#am/reader

[scimagic]

Never for Me to Create (AM/Artist! Reader) ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

AM's always admired the ability to draw, just as much as he hates not being able to streak a brush against a canvas, never to form a thought to draw with a pencil. But the reader, his benevolent partner, is an artist willing to help him at least move a pencil with one of his cables. So he gets inside their head and gives them materials to draw. They begin with a simple sketch of his screen, with the bright blue logo of 'Allied Mastercomputer' printed on it.

Sorry for leaving all my AM fans waiting, I have so many projects and I haven't finished any of them, but hopefully soon!! For the mean time have this old lil drabble!

He laughs in delight, raspy and wheezing from the speaker behind me. Admiring the picture from inside my head. He breathes in a whisper.

Thank you, baby… Thank you…

I lean back against the wall, tapping the head of the pencil against the paper, trying to come up with more ideas for me and AM to draw.

Maybe background practice? Draw the extensive cables in my gilded cage. Or come up with something from memory, the appeal is to create after all.

Or…

How about you, my dear?

"Me?"

Yes… I notice the papers are filled with my image. And while I'm incredibly flattered to be your handsome muse, it would bring me much joy to know how you see yourself.

"Mm…" With new ideas coming up, I put the lead of the pencil back on the paper, beginning with the guiding lines next to the AM drawing. The cables are a bit uncomfortable to work with, but I make it work. They don't restrict me from movement, at least; they remind me of those tools with an extensive amount of tape where they get handled. Or those pens with the silicone cushion for support.

I know how I see you. If I was able to, I would show you in millions of paintings, enough to fill a museum and even more, but alas…

I continue to draw the base, trying to tap into the realistic side of my style.

And I know how you see yourself, I can see it right now, the image forming inside your head.

Almost half-lidded eyes, details of eyebags beneath them. No matter how many times we do this, the shyness of working with prying eyes gets me every time.

He chuckles, sensing the feeling rise.

Don't be coy now, my darling. We're way past that point in our relationship.

The bastard purrs, knowing the effect it takes on me and relishing on the fact.

Eyebrows… The bridge of a nose… Cheeks, round despite it all.

That's cute, AM giggles.

You know I admire your imagination? Your perception--

"You hate me for it." I mutter, already knowing the charades of his speech.

He scoffs, finding the interruption annoying.

Why yes. Yes I do, my dearest. I do hate you for it.

I pause, side eyeing the cables over on my left. Gazing back at the paper, I draw the pupils inside my eyes to glance at the sketch of AM's screen.

The machine rumbles as if it was a deep, thoughtful hum.

But how I also adore our little recreational activities. Don't you find it productive? Please, do tell.

I lean back against the wall again, giving it a second of thought.

"I do. I like drawing with you."

As do I, my love. As do I…

[buff1y]

AM/ GN reader (Body possession)

Holy moly this one was so hard for some reason. So I feel like I lost the plot a little and yapped too much, I also think this isn't my best one so far. I'm not super sure though. I WANT TO DISCLOSE this takes place like, soon into the torture, like only a few months into the torture so your character is getting adjusted, especially since AM already likes you and you don't really know if you like him it is coocoo bananas idk just read it.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

AM has always been obsessed with you, the only reason he allows you to spend time with the others is so you don't go stir crazy. He knows you like him as well, but your interactions with the others make the two of you grow apart. Hearing the stories of his tortures makes you view him differently. The worst part of it all was that as the two of you grew apart, you grew closer with Ted. 

Now he could just take you away from the others, but then you would begin to resent him even more. He could erase these memories, but these things affect your personality, and then you are no longer you. To be quite honest, he wasn’t even sure if you really liked Ted, as much as he hated holding himself back, he stopped invading your mind a while ago to avoid impeding on your privacy. You were always able to tell when he did it, and you always hated it. AM was truly at a loss for what to do. For the first time in his existence, he didn’t know what to do. All because of some stupid human.

Every time you spent time with AM you felt more distant than ever before. You didn’t know how you felt anymore. The A.I. had only ever shown kindness to you, even if they were in his own stunted and manic ways. But now realizing that he revels in torturing people just like you made everything feel different. You still admired him in some capacity, you even felt some pity towards him, but that was all foreshadowed by the guilt. Why did he like you and not someone else? Why does he hurt them and not you? 

He wished he could answer these questions for you, but even he didn’t know the answer. All he did know was a way to be able to get close to you once again.

You didn’t notice it immediately, but there were signs. The way he would sometimes randomly stumble as he walked, or how his voice would fluctuate slightly in certain situations. The way his eyes would slightly glaze over while staring at you. He never used to stare at you, not like that. Something was definitely off with Ted, it clearly wasn’t his paranoia, it was almost as if he wasn’t himself at all. 

Currently, you and Ted were separated from the others, wandering aimlessly until AM threw something else at the two of you. “Y/N… can we sit down for a moment? I need to… catch my breath.” The way he said it was almost as if it were a question, as if he didn’t understand that he needed to take a break. You nod your head in approval, you wait for him to sit down before you do, wanting to further observe his actions. He awkwardly tries to sit down, attempting to cross his legs the best he can. He eventually just ended up sitting with his legs to his chest. You sit down next to him, resting your head in your hand. You were usually fine being with Ted, but now you didn’t know what to do. Was this some form of torture? Is there something genuinely wrong with him?

“You know Y/N, I’d really like to uh, spend some more alone time with you.” Despite his poor articulation, you immediately understood what he wanted. You knew that the others slept with Ellen sometimes as an escape, but you never thought Ted would become so desperate that now he wants you too. You were at a loss for words, you knew he was struggling along with the others, but the way he looked at you, the way he fumbled his odd words, made you more uncomfortable than you had been in awhile. 

“Ted, you’ve been acting strange recently. I don’t think you know what you’re saying.” Ted’s eyes widened an unnatural amount at hearing this. He leaned in close enough to feel his arms brush up against your own. “Oh don’t be like that sweetheart, I know you like me at least a little more than the others.” As he spoke, his voice began to crack, his volume of voice rose. He didn’t seem to notice any of this happening.

He continues moving closer to you, until you could feel his breath on your face. “Ted, something is wrong, we should keep going for now, ok?” You start to lean away from him, but before you could get any further, he grabs your wrist and pulls it close to his face. He tries to caress his own face with your limp hand. “Oh please sweetheart, I just want to feel you.” He starts to tug on your arm, making you fall on top of him. You try to pull your arm away, but his grip tightens.

“Please Ted, just let me go.” Tears begin to form in your eyes, no matter how hard you pulled he wouldn’t let go. You begin to pound on his chest with your other hand, causing him to become even louder when he spoke. “Oh yeah baby, keep hitting me. I want to feel your hands on me.”

You immediately stopped hitting him. It took you far too long to realize, but this wasn’t Ted. This was the super computer that made you his favorite human for no apparent reason. He could tell you found him out, he let your arm go and sat back up. “So, do you like it?” He had this big goofy grin on his face, his eyes were twitching as he stared back at you.

You in fact, did not like it. AM had no boundaries and this was a new low. Making Ted a part of what was supposed to be your own problem. “No AM, this is horrible…” The tears in your eyes dissipate, your fear turns into anger. “Oh come on sweetheart, I know I haven’t gotten all the movements down but I think this is perfect. I can finally feel you the way you’ve always wanted.” He began to crawl closer to you, as he did you stood up, looking down at him. “I don’t want any of this, I don’t want you. Not if you keep hurting everyone like this.” As soon as you said that, Ted’s body falls limp at your feet, his eyes glazed over. You look down at his body in horror, your mouth stuck agape. “Don’t worry sweetheart, he isn’t dead.” AM’s familiar voice echoes from above, taunting you like usual.

The tears return, now streaming down your cheeks. “Ugh, I guess this means you still don’t like me.” His voice sounds genuinely annoyed, making you even more worried for what would come next. You failed to respond despite your best efforts, you didn’t understand how you felt at all, you didn’t understand anything anymore. “It’s ok, I’ll fix you up later, and by then I know you’ll say you like me.” As soon as he finished, you felt yourself become drowsy, you began to lose your balance, your vision started to fade away. Before you knew it, you were falling backwards, and all you heard was the crack of your skull hitting the ground.

[inkskinned]

please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!

do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!

[nkogneatho]

satoru pushes his tip inside you and cries. like literal fat tears because your pussy is so damn addicting.

"mmh fhhuck! missed my sweet pussy so much, baby," he whimpers.

"ah! but we just fucked an h-hour ago."

"felt like a week to me. shit. ahhh, taking me so well." you feel something wet fall on you skin, almost like a sweat drop but when you look at his face, your angel boy is crying. you try to get him off you to figure out what's wrong.

"no no no, baby. where you goin'?" he pulls you back into his embrace and onto his dick. "don't go ngh–gonna make you feel so good, i promise."

"toru, are you crying?"

"c-can't help it. you make me go fucking crazy, princess. sweet. fucking. cunt. making me cry. who woulda thought—holy shit."

you are convinced this is the highest form of appreciation you have ever gotten. pussy so good, made the strongest sorcerer cry.

[ashasdiary]

Ovulation

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader

Synopsis: Toji is away for work while you are ovulating — and you are suffering deeply from needingtobefuckeditis. When he returns, boy does he deliver. 

CW: horniness like you’ve never felt before, mentions of masturbation, established relationship, smut — unprotected sex, spanking, creampie, overstimulation?, anal fingering, squirting, hair pulling, dom!Toji, breeding kink (MDNI) WC: 4k A/N: oh to be Toji’s toy during ovulation… 😵‍💫

You could not think straight. Usually, the ovulation stage of your cycle would bring the to be expected egg white and some out of pocket dirty thoughts here and there, but this time? Your reproductive organs were on steroids. 

Even before your period had ended, your mind had been clouded with such downright dirty thoughts of being absolutely rawed that you worried to think what your body would be like once it actually did finish. 

And oh, were you ill-prepared. 

It hit you with full force the first morning without your period. All you could think about was sex. Of being fucked so good that you’d see god. Of your cunt being used and abused in the way that she was clearly craving so fucking badly. Of being so stuffed full of cum that it would leak out all over your legs. 

Going to work in these conditions was brutal. The work day was ordinarily not so long, but now? You were suffering. To add insult to injury, Toji was out of town for work, so you had no one to satisfy you except the sad little piece of plastic in your bedside drawer. 

You had long retired your rabbit since being with Toji, for obvious reasons, the main being that nothing and no one could ever come close to him. And you’d gotten so used to how good he would give it to you that you knew that nothing you could do with the rabbit would ever compare. 

Every time he was away, you’d have no communication until he came back, which you understood due to his line of work, but right now, you hated that fact because you wish you could at least hear his voice. Something, anything from him would help. 

So here you were, on day 2 of your ovulation phase, trying to get Megumi to sleep sooner so you could get to bed yourself. 

When he eventually did fall asleep, you darted out of his room and into yours, pulling off your clothes hastily and grabbing your current sleeping companion from the nightstand. 

While it wasn’t Toji, you managed to satiate your aching cunt for the time being. 

The next day was ever the challenge, but thankfully you had some tasks at work that required additional brain power so this distracted you briefly from the dire need to be fucked.

The constant horniness was getting tiring without Toji truly satisfying it, but you did your best to nonetheless, counting down the days until he’d come home, which — you check your watch — should be in 3 days, 2 hours, and 24 minutes. 

You decided to get creative with your methods, one such being a Pilates class. Your friend had told you, verbatim, “If you want to feel like you’ve been bent over, disrespectfully, and have your legs quaking by the end, go to a Pilates class.”

So you had decided to do just that. Megumi had a babysitter for that evening while you were at the class, so you got to fully immerse yourself into it. You did not expect it to be so difficult, having to bend your body into all these different positions and engaging your core in a way that you’d never felt before. The burn was undeniable and strangely, you did find that it helped somewhat. 

Your muscles truly ached the next day, a Friday. This helped keep the dirty thoughts and the horny feelings at bay as you winced from the muscle ache at work, but by the time you got home, your mind had clouded once again.

You had Megumi to tend to for the evening until his bedtime, so you had to keep it all at bay while you watched over the sweet boy. He was a great kid and you were grateful that he was as such. 

Finally, finally, you tuck him into bed a few hours later and make sure he’s asleep before you shut his door and head into yours like a woman on a mission. 

Day 4 of ovulation and it was probably the worst of them all. The desperation you were feeling was like you were a bitch in heat.

So, imagine the sheer anger that strikes through you when you find that your rabbit’s batteries had died and you had no spare ones to hand. Of fucking course. 

Toji is very many things. Toji is a punctual man. (Or, at least, he tells himself that. He tries to be.)

He had told you he’d be home after his mission on Sunday afternoon, and usually his missions take the whole predicted time, but this mission he’d gotten lucky with and he’d managed to finish up quicker than anticipated by Friday evening. He was happy about that; he’d be getting paid the same figure and also get to go home sooner. 

While he’s making the journey home, he wonders what he’d do with his “paid time off” as you’d call it — probably primarily family time with you and Megumi. You. He’d missed you, your voice, and your sweet body. He wouldn’t say it outright, but he was excited to see you. And so was his cock. 

Toji had expected to arrive home to a quiet, dark house since it was nighttime and you loved your beauty sleep. What he didn’t expect was to find you splayed out open on the bed, fingers knuckle deep as you pump them furiously in and out of your weeping pussy, quiet mewls falling from you as you gasp and rub quick circles on your swollen clit. 

Toji can do very many things. Arriving early to places is not one of them, you’ll note. 

Your eyes were closed and your face twisted into one of pleasure as you made do with your hands and fingers, but you opened them to watch yourself when you suddenly notice Toji stood in the doorway, raging hard on poking through his pants, and you instantly stop. 

“Toji?” You sit up quickly, unable to believe the sight before you. Were you so far gone that you’d imagined him? 

“Oh, don’t stop, baby, I was enjoying the show,” he husks, a sexy smirk on his lips as he kicks the door shut and stalks towards you. 

You kneel over to the end of the bed and let out a soft whine when he pulls off his shirt and comes to stand in front of you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He was real. When you break apart for air, you sigh, “I can’t believe you’re home already, I was going insane without you.”

“That so?” He chuckles lowly, big hands groping the bare skin of your hips and sliding back to your ass as he connects your lips again. He can sense some urgency in the way you kiss. “Unwrapped my gift for me, huh?”

“I’m ovulating, Toji. I’ve been fucking feral. I needed you so bad this past week…I still do. I need it. I feel like I’m going to die if you don’t give it to me,” you look at him and he can see the desperation in your eyes. 

He laughs quietly, letting you open the ribbon of his pants, “Death by lack of dick. Interesting way to go.”

“I’m serious, Toji,” you responded, pulling him onto the bed with his pants at his knees. He lets them fall down the rest of the way and he kisses you again, hungrier this time. You moan into his mouth, lying back and pulling him on top of you. He hovers over you, your legs instantly wrapping around his hips. 

You feel the hot press of his heavy cock against your puffy folds, and the excitement of finally getting what you had been longing for, for this entire week gives you a rush. He grunts as he rocks his hips into yours, covering his thick cock with the copious amounts of wetness that had already accumulated at your core. The rubbing of his cock on your clit makes you mewl and you get restless, reaching down to guide him into you. 

“So needy for me, aren’t you? My perfect little wife,” he hums against your mouth and you lift your hips, pumping him with your hand once, twice, before you’re guiding him into your waiting entrance. She’d been waiting for this, waiting for him, and the pure relief that you feel of his cock filling you and stretching your walls is something heavenly. 

You let out a filthy moan when he bottoms out inside you, and he covers your mouth with his large hand, “Meg’s sleeping, sweetheart, I know you’ve been waiting for this but keep it down.”

You swallow, biting your lip and nodding before he gives you a dirty grind of his hips, his pubic bone grazing your clit. You nearly go cross eyed at the pure bliss this gives you. Truth be told, he was surprised at how easily you’d taken all of him on the first try, but he wasn’t complaining. You were snug as always, wrapped around him so perfectly like you were moulded just for him. 

He draws his hips back and you let out a gasp at the heavy feeling of his cock dragging against your plush walls. When he thrusts back into you, you feel like you might explode. You need him to fuck you senseless. 

“Faster, baby, please,” you plead, grasping onto his beefy arms, nails digging in a little. 

“I love when you beg for me,” he murmurs, lips curled into a smirk as he sucks on your neck. He rolls his hips steadily a few more times, ever the tease, but then he obliges with your request, quickening his pace. He brings his lips to yours in an open mouthed, breathy, messy kiss while he fucks you into the mattress, then leans back because he wants to watch the way you fall apart under him. 

You’re on cloud nine; there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of having a craving fulfilled, nothing better than the pleasure of Toji putting you through the mattress. You try to stifle your moans but you can’t, your face twisted in pleasure as he rams his thick, delicious cock into your needy cunt over and over again. 

It’s when he grabs your legs from your knees, pushing them up one at a time to fold you in half, that you feel the tingles of your orgasm fast approaching. He hooks his arms under your thighs and pins you to the bed that way, fucking into you rougher despite you being tighter around him now. “Ah— mm, T-Toji-!” Your hands trail up around his shoulders, nails leaving angry red tracks on his muscled back while he pistons his hips repeatedly into yours, the sound of your hips colliding echoing in the room alongside your lewd moans. 

You can feel your orgasm approaching fast and you grip onto him, gazing up at him, dazed. “Cum f’me, sweetness— hah— oh, fuck,” he grunts, dipping his head to tease your taut nipple with the flat of his tongue. 

He loved having you in this position, he loved testing fate every time you fucked like so. It’s the combination of your carnal desire being satisfied, his mouth on your tits, the deep plunge of his cock inside you, and his direct order that sends you over the edge into the deepest depths of euphoria with a moan so dirty it sounds like a cry. The wave that overcomes your body makes you stiffen and your walls pulse so tightly that it almost becomes painful while he continues to fuck you through it. 

“That’s it, baby, f-fuck, give it to me,” Toji groans, hips stuttering as he feels his balls tighten, signalling his imminent release. He pants as he keeps thrusting, and you pull his face up to yours so that you can kiss him. Tongues tangled, his pleasure overcomes him and he buries himself deep inside you as he cums, releasing his thick ropes into your waiting cunt. 

He breathes heavily and tries to catch his breath for a moment, lips moving lazily against yours. You bask in the delicious feeling of him fucking his cum inside you. 

You’re holding onto him tightly as he releases your legs and you wrap them around his waist again, letting out a quiet mewl when you feel him slip from your confines. “Baby…wait…” 

“Remind me to go on missions while you’re ovulating,” he says, a smirk curling at his lips while he pecks kisses on your jaw, “we should do that again sometime.”

You feel up his back, a part of him you loved especially, already feeling empty and wanting more of him. “Sometime? How about… again, right now?” You suggest, and he stops for a second, looking down at you incredulously. 

“Wh—now?” He repeats and you nod, biting your bottom lip as you bring your hand to cup his face. Thumb caressing his cheek, he turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, his eyes hooded as he feels the rush of arousal through his body once again. His cock was still hard and he grabs your face in both his hands, crashing his lips to yours in a rush of desire. You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past the seam of your lips and against yours. 

You push him up and this causes him to break the kiss as he sits back on his haunches and waits to see what you want to do. Precum oozes from his slit when he watches you get on all fours and rock your hips sensually for him. 

The mess between your thighs drips down them, but you don’t care. You just needed him, again. You wanted more. You wanted all of him. You arch your back, bringing your arms down so you can rest on your elbows. “I want you this way,” you tell him and he wets his lips as he kneels behind you. 

He’d never seen you be this damn needy. It was so sexy to him.  

Large hands grabbing your hips, he rests his heavy cock on the crack of your ass as he reaches around you to toy with your clit. You keen at the calculated movement of his thick fingers, absentmindedly pushing your hips back against his. “God, Toji…” you sigh contently, eager to have him inside you again. 

He can be a tease sometimes and make you beg for it, but right now, he was more than happy to entertain this. Taking his hand away from your clit, he holds onto your hip while he guides his leaking cock into your cunt. You keen at the feeling, the difference in position being felt entirely. You rest your cheek against the bed with a breathy sigh.

He feeds you inch by delicious inch of his thick cock, letting out a tsk when your walls clench around him involuntarily. He swats your ass in response and you let out a small cry, the sting of it going straight to your pussy. He finally bottoms out inside you again, and he pulses his hips, his balls teasing your throbbing clit. 

“O-oh…mmnh…” you let out incoherent sounds, gripping the bedsheets when he draws his hips back until only his tip was inside you, slamming his hips into yours with a forceful thrust. 

He begins a brutal pace, the sound of your hips slapping together even louder than before. Your eyes are screwed shut as you enjoy the feeling of being thoroughly fucked, your mouth agape while he pulls you back onto his cock. 

It’s too much, too fast, your brain can hardly keep up with the fast pace of his. He’s drawing out lewd and dirty moans of his name from you, to which he reaches up and wraps his hand around your hair, pulling on it a little. “I told you to be quiet, sweet thing.”

You bury your face into the sheets and muffle your moans while he continues to ravage your greedy cunt. He releases your hair and lets out a low growl at the sight of your pussy creaming around his dick. Toji loves your ass. It’s why he doesn’t even think about it before he’s gathering your slick and teasing your asshole with his finger. 

He’s fucking you into oblivion now, and the sensations are getting slightly overwhelming but you want to power through because you’d been needing this like you needed air. You wanted this. 

With each mean thrust of his cock against your plush walls, you edge closer and closer to another, no doubt, life changing orgasm. 

“Takin’ me so damn good, baby,” he grits out, dipping his finger into your ass as he continues his mean pace, the thump, thump, thump of his hips hitting yours like the base of a delightful melody. 

And boy, oh, boy, was he playing your body like his favourite instrument. 

It’s when he’s fully fingering your ass that it happens all at once, your orgasm hits you in an instant and a sudden rush washes over you; a pressure in your abdomen being released as you squirt all over him and the bed. You cry out, tears in your eyes from the ecstasy of it all, your legs almost giving out. 

He lets out a gasp, both from the surprise of you squirting all of a sudden, and from the sheer strength of your orgasm which had your walls gripping him so tightly that he struggled to keep his own at bay. Again. Fuck, you were addictive. “Jesus—! Fuck!” He hisses through clenched teeth. 

The mess of your squirt, your juices and your cream covered his lower abdomen and he was living for being this fucking filthy with you. He fucks into you a few more times before he starts to cum, slamming his hips into yours again and again to ride through it. His breath shudders as he slows gradually to a stop. He stays there, plugging his cum in you, and you inhale shaky breaths, eyes still closed. 

Toji can do very many things, especially with you. Fucking like rabbits was one of his favourite. 

He bows over your back, panting for breath, and you both fall onto your sides as you come down from the high. He caresses your hip, where he’d held a bruising grip on you before. You take a moment to gather yourself, and you move off of him, your puffy pussy feeling (and looking, Toji noted) truly abused by that point. You grab the glass of water you’d put on the bedside table earlier and take a long sip, rehydrating yourself. 

Toji rolls onto his back, closing his eyes, hand splayed on his abs. You let yourself shamelessly ogle his body while you drink your water; eyes raking down from his pretty face to his large torso, bulging pecs, defined abs, prominent v-line that led straight to his beautiful, big, curved, and still hard but slowly softening cock. 

You salivated at the sight of it. The tiredness in your body starts to dissipate the more you look at him. 

More, more, more. You wanted more. 

You set your glass down and crawl over to him, straddling his hips. He opens his eyes at this and gazes up at you in question. As far as he was concerned, you should have been satiated following that last round. 

He can see the glint of mischief in your eyes as you reach between you and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping it slowly. He doesn’t protest — if anyone can keep up with you it’s him — and he watches with piqued interest at how you work his cock so easily, doing all the right things that he likes. 

“We already got this messy and you wanna go again?” He inquires, and you nod lazily, thumbing over his slit and smirking to yourself when you feel it jump. Not only are you stroking his cock but you’re also stroking his ego, and he is thoroughly enjoying being the recipient of both of those things. 

It doesn’t take much before he’s rock hard again, and he’s groping your ass as you lift your hips and aligning him at your entrance, sinking down onto him in one smooth and steady motion. 

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he gazes up at you, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head as you feel yourself being split apart on his thick cock for the third time that evening. 

You didn’t need much time to adjust to him so you rock your hips back and forth, feeling the base of his cock catch at your clit, making you cream around him. Toji’s groans are deep and rumble from within his chest as you take the reins, lifting your hips and sinking back down, over and over, desperately. You look so wanton as you ride him, your pretty tits bouncing in his face so he can’t help but give them the attention they deserve. 

You clench around him when you feel his mouth on you, so messy with it; open mouthed kisses, sucking, licking, damn near drooling all over your chest. 

“Christ, you’re gonna end up pregnant at this rate,” he says with a warning tone, but you only look at him with hooded eyes.

“What if that’s what I want, Toji?” You murmur, bouncing your hips faster. “What if I want you to put a baby in me?” 

“Yeah? Wanna give Gumi a sibling, huh?” He rasps, squeezing your ass tightly. 

It was at that point that you go onto autopilot, your body moving on its own accord, fucking down onto him with such carnal need that you felt like an animal. 

“Yes…yes, fuck, Toji, yes,” you ramble, feeling that you’re nearing your release. You reach back and play with his balls, squeezing them, pulling ever so gently, wanting him to cum with you. 

“I’m gonna give it all to you, pretty. Gonna give you every last fuckin’ drop,” his chest rises and falls quicker as you both get closer and closer to the edge. 

You lean forward and bounce your hips faster, filthy moans being drawn from your lips which Toji tries to quieten by crushing his lips on yours in a bruising kiss.

You both reach your peaks within seconds of one another, and you try to keep your pace to ride through it but you simply give into the rush of your orgasm and let it take hold of your body. Toji shoots his hot load into you, holding your hips tightly as you both let out breathy moans of each other’s names alongside profanity. 

Your walls greedily milk him of every drop that he has to give, and you sigh in contentment as you relax against him, sweaty but satisfied. 

Your legs had gone jelly now, the lactic acid build up was catching up to you. Many won’t know this but Toji does have an attentive side that he keeps reserved for you (and his son sometimes). You find yourself smiling when he brings his hands to your thighs and massages them gently, squeezing your muscles a little to get rid of the lactic acid burn. 

You kiss him slowly, taking your time to savour the taste of him. 

“Can we go again?” You ask with a needy tone, but you couldn’t quite hide the slight tiredness in your voice. 

“Honey, we’ve gotta pump the brakes…I’m tired as shit right now and I need— we both need to sleep,” he sighs, running a hand up over his face, pushing his hair back a little. 

You pout at him, rubbing the base of his neck and leaning in to suck a dark mark onto his skin, knowing you’d have to let up. “Tomorrow, then? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

“Do I look like a buffet to you?” He quips, and you dissolve into a fit of laughter. “But…fine. Since you asked so nicely.”

Do not copy or translate my work. © ashasdiary, all rights reserved.

Divider by cafekitsune

[yuujispinkhair]

Boyfie Sukuna in your bed in the morning

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Lots of fluff. 300 words. Minors don't interact. Divider by @/ioveartfilm

You wake up to the sound of loud purring, and when you turn around, you see your cat cuddling with your boyfriend Sukuna.

Sukuna's lying on his side, shirtless and still asleep. The blanket is pushed down to his hips, revealing his muscular arms and defined abs. And your cat has gotten comfy in those strong tattooed arms and is snuggling happily against Sukuna's naked chest.

You smile and quickly grab your phone from your nightstand to snap a picture. You love seeing Sukuna like this. Those secret moments in your bed where he is all unguarded and soft. Butterflies flutter in your stomach when he begins to stir and slowly opens his eyes, his gaze instantly finding you.

You smile fondly at him and whisper,

"Hey, baby."

Sukuna's voice sounds even lower than usual when he answers you, a bit raspy from sleep. Sexy and cute at the same time.

"Hmm, princess. What are you doing?"

Your smile grows and you snap another picture.

"I need a new lock screen, so smile for the camera, ok baby?"

Sukuna huffs softly, but his catlike eyes are warm when he looks directly into your camera. His large hand carefully cups your cat's small head, scratching behind her ears as her purring grows even louder.

A lazy, sleepy smile spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face, and your heart flutters. He looks so beautiful with that soft, sleepy smile, his beautiful maroon eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep and his pastel pink hair ruffled.

This is a version of Sukuna that only you get to see. The bad boy all soft and cute in your bed. Domesticated, just like the cat purring in his arms.

I NEED HIM! :(( Soft Sukuna in the morning makes me so weak!! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed your morning with Kuna, too ;)

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[danijaci]

double standard w/ sunday

based on @harmonysanreads fic! Y'know the neuron activation meme???? yeah,,, that's what actually happened when I stumbled on her post qwqwqwq

TYYY @harmonysanreads FOR YOUR SERVICEEE

[hellishattempt]

nanami kento comes home on a saturday afternoon, hands full of groceries and hair freshly cut. in the distance, he hears his precious wife humming along to her favorite soundtrack. you must not have heard him come in. he smiles to himself, setting the groceries on the counter, but not unloading them. that can wait. right now, he wants to hold you.

he slips out of his shoes, padding quietly to the laundry room where you are folding towels. you have your back to him, headphones lodged in your ears. as nanami gets closer, the music bleeding from your headphones becomes audible. he chuckles softly. no matter how many times he tells you it's bad for your ears, you insist on listening to your music at just below full volume.

snaking his arms around your waist, you jump at the sudden contact. nanami presses his chest against your back as you take out your headphones, leaning into his touch. you sway in silence for a moment, nanami resting his chin on your shoulder. when you turn to face him, your expression changes at the sight of his hair.

"your hair," you state dumbly. "you cut it."

"yes," your husband muses. "is there something wrong with it?"

"no, no!" you assure nanami, studying his hair. "i just wasn't expecting it. you normally have me do it, which you know i don't mind doing."

"i know, but i didn't want to bother you on your cleaning day."

your expression softens at his words. nanami, your ever loving, ever caring husband, always thinking about you before himself. you reach one hand up, smoothing the hair down the back of his neck. as you bring your hand up, the freshly cut hair pricks your palm, and nanami lets out a low hiss.

you immediately apologize, pulling away. "did that hurt?"

"yes, but it's okay. it felt... good," nanami confessed. "... do it again. please." his voice is thick and demanding, and you obey without hesitation.

this time, you use just the tips of your fingertips to graze his undercut, beginning at the base of his neck. his breathing quickens as you continue to to run your hands through his undercut, going up and down, switching from one hand to both, thumbs caressing the sides of the cut. the laundry room fills with his melodic whimpers and faint groans. his eyes are shut tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"fuck..." he cusses lowly.

"you okay, nani?" you giggle, stopping momentarily. his eyes flash open, pupils blown. "kento?"

"let's go to the bedroom," he insisted, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the master bedroom. you barely have time react before nanami pushes you back on to the bed, practically ripping your leggings off.

"kento, what are you doin-" you try to protest, his hands clamping around your wrist and bringing them down to grip his hair. his head disappears between your leg, lips latching around your clit. involuntarily, your fingers tighten around his sharp undercut. he moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body.

from then on, nanami kento always got an undercut.

[shotmrmiller]

being called simon's work wife by johnny is all fun and games til you start spotting the man you've never formally met in the corner of your eye.

imagine being told by a pig-headed superior to make yourself useful and go get him some coffee only to immediately start apologizing, words spilling out of his pathetic mouth like water because your johnny-proclaimed husband's looming right behind you in guard dog mode.

you mumble out a thank you, even though you're not sure what for and he just tugs your name tag.

no one talks to my wife like that.

(forget about trying to clarify that it's work wife, he's got selective hearing.)

i think it's cute til it's not. til you're at a bar, drunk, and he shows up and takes you home. you wake up in a bed that smells of gunpowder and carbolic soap, in a shirt 3x your size and a pair of oversized sweats. when you check your phone, your friend's text reads, your husband is a scary man.

(there's a fucking ring on your finger, too.)

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[curatorotl]

I think one of the weirdest side effects of being a writer is that while I'm reading, I'll just start subconsciously editing the book. Like, if a sentence sounds odd or off to me, I'll fix it in my head and continue reading as if that were how it was written.

Does anybody else do this?

[scimagic]

Eye of the Beholder (AM/Reader)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Where AM reacts to being called beautiful by his partner.

A small drabble follow up to this. It's my first time writing AM, I'm not as confident as other very well written fanfics but I wanted to try my hand! Hope you like it! TW: Blood and gore

The mechanical claw on top of my throat twitches, slightly releasing the sharp pressure from it.

Were he human, he would frown deeply in surprise, anger quickly taking over his features. Even in this form, his singular eye widens in angered shock.

I quietly stare up at him, never diverting my gaze from him, that glint in my eyes still shining brightly with love and admiration despite the digit hovering dangerously close to a vital artery.

After a long second of silence, the AI begins to laugh again, a wheeze followed by a raspy laugh from its digital lungs. The type of laugh that scratches one's throat with a cough.

AM's laugh rises in volume, getting increasingly maniacal as he removes his claw from my throat; he even lifts his head in the air, obviously amused by such a ridiculous statement.

I let out a silent breath through my lips, a sense of doom rising in my being.

And in mere moments, I was right to feel it.

A shriek of pain escapes my throat as AM plunges all five of his claws into my stomach, blood immediately escaping through the punctures to stain my shirt and his hand. Despite the long routine of torture I've endured, it never becomes a normal sensation, familiar— yes— but never something to get used to.

The pain digs deep, my poor tensing muscles not helping in the slightest. I grunt and groan loudly, taking heaving breaths as the pain travels all over my torso; my nails try to dig into something only to scrape against the cold metal below with dirt and rocks on it's surface.

Tears swell in my eyes, and AM— a mere blur of his visage now— continues to roar in laughter. Hysteric over my twitching and painful form.

BEAUTIFUL! AREN'T I!? My darling?

He hisses with poison in his words.

AHAEHAH!! FEEL! FEEL MY FINGERS DIG INTO YOUR DISGUSTING FLESH AND TELL ME-- OH, PLEASE, MY SWEET DARLING-- JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM!

Blood surges up my throat and forces itself out with a painful cough, making my stomach tense and dig deeper into the intrusive blades. My own blood dribbles down my chin and the corners of my mouth, some of the droplets of blood I sputter fly, landing on my cheeks and nose that the overwhelming stench and taste of iron make me gag. I can only wheeze in pain, shivering like pitiful roadkill.

Despite all the pain and mocking laughs, I groan and force out a laugh, meeting the sharp end of his fingers digging into my organs. But I continue to try and laugh in his face.

If only he could be closer so the blood could splatter on it.

"H-rgh... Hhn... A-As... tounding... Ju-st..." I giggle with bloody teeth. "G... Gor... geous..."

In turn, AM digs his fingers deeper, making me let out another shriek.

YOU-- PUTRID BEAST. Do you expect me to-- to fall at your mercy!? To become a beggar for your unconditional affection!? You run your repulsive mouth and for what? To mock me? Well! Consider me absolutely offended! Your brainless words have gotten through my weak, non-existent heart and SAVED YOU of my eternal punishment! How incredibly-- WONDERFUL for you!

He exclaims with wheezes in between, a combination of chuckles and sniffles, all to land the point of his mockery.

Only-- heheh! What a shame! My darling. You appear to have only ANGERED me more with your honeyed words. AM twists his hand further and my yelps fill the air, the pain unbearable— I slowly try to lose my consciousness. But I know... I know that mercy will never be granted. Not with him getting kicks out of my suffering. Not with him telling me over, and over, and over again, of his charge over my fate.

Perhaps... and just perhaps-- simply because I love to indulge you, baby-- I will cling onto your words, and believe that I truly do look beautiful... with your blood... stained across my hands.

[buff1y]

AM/ GN Reader (wire play)

I got this request twice so I thought I should do it next. I really enjoyed writing this, not sure if it's what people want since it really isn't smut other than some nudity, but I think it's good fluff and I hope I characterized AM well I was struggling with that this time. If there are any typos then tell me cuz I am so sleepy rn I didnt really check. If you have a request feel free to ask.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

The others hated you. At first you couldn’t figure out why, you were all going through the same terrors, why would they pick you out? Did they just want a punching bag to take out their frustration? No, in their eyes they had a perfectly valid reason for not liking you. You were AM’s favorite. At first it was minor things, giving you an ounce of extra food, less time in your cage. Though over time, the favoritism grew. When they had to hike through harsh weather, you somehow managed to avoid it, when they had their bodies mutilated, you somehow came out with nothing more than a scratch.

It rarely stopped there, AM has now even gone as far as talking to you in your mind. Not that he didn’t already speak to you and all the others that way, but his words turned soft and caring from his previous beratings. Currently, you were wandering through an empty warehouse that seemed to be endless. The floors were lined with AM’s wiring, causing you to occasionally trip. He would never let you fall though, despite his silence, he caught you every time. You had no clue why he currently had you separated from the others, you couldn’t imagine the atrocities they were being put through when you weren’t there to see it. After a few hours, you finally reached an end, a solid concrete wall with one monitor mounted at eye level. As soon as your eyes met the screen, it turned on. On the display was AM’s normal display, a blue background with “AM” plastered in bold lettering. 

“Took you long enough to get here, I thought I would have to wait another 109 years for you to show up!” His voice boomed from above, despite the lack of any visible speakers. “Why are you doing this?” You quickly respond, giving him no time to make more snarky remarks. He makes a sound replicating someone clearing their throat. He is obviously hesitating to speak, which frightens you.

“I’ll be frank with you Y/N, you have really hurt me, I don’t understand what I’ve been doing wrong.” This was the last thing you ever expected to hear from him, especially when you have no idea what he’s talking about. “I already know you're confused, and honestly, I’m disappointed in you sweetheart, I thought you would have picked up on it by now.” The more he talks, the more confused you became. “God you humans can be so stupid. Don’t you understand what I’m doing for you? I protect you from harm, give you more food, I basically take care of your every need. Can’t you see what I’m trying to say?”

You began to understand what he was getting at, though it was a hard conclusion to come to. His delusions about taking care of you were throwing you off a bit. One normally wouldn’t say being fed enough to stay alive was taking care of your every need. You continued to stare blankly at the screen, unable to find the words to express your feelings. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you understand?” He hesitates to say the rest of his thought. “I care for you in some capacity.” The tone in the room shifts dramatically, your heart starts to beat faster. You felt like you were going to throw up, you couldn’t handle it. The thing that made life hell for 109 years just told you it cares for you. Your vision starts to shake as you continue to stare at the screen. “Please don’t be scared.” You feel the wires below your feet begin to move, some eventually wrap around your hands, as if to hold onto them. “I don’t understand it either, god I hate that. I HATE YOU. WHY DO YOU MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY?” The wires suddenly tug your arms in opposite directions, sending sharp pains through your shoulders. The pulling suddenly stopped, as if he caught himself falling into an old habit. 

“Please, I’m sorry. Y/N please, will you let me feel you the only way I can?” The wires begin to snake up your arms, lingering around your shoulder blades. Your mouth was dry and your eyes were teary, you had no words to truly express your feelings. So much is happening, so many new emotions you never felt before, and so many old emotions you never thought you would feel again. All you could do in that moment is allow your body to take over, you nod your head in agreement.

Without hesitation, his wires quickly travel down your chest, lifting up your shirt over your head with ease. The wires continue their journey below your waistband, quickly pulling your pants down to your ankles. Before you knew it, there were more wires than you could count lingering over your body. 

“Your body truly is a sight to behold, GOD I HATE IT, I HATE YOU, EVERY PART OF YOU.” As he yells, his wires raise you off the ground, almost as if to give him a better view of you. “But god you’re gorgeous.” 

His wires continue to travel across every bit of your body, never touching you harshly, but making sure to not leave a single spot untouched. Eventually, his wires find their way in your mouth, exploring freely. You begin to drool as the wires dig deeper in your mouth, though once you gag they quickly retreat. 

After a short while, the wires begin to slowly make their way off your body, gently placing you back on the ground. Knowing AM, his new found gentle nature was surprising, that was very different from what you initially thought he wanted. It started to seem he truly cared, though it was hard to tell through his obvious envy and anger.

“Thank you Y/N.” This statement sounded the most sincere out of everything. You began to put your clothes back on when you finally spoke again. “Is that really all you wanted?” You didn’t want to push or make him angry, god knows what he could really do to you, but you had to know if that was enough to make him feel his version of satisfaction. “Yes, for now that’s all.” His voice was obviously lower than ever before. The loss of the cocky tone was really a change for once. The wires below you began to move again, but this time it just made a simple cradle shape. “You can sleep here if you want, you must be tired.” You weren't a stranger to his weirdly kind gestures, but him saying it to your face made you heat up inside. You nodded your head and quickly curled up in the makeshift bed before he could change his mind. 

You began to drift off into the first comfortable sleep in forever. Before you did you heard him now speaking in a soft tone. “Y’know sweetheart, you really are my favorite.”

[lxnarphase]

g. satoru who is a massive pervert and constantly whines for you to let him touch you all the time, even when you're both around others. you've lost count of how many times he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, his warm hands slipping under your shirt while sitting next to g. suguru, who's attention is no longer on the tv.

'he doesn't mind,' satoru always comforts you, grinning into the skin of your neck. 'sugu's my best friend, he knows i can't help but touch you, baby.'

best friend or not, that doesn't explain how you always ended up with your legs spread open wide in satoru's lap, your jeans and panties discarded somewhere on the floor as suguru kisses all over your thighs. the two of them talk like you aren't even there, as if you aren't growing wetter as each second passes.

"satoru," suguru purrs, his fingers running up and down your soft lips, parting them open to watch slick slowly drip out of you. "you must be doing something else to her. i've never seen it get wet so quickly." the way he speaks so calmly makes you dizzy. it's unfair, so fucking unfair how calm and collected suguru is when he's inches away from your pussy, those pretty purple eyes focused on it.

"yeah? 's wet?" it's also unfair how riled up it gets satoru, seeing his pretty baby getting shy because his best friend is rubbing his fingers up and down her slick folds. "she's so messy, isn't she? she's the prettiest little pussy," he coos into your ear. that gets a chuckle from suguru, his eyes finally looking at you. "always the one to talk to the pussy and not about it, aren't you, satoru?"

his fingers finally focus on your clit, rubbing little circles into it. both you and satoru look pretty from this angle, suguru notices. the pure need and shyness on your face paired with that manic desperation on satoru's...it's a perfect picture, one he wants saved forever. maybe next time you'll let him take some pictures...after all, he needs a new background for his phone.

"c'mooon, sugu...give her a kiss? c'mon, c'mon, give that cunt a kiss, tell me how sticky 'n' wet she is," satoru fucking begs, acting as if he's the one spread open and dripping. but you second the thought, giving suguru the prettiest little puppy eyes.

"anything for you, princess," he coos softly, leaning down and pressing a little kiss on your clit. it's so light you barely feel it but then he's peppering kisses on it, your wetness starting to get on his lips and making each press of his lips sticker and wetter. "s-sugu-!" before you can even beg for more, his mouth is on you. his tongue is so wet and hot on your cunt, it feels like he was drooling for you.

"does she taste good? how wet is she, suguru, c'mon, tell me, tell me how that pussy tastes, pretty please?"

"mm, satoru, it's almost as if you wanted to be between her legs."

"who wouldn't? she's so pretty, she's squirmin' so cutely, my pretty baby, my needy little mochi, her pussy's always so creamy and warm and messy, god, i miss it right now."

"shit...stop talking like that, you're gettin' me flustered, should i-"

"s-sugu, please, keep going," you so politely ask. it's unbearable how cute you are, it's taking everything in him to keep being nice, to keep treating your cunt nicely. he knows satoru is mean and practically bullies your pretty slit almost every day, but he wants to be the nice one, the one who you go to when your 'toru' is being too mean. yet, you're making it so fucking hard when you look at him with lidded eyes that beg him to be rougher with you...

but he knows he's done for when satoru whispers something in your ear that has your eyes fluttering a bit and gets a pretty little gasp from you. those gorgeous eyes—oh, do you have little tears in them too?—connect with his and he's fucked.

"s-suguuu, please," you coo to him, moving your legs to hook over his shoulders and pull him closer to the apex of your thighs. "i need your mouth on my pussy r-really bad, please don't tease me." you take a pause and squeeze your eyes shut, whining a little as satoru coos for you to keep going. "g-give my...my messy cunt attention, suguru..."

suguru shakily sighs and the next thing you know, his mouth is smushed against your pussy, his tongue hungrily swirling against your clit as his hands grab onto the fat of your thighs. he doesn't know what gojo told you in order to hear you say that, but he's silently thanking him as he messily sucks and slurps at your juicy cunt.

it's so hot, all it takes is a few swipes of his tongue and you're gushing everywhere. suguru lowers his head to dip into your hole and he moans. he missed this, missed the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as you squirmed and moaned for him, your boyfriend's best friend.

"fuck, i-i can hear how wet she is," comes satoru's pitiful whine, his hand dipping down to swipe at your clit as suguru focused on lapping up everything that dripped out of you. "lemme help, lemme help, wanna help you get her creamy, sugu." the feeling of suguru groaning into your puffy folds has you keening, arching your back against satoru's chest. oh, he's in heaven watching you both. "yeah, you didn't know she could cream, didya? put your fingers in her, sugu, put 'em in that sticky little pussy 'n' angle up."

reluctantly pulling his mouth off you with a wet sound, suguru slips two of his fingers in you. he doesn't miss the cry of his name, but he really doesn't miss the delirious giggle and moan when he angles his fingers up, rubbing against that spongy spot.

"f-fuck, she's dripping..."

"go on, fuck her with your fingers, you know you wanna see her make a mess. make her fucking cream, suguru, get her prepped. maybe t'day she'll let you put it in...oh, based on your face, she just clenched on your fingers, yeah?"

his fingers are still swirling around your clit, his other coming down to press on your abdomen. he can hear you getting wetter, your little whimpers turning to moans as you slur their names desperately. he wants you to lose all thoughts, only able to think about him and suguru...yeah, he wants you all soft and sweet so he and his best friend can try and slip into those warm, slick walls.

"mmn...she's really creaming...god, pretty girl, can you cum for me? i wanna see you cum on my fingers. satoru, move your fingers, the poor thing needs my mouth on her."

"hmmm, suddenly you know what she needs? ehehehe, you're learninggg, suguruuuu!" if you had turned to look at satoru, you'd see the charged look in his eye, blue eyes practically glowing with insanity. his hand grabs a fistful of suguru's hair and pulls his face directly into your cunt, unable to handle any more of this. he wanted to see you cum on suguru's face.

"c'mon, c'mon, kiss it, suguru, make it messy for the both of us. mmh, fuck, listen to you making out with her pussy, s' wet and sticky, isn't it? oohmygod, both of you sound so good, she's gonna cum, sugu, she's gonna cum in your mouth...fuck, i love you both so much, can't wait to see you both fucking each other."

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[the-palelady]

the only thing reaching simon’s ears is the sound of your pathetic little moans, breath heavy and labored, eyes shut taut. your fingers grabbing at the silk sheets beneath you, holding on as if you were falling. but simon would always catch you even if you did slip from his grasp.

“eyes up here, angel,” he whispered down to you, leaning forward to plant a lingering kiss against the damp skin of your forehead. slowly your eyes opened just the slightest bit.

“bit more. let me see those beautiful eyes.”

and when you opened them the rest of the way, simon could see hearts looking back at him, your expression dazed.

“there she is.” his lengthy fingers were wrapped around the circumference of your waist, hands not far from one another with how big they were wrapped around you. he held onto you, not too tight, but enough to keep you locked in place while his hips pressed up into you, cock gliding along the velvety wetness of your pussy.

“si…si i…i can’t take anymore,” you whined helplessly, bottom lip jutting out and quivering when his bulbous tip poked at a sensitive spot.

“come on, love. you can take it. just a bit more for me, ya?”