, reaching that sweet spot inside you as he thumbed your clit. You pushed back against him, feeling yourself continue to gush around his hand. “Gonna slide right in at this rate.” 

He yanked your panties down with so much force you heard a few stitches rip in the silence. Javier groaned, and you leaned back against him when his hand moved away from your pussy to slide his hard cock between your thighs, his hips flush against yours. He squeezed your tit in his palm as he pulled back a little, sliding against your swollen cunt again. 

You felt your arousal smear against your thighs. He muttered a strained “Can’t wait much longer, bunny” . You, yourself thought you might have gone crazy if he waited longer. He pulled his hips back again, notching the head at your entrance and pushing in in a single, slow thrust. 

You winced and then moaned, body unable to adjust to the sheer size of him so quickly, yet still hungry for more. You hadn’t felt quite so full ever before, you could feel his cock deep inside you. Your hand covered his on your chest and you mewled and whimpered when he moved his hips, replicating the sharp thrust again, and then again. 

It wasn’t long before he was pushing you back down against the hood of his car to get a better grip on your hips. He twisted your wrist as you reached out for him, holding both in one large palm as he found a steady rhythm. The almost unbearable stretch slowly melted away into a delicious, burning need, and in only a few moments you were pressing back against him, pleading for him to pick up his pace. 

“You rub your pretty little cunt thinking ‘bout my cock splitting you open?” You moaned a “yes” every part of your body now hot with need as he kept fucking into your warm, wet, heat. 

“How?” When you didn't answer he landed a spank to your ass, this time with his hand, and right over the spot his belt had left its sting on not so long ago. You yelped and surged forward. His hand on your hip pulled you back. You pulled yourself up, craving the heat of his chest against your back. 

“On my- oooh” your palm landed over his, fingers wrapping around one of his larger ones as you cut yourself off with a moan “On my pillow.” The memory made you throb harder, and the hand that was holding Javiers guided it away from your hip and closer to the cut of your thigh, craving the feel of his fingers on your clit. 

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh and chuckled, hot breath fanning against your now sweaty skin. “Thought as much. My little slut. Knew I heard ya..” he took your earlobe between his teeth for a moment, nipped and then licked a stripe up your neck “tryna make yourself cum. Couldn't figure it out yourself huh?” 

You shook your head. “horny little girl, need me to do everything for ya.” You had indeed, countless times rather ashamedly. The thought that he’d possibly heard you long enough for it to be a problem, had likely fucked your mother at the thought, wishing it was you under him in her stead was a thought that would live in your head for all eternity. 

He kissed your cheek, then pushed you back down. “S’why ya keep spreading your legs for the whole world huh?” He put a palm on the middle of your back, holding you down as he continued to thrust inside you. “Chasin’ cock all day long.”

“Can’t help this whore cunt huh? So desperate to cum.” holding yourself up on your forarms you raised your head, turning back to get a look at him fucking into your desperate pussy. 

“Knew it the moment I fuckin’ saw you. Dumb slut got nothing to her name besides this sweet pussy. No one taught ya any manners, how to be a good little girl.” His thumb brushed over the cut of your jaw, fingers squeezing your cheeks. His index and middle fingers swiped your lips, and they instinctively parted to let him push them in. You sucked and drooled around his digits, doing little to contain your moans as he continued to fuck you from behind. The taste of your arousal sat heady on your tongue. “Always knew ya wanted it, stupid little slut.”

“Runnin that whore mouth all day like you're payin’ for the house.” his hips snapped towards yours, his cock buried deep inside you. “But it aint your house, bunny .” With the way your tits were pressing against the smooth metallic finish of his stupid pickup truck you were sure they were going to leave a mark. 

You released his fingers with a pop, and he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around, hurriedly tossing you onto the hood of his car till your feet were also planted firmly above the bumper. Before you could even register the movement he was slipping back inside you, you felt yourself pulse around his cock. You hoped and prayed no one was remotely near, your wailes and whines loud enough to travel far into the distance. 

“Get that in your fuckin’ head” He tapped his index gently against your temple and you nodded, frantically pleading yes after yes. You felt him throb inside you, each drag of his cock building the tension in your belly. You felt your pussy squeeze around him, and you wiggled your hips closer to chase the feeling. 

Your head turned side to side, your whole body buzzing at the heat between your legs. You don't think you’d ever felt anything like it. Sure, it felt good to touch yourself, but this, the feeling of his cock inside you, against your wet walls, it was entirely different. 

The tension only built in your hips, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you hurtled closer and closer to the edge. Your palms squeezed your breasts, seeking purchase on any part of your body. 

You lay your back down completely, watching the light hit him right in the face, falling against his features to create sharp lines of contrast. You’d take a good long look at him on top of you to save for later, but he was quickly pressing his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut. 

The weight of his body on top of yours was enough to make you cum on your own, but the feeling of his lips was what really did it. For how rough and quick he was splitting you open, his mouth moved gently against yours, his warm tongue parting your lips and gliding into your mouth. You moaned against him and he bit your lip, sensing how close you were. 

“Wanna see that face when you cum for me.”  his palm tilted your face upwards, and while the rest of his fingers continued to squeeze around your neck his thumb slipped between your parted lips. Instinctively, you closed your mouth around him, drooling and moaning around his thumb when he hit the sweet spot inside you over and over. Your pussy clenched around his cock and you tried to whimper his name. You felt another word bubble in your throat but you closed your lips around his digit to push it away. Your eyes fluttered shut at the intensity. 

“Cum for me, lil bunny” his words made you tumble over the edge, your cunt squeezing and gushing around his cock, your back arching off the hood of his car. His fingers squeezed around your neck, holding your face in place so he could get a good look at your eyes rolling back into your head. 

It was like a blackout, your ears rang so loud and your lips loosened around his thumb, going slack as you rode out your high. You felt him throb inside you at the sight. You felt the ache deep inside you, all the pleasure bursting in a single climactic second. Your lips fell slack around his fingers, whole body twitching at the sensation. 

Your climax set him off, and it wasn't long before he was burying himself inside your hot heat. His cock pulsed against your wet walls, painting your insides with his spend. He groaned and squeezed around your neck just a little harder. You sucked his thumb gently and heard him curse under his breath. You tried to keep your fluttering eyes on his face, watching intently as the aftershocks subsided and Javier's brows knit closer with his final few thrusts. 

After a few moments he stilled inside you, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pulled his thumb from your warm mouth to brush your bottom lip, then let his own lips take their place. You felt him pull out and you winced at the burn. He put both your legs up on his shoulders and leaned between your legs. 

You watched as his head disappeared between your legs to place a kiss to your inner thigh, and pull your panties back up your hips. You reached for him and he pulled you up to his chest. “Gotta clean up a lil bit, bunny..” he fixed your dress and lifted you off the hood and into his arms. “Ain’t nothing to worry about.” You already knew your painties were ruined for good with a red stain by that point. 

You rested your forearms on his shoulders, quite liking being held in his arms. “Knew you were always to much of a fucking perv to be a good cop.” He smacked your ass again for good measure and placed you on the ground. “You aint’ too much of a slut to fuck your stepdaddy aint it?” 

He stepped aside and you watched him do up his belt again, walking towards the driver's side of the car. You looked behind you and towards the expanse of the woods. The trees rustled, and you heard, presumably, the same owl hoot from the distance. A small crackle in the foliage had you swiftly walking to the passenger side and yanking open the door. You hopped inside and slammed it behind you. 

Javier was reaching in the glove box to stash away his gun. “Please” You swallowed, looking towards him. “Please just don’t tell her. She's going to have a freak out.”

Javi glanced at you momentarily, then murmured a dismissive “yeah yeah” as he started up the engine. That wasn't good enough for you. “Please, she’ll give me hell, I can’t deal with it.” You shook your head, then shifted in your seat. He muttered another “yeah”, checking his pockets for the keys to your front door. God forbid they slipped out while he was fucking your brains out. 

You turned towards him in your seat, both hands on the centre console. “Please.” Javier grabbed the keys, hooked them to his belt loop and dropped his head in a sigh. He turned towards you, taking a moment to reach over and buckle you into your seat. 

“‘Ain’t gonna tell, so stop askin’ before I change my mind.” He knew he didn’t need to ask you to keep your mouth shut– perhaps the most humiliating part of this all. 

“Okay.. yeah..”  The headlights flashed as you began your journey back home, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. You sank back, twisting in Javi’s direction, now curled up in the seat. His eyes remained on the road ahead. “Don’t do this shit again.” 

“Just wanted some adventure.” your voice grew thick, and you yawned. “Next time ya want adventure watch a fuckin’ hitchcock film or something.” He reached out a hand to cup your cheek, engulfed it and patted it gently. 

”Ain't always gonna be there to save your ass, bunny.” 

— 

PART II

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you. it's just no good

You teasing like you do

Eeek! Hope you enjoyed!! I’m very excited for this series, and I hope you are too! Please let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who interacts with my work! Your comments and reblogs keep me writing 💗🐝

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Okay…hear me out stepdad!tommy lee getting jealous seeing his (18 year old) step daughter getting ready for a date with a boy so he just fucks her rough and hard

Jealousy » Tommy Lee

Pairings: Stepdad!Tommy Lee x Stepdaughter!Reader

Summary: Tommy gets jealous when he finds out his 18 year old stepdaughter is going on a date.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is 18), jealousy, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected sex, rough sex, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, spanking (once), use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @marvelobsessed134 🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“What’re you doing?” Tommy asks, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom.

“Getting ready for a date.” You tell him while putting the finishing touches of your makeup on.

“With who?” He asks with jealousy in his voice.

“The boy I met at the mall a few days ago.” You say.

Tommy scoffs before walking inside of your room, closing and locking the door behind him. You looked at him as he approached you.

“You’re not going on that date.” He says.

“Yes I am.” You argued.

He scoffed again and grabbed your arm, pulling you up from the chair you were sitting in while doing your makeup. He positioned himself behind you and bent you over your vanity table, moving your legs further apart.

“No you’re not.” He says.

Tommy bunched up your dress above your hips and pushed your panties to the side.

“Tommy, what’re you-” A yelp left your lips when he landed a harsh smack on your ass.

“It’s daddy to you, missy.” He says.

The sound of his belt and zipper sent tingles through your body. Tommy pulled down his jeans just enough for his cock to spring out. You gasped when he rubbed his cock between your wet folds. Tommy unexpectedly thrusted his cock inside of your pussy, a whimper fell from your lips. You tried your best to accommodate his size. The stretch hurt, but it also felt good

“S-So big.” You stuttered through a whimper.

“You can take it.” Tommy says.

Tommy’s thrusts were rough and hard. Your hands grasped the edge of your vanity table, your nails dug into the wood of it. You could feel every vein of his cock rubbing along your walls.

“You know…” He starts. “It’s funny to think I’d allow you to go on that date.” He says.

“I- fuck, daddy! I-I can do whatever I want.” You say through a moan.

“You can do whatever you want?” He chuckles. “Then that means you can take cock like a big girl, right?” He says.

“Y-Yes.” You moaned.

Tommy grasped your shoulder and pulled you up straight, your back against the front of his body.

“You really thought I’d let you out of the house wearing this?” Tommy says.

“It’s pretty.” You say, followed by a whimper.

“It is…” He starts. “But you look prettier with my cock inside of you.” He says in almost a whisper.

You could hear the jealousy in his voice. Pleasure took over your body and your head fell back against his shoulder.

“Nuh uh…” He lifted your head so you were looking in the mirror of the vanity. “You’re gonna watch yourself fall apart on my cock.” He says.

You watched in the mirror as your stepdad fucked you. Your hands grasped the edges of the vanity tighter, your freshly painted nails starting to chip a little bit the more you dug your nails in the wood of the vanity.

“Daddy…” You moaned, more in a whimper.

“Yea, baby? Tell daddy what you want.” He says huskily.

“More please!” You begged, not sure what you’re begging for.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll give you more.” He says.

One of Tommy’s hands slid down the front of your body, blindly finding your clit and began rubbing it. Your pussy squeezed around his cock at the feeling.

“Yes! Fuck, daddy!” You moaned.

“You like that, don’t you, baby? You like it when daddy plays with your little clit?” He asks, applying more pressure on your clit as he rubbed it.

“Yes!” You say more in a gasp.

You felt your orgasm coming closer and closer to the edge. It felt like a tidal wave was about to come crashing down on you.

“Daddy, can I-” A moan interrupted your sentence. “Can I cum please?” You begged.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Tommy says.

“Daddy, please!” You begged. “I’m being a good girl for you.” You say, trying to reason with him.

“Cum for daddy.” He says.

You tried your best to not to moan too loud as you came, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your knees buckled. Tommy wrapped one of his arms around your waist so you didn’t fall.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Tommy moans tilting his head back.

Tommy came inside of you a couple minutes after you came. His thrusts came to a slow stop. Both of you stood in front of your vanity panting for a moment before he pulled out of you, making you whine at the loss of his cock being inside of you. Tommy put his cock back in his boxers, zipping up his jeans and buckling his belt. He put your panties back in place and turned you around, giving you a hungry kiss before leaving your room. You took a moment to process what just happened. You made sure your hair and makeup looked good and rubbed your hands over your dress, smoothing out the material. You were putting your shoes on when you got a text from your date, saying that he was outside. You grabbed your purse and phone and went downstairs, heading towards the door before getting stopped by Tommy.

“Be home no later than midnight.” Tommy says.

“Leave her alone, honey. She’s a big girl.” Your mom playfully hit his arm. “Have fun and be safe.” She says with a smile.

You smiled at your mom and Tommy before walking out the door. Tommy went to the window and watched as you got in your date’s car and he gave you a kiss on your cheek. Tommy’s jaw clenched as jealousy took over him again. “You’re in trouble when you get home, baby.” Tommy thought to himself.

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

-Bucky’s Doll

[firefistacesfreckles]

shanks: buggy is like family to me. actually, he's even more than that, he's–

luffy:

[lolhex12]

broke: Jeremy is captain sunshine golden retriever boy who hides his feelings and his fucked up family situation

woke: actually🤓☝️ Jeremy first met Andrew in juvie when they were 15 & 13 respectively

[tehzeldamaster]

🎶you are my dad...you're my dad‼️ (boogie woogie woogie)

[nostalgicfun]

Casius and Scooter, 1999